If us as parents aren’t telling our children stories of values, who is?  and what are they telling?  Lets share stories that have been passed down from generations.  Stories that teach and stories that heal.  Stories like the one below:

Write your sorrows in sand and your blessings in stone.Write in the Sand

A story tells that two friends were walking in the desert.  At a specific point in the journey, they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other in the face.  The one, who got slapped, was hurt, but without anything to say, he wrote in the sand:

Today, My Best Friend slapped me in the Face

They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath.  The one who got slapped and hurt started drowning, and the other friend saved him.  When he recovered from the fright, he wrote on a stone:

Today, My Best Friend Saved my LIFE

The friend who saved and slapped his best friend, asked him, Why, after I hurt you, you wrote in the sand – and now you write on stone?

The other friend smilingly replied:

When a friend hurts us, we should write it down in the sand, where the winds of forgiveness get in charge of erasing it away, and when something great happens, we should engrave it in the stone of the memory of the heart, where no wind can erase it.

It is imperative for one to understand that lasting satisfaction cannot be derived from the acquisition of objects. Similarly, no matter how many friends we acquire – they cannot make us happy.

If we see the world as it is seen from space, so small and insignificant and yet so beautiful. Help make this world a better place by observing the following:

  • If you cannot for any reason be of help to others, at least don’t harm them.
  • Try not to turn away from those whose appearance is disturbing, from the ragged to the unwell.
  • Relinquish your envy, let go of your desire to triumph over others.
  • Welcome others – be straightforward and impartial
  • Never think of yourself as superior to others for death will always be the greatest leveller.  For in the grave, we are all the same.

“…It is only the story that can continue beyond the war and the warrior.
It is the story that outlives the sound of war-drums and the exploits of brave fighters.
It is the story…that saves our progeny from blundering like blind beggars into the spikes of the cactus fence.
The story is our escort; without it, we are blind.
Does the blind man own his escort? No, neither do we the story; rather it is the story that owns us and directs us.”

Chinua Achebe, Anthills of the Savannah (1987)

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