Sometimes people make great strides and aren’t even aware of it. Have you ever started to diet or exercise and after a while felt that you were struggling, only to have a friend tell you how good you look? Or haven’t you worked on a project and felt discouraged by your progress, but had a friend marvel at what you had accomplished? It is inspiring and makes you want to work that much harder. If you haven’t had a friend do that for you, then you may need some new friends—people who practice celebrating.
A genuine friend encourages and challenges us to live out our best thoughts, honor our purest motives, and achieve our most significant dreams.” That’s what we need to do with the important people in our lives. —
Winning with People
FIND SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE WITH A FRIEND, COLLEAGUE, OR FAMILY MEMBER TODAY.
I can do all things through him who strengthens me.
Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.
Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.
My son, do not forget my teaching, but let your heart keep my commandments, for length of days and years of life and peace they will add to you. Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good success in the sight of God and man
It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation.”
— Herman Melville
Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.”
— Henry David Thoreau
“There are two types of people who will tell you that you cannot make a difference in this world: those who are afraid to try and those who are afraid you will succeed.”
— Ray Goforth
Daily Storytelling Time
The Morning Commute
I jumped in my car, revved the engine and sped off. I knew the traffic was going to be hellacious—after all, I was already late. Downshifting toward the on-ramp, I was right—jammed.
I weaved out of traffic and onto the back road. It led me beyond the residences and through a lush valley. The strawberries were ripe there, and the workers bent to collect their harvest.
As I passed, I ran a brush through my hair—something I hadn’t the time for at home.
The road became curvy, but I made good time until reentering civilization. The first stoplight in sight flashed green, yellow, red.
Idling on the limit-line, I scanned the mass of people on the corner.
There must’ve been thirty of them. Some were well-clad, in blue jeans and flannel shirts, while others wore corduroy that looked as tattered as their faces.
A pickup braked into their midst and a farmhand hopped out. He began pointing to individuals in turn, counting out in Spanish.
One man, the most tattered of the lot, pushed forward. The farmer counted up to him and hesitated. The Mexican remained still, but his eyes pleaded. Sighing, the farmer nodded, and waved his thumb toward the truck’s bed.
The elect climbed in and the farmer drove off.
I couldn’t help but wonder about their day’s wage, and where it would go. I recalled the tattered man’s eyes. He had a family—somewhere.
As I slid the car into gear, for some reason I no longer felt rushed.