I’d always loved to sing and had signed up for the school talent show in fourth grade when I started stuttering.

I consulted speech experts but it didn’t help. I did everything I could to rid my stutter, but nothing changed. I was very confused. If I couldn’t bring myself to speak in class, how would I be able to sing in the school talent show? I decided to practice at home. To my amazement, the words came smoothly when I sang. My stutter disappeared. I felt so free on stage performing in the talent show. After that, I joined my school team and began learning how to play the guitar.

By the summer I was 16,severe anxiety and depression set in. My stutter had become my entire identity, and I was afraid to talk at all. I didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling.

One burning hot August afternoon, I went to the basement for the coolness, where I kept my musical equipment. My eyes lit on the guitar I had gotten for my thirteenth birthday. I picked it up and started playing it casually. Then I opened my mouth, and the words came flooding out.

Last year, I started college at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia, where I’m majoring in music production. When I saw the America’s Got Talent announcement pop up on my computer, I signed up.

A couple of months later, there I was---standing on that huge stage in Pasadena, trying to calm my nerves as I introduced myself to the America’s Got Talent judges and audience.

“I have a bit of speech disorder, “I told everyone there. “It was definitely something that caused me to..." I took a long pause to find the words.“...to shy away, to hide. But I found that I don’t stutter when I sing.”

Then I launched into a new song I’d written, titled Back to Life. I tried to focus on

the music, not all the eyes on me. And just as I’d said, there was no stutter at all.

When I finished, the whole crowd was on its feet, and so were the judges.___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Since the show aired, I’ve been invited to play on different occasions.___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There are all kinds of enemies, and one of the arts of living is to learn to tell them apart. But consider the kind who never meant to be an enemy at all, and doesn’t want to be an enemy, really. He’s not mad at you; he’s mad at the world, and if you are wandering around on his lonely battlefield, you get shot, which is not meant for you at all.

Let me tell you about one of them. She was the dark-eyed daughter of our town barber: a big, stormy Gina Lollobrigida. Years ago, I brought my two little girls home from South America and put them in school down the road. They talked a very peculiar language that was neither English nor Spanish, and their classmates gave them a hard time. Especially Gina, who was older and the ringleader (元凶) of the terror of the tiny kids. She had an air of anger with her fiery eyes, which seemed to pierce through anyone who dared to cross her path. Her words were hurtful, and even in moments of silence, the tension surrounding her was evident, like a thick wall built between her and the rest of the world. When my daughters were misunderstood and teased because of an unfamiliar language, Gina proved to be the most troublesome among all the students, dominating the younger children and causing chaos whenever she pleased.

Pat and Peggy came home crying almost every day, so I decided to cheer them up. “Let’s have a party,” I said. Pat’s and Peggy’s tears dried magically. Right away they got creative: “Ice cream! Cake, big red balloons!”

“And friends?” I said. The tears started again. “We haven’t got any friends,” Pat cried. Peggy howled, “Nothing but enemies.” Then I had one of my rare inspirations. “Let’s have an enemy party. Let’s invite all your enemies – and we’ll fill them up with ice cream and cake and give them red balloons to take home.

Little Pat and Peggy exchanged knowing looks, and one of them said in Spanish, “Qué passa al Viejo?” (“What is wrong with dad?”)

It turned out that the “Enemy Party” was a mad, merry success.

Another bonus of the party was that Gina seemed a different person afterwards.

You can never do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. How many times have we said “Oh, I’ll do that tomorrow.”? Sometimes tomorrow never comes, and we find ourselves saying, “Boy, I wish I hadn’t put that off.”

I’m the mother of three children and grandmother of two. My oldest son Todd was killed instantly in a car accident when he was 16. It was shortly after Todd’s death that I entered into a personal relationship with Betty. From that day on, my life has taken a radical change for the better. Our family has been friends with Betty for many years. Over the years, we shared phone calls and birthday cards. Betty sent our youngest son Brandon a birthday card with $5 in it until he graduated from high school.

Shortly after Betty’s birthday, I called to see how she was and what she had done on her birthday. I was pretty surprised when Betty didn’t answer the phone；instead, her daughter Carol did. Carol told me that her mom had gone downhill fast, and she was now in Hospice care. Carol handed the phone to Betty. I talked briefly to her and let her know we loved her.

As soon as I got off the phone, I sent a text to Brandon to let him know Betty wasn’t doing well. Little did I know that Brandon stopped what he was doing and immediately sent flowers to Betty.

You can imagine how proud I was of Brandon when Carol called the next day, letting me know how much Betty loved the flowers Brandon had sent. A few days later, Betty died.

I sat quietly on the sofa, feeling heavy.

I hurried to clean up the house and welcome Carol.