When I was a child, I lived in a house with a beautiful garden full of all kinds of flowers, and roses were the most beautiful of them. There was nothing I enjoyed more than sitting in the garden with my mother, who read stories to me. When I was in primary school and old enough to read, I enjoyed reading stories aloud to her.

I will never forget one day when I was in the third grade. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had rehearsed my lines so hard with me. But no matter how easily I acted at home, as soon as I stepped, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained that she had written a narrator (叙述者)’s part to the play, and asked me to change my role. Her word, kindly expressed, still hurt, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.

I didn’t tell my mother what had happened when I went home after school that day. But she sensed my pain. Instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked if I wanted to take a walk in the garden.

It was May and roses were blossoming and, under the trees, we could also see yellow dandelions (蒲公英) in the grass, as if a painter had painted our garden with red, yellow and green. I watched my mother casually bend down by one dandelion. “I think I’m going to dig up all these weeds,” she said, pulling it up by its roots. “From now on, we’ll have only roses in this garden.”

“But I like dandelions,” I protested. “All flowers are beautiful—even dandelions.”

My mother looked at me seriously. “Yes, every flower is beautiful in its own way, isn’t it?” she asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. “And that is true of people too,” she added. “Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.” Realizing that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened. She listened and smiled reassuringly.

Better to Give than to Receive

When a special occasion arrives, a gift often finds its way to a doorstep or an office desk. But once in a while, a present arrives at an unexpected moment as a reminder that someone is thinking about us.

Wanda Anderson remembers such a gift.

The rosebushes were finally in full bloom that day. Seeing roses always brings to mind Wanda's childhood memories. To this young girl, those flowers were a luxury. "We never had money to buy extra things, so even a tired rose was something to cherish," Wanda said.

Nowadays, to have a backyard filled with many different roses is pure enjoyment. Wanda especially loves the very first blooms. Her husband, Dale, devotedly tends the roses and knows this little fact about his wife. So, on this particular morning, he picked the very first flowers of spring, fresh from the garden, just for Wanda.

But as Dale came back, he was met by a neighbor who had dropped by. As the woman turned to go, Dale graciously (有风度地)handed the roses to her. Even though their visitor insisted she didn't want to take them, she was repeatedly assured that the flowers were hers to keep.

“I told her I was happy for her to keep them, but I really wasn't," Wanda said, recalling the emotions she was feeling right then. Seeing her very precious first blooms go out of the door filled her with regret.

Throughout the rest of the morning, Wanda argued with herself, knowing logically it was “better to give than to receive. Nevertheless, she wished she could have kept the roses for herself.

Later that day, the couple just arrived at the post office, where they were about to park the car.

Then, without warning, a bunch of multi-coloured roses appeared at the car's window.

For the rest of the day, she was happy and moved.

A young and successful manager had a new Jaguar, whose side* door was dented （凹陷的）. The damage was very noticeable, but the manager never bothered to repair it. He kept the dent there to remind him of one afternoon   as well as this message： Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention!

The manager was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new. Jaguar. He was watching for kids rushing out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared. Instead, a brick crashed into the Jag's side door! He braked sharply and drove the Jag backward to the spot where the brick had been thrown. The angry driver then jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car, shouting, “What was that all about and who are you?”

The young boy apologized. "Please mister ... please, I’m sorry. . . I didn't know what else to do," he begged.

“I threw the brick because no one else would stop. . ." With tears corning down his face, the little boy pointed to a spot just around a parked car.

“My elder brother fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up. he said.

Still crying, the boy asked the astonished manager, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me. ”

Moved beyond words, he hurried to the spot with the boy. Another boy was lying on the, ground bleeding. He took out his clean handkerchief and touched lightly at the fresh scrapes （擦 伤）and cuts. A quick look told him that the wound was serious, the disabled must be taken to the hospital at once.

Yours,

Li Hua

A little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on Santa Claus's lap holding a picture of a little girl.

"Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your friend? Your sister?"

"Yes, Santa," he replied.

"My sister, Sarah, who is very sick," the boy said sadly.

Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby and saw her wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"She wanted to come with me to see you very much, Santa!" the child shouted.

"She misses you," he added softly.

Santa tried to cheer the boy up, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas.

When they finished their talk, the grandmother came over to help the child get off his lap， and started to say something to Santa, but halted （停顿）.

"What is it?" Santa asked warmly.

"Well, I know it's really too much to ask you, Santa, but..." The girl in the photograph is my granddaughter. You see... she has leukemia（白血病）and isn't expected to make it even through the holidays," she said through tear-filled eyes.

"Is there any way, Santa, any possible way that you could come to see Sarah?

All she's asked for. for Christmas. is to see Santa.

Santa blinked. swallowed hard and told to the woman to leave information with his elves（小精灵）as to where Sarah was，saying he would see what he could do. Santa thought of nothing else for the rest of that afternoon. "What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying?" he thought with a sinking heart.

It was a Saturday in June, 1988. Out of a 16-year-old's early summer boredom, I had set up a tent in our rural yard and intended to sleep in it, but I stayed in the house to finish watching the Lakers' play-off game. It was almost midnight and Dad had been asleep upstairs for hours when someone knocked at the front door. It never occurred to me not to answer it.

To my surprise, it was a girl about my age with a bloody cut on her forehead. “Hi. I'm Maria. What's wrong with you?” I asked her with concern. Awkward and embarrassed, she replied: “I'm Jane. I...”she hesitated and then asked me carefully, “May I stay here for the night? I'll be off tomorrow morning.” Seeing her uneasiness, I comforted her, “Take it easy, Jane. Stay with me tonight.” I invited her into the house.

Looking around, Jane appeared to have calmed down. “Let me treat your injury first,” I said and she agreed.

I cleansed and bandaged (包扎) her injured forehead and then gave her some bread and bacon to eat. “Want to sleep in my tent?” I asked her and she nodded. Having left her in the bathroom, I went to look for another sleeping bag. When I returned, Jane was seated on the sofa, her face clouded by sadness.

Walking across the dark yard, I accompanied Jane into the tent. We lay down side by side. Seized by curiosity and concern, I constantly turned over, wondering what had happened to her and how she came here. Jane seemed to have sensed that and started to speak.

Jane's father died of cancer years before. Her mother did odd cleaning jobs to raise her. Money was tight but her mother tried to do what she could to satisfy Jane. Several weeks before, Jane accidentally saw fancy white dress in the store window, which she fell in love with at first sight. She excitedly told her mother about that, who promised to buy it as her birthday gift. From then on, Jane was looking forward to it.

This particular day began at seven in the morning in Casablanca(卡萨布兰卡). My friend Mike and I were going to visit Abdel, a young man we’d worked with on a volunteer project in Kenitra, an industrial city on the Moroccan(摩洛哥) coast. He’d been expecting us to arrive in Casablanca for a few days now, and since he had no telephone, he’d written down his address and name and told us to just show up-his mother and Sisters were always at home.

Apparently the address he had written down was hard for foreigners like us to understand.   When we got into the neighborhood, our taxi driver started asking directions. Eventually, with the help of a policeman, we were led to a house down a winding road. Our driver went to the door and inquired. He came back saying Abdel’s sister was in this house visiting friends and would come along to show us where they lived.

Soon a girl of about sixteen emerged from the house.   Surprisingly, she didn’t look like Abdel at all. Still I’d seen other families where children didn’t look alike, so I didn’t give it too much thought. She then brought us to a yard.   We waited in the yard while the sister went in and returned accompanied by her mother, sisters and brother-in-law, all of whom greeted us with cautious warmth. We were shown into the living room. The mother told us in broken French that Abdel was out, but would be home soon. We sat on low, cushioned seats, drinking sweet mint tea and eating sugar cookies, while the family members sat with us and made shy, polite conversation that frequently fell into uncomfortable silence.

An hour passed, more family members emerged from inner rooms. I was again struck by the fact that none of them looked a thing like our friend.

After another two hours had passed with no sign of Abdel, the family insisted on serving us a meal in their kitchen next door. “Soon,” was the only response I got when I inquired as to what time Abdel might come back.

Finally we heard the words we had been waiting for from the mother. “Please, Abdel is back in the living room.”

I took out the piece of paper Abdel had given me in Kenitra and showed it to the new Abdel.

After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. It’s hard to imagine that the other woman was my mother, who has been living alone for 19 years, but I am too busy to visit her often. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.

“What’s wrong? Are you well?” she asked. My mother always doubts that a late night call is a sign of bad news.

“It would be pleasant to spend some time with you,” I responded.

As I drove over to pick her up, I noticed that she seemed to be nervous about our date. But she smiled from a face that was as beautiful as an angel’s. “I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed,” she said.

We went to a restaurant that was very nice and comfortable. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. I saw mom sitting there looking at me with a smile on her lips.

“I used to have to read the menu when you were small,” she said. “Then it’s time to let me return the favour,” I responded.

During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation-nothing special but catching up on recent events. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, “I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you.” I agreed.

When I got home, my wife shared her story about her mom who passed away years ago.

Several days later, I received my mother’s invitation.