"If you Love her enough"

If You Love Her Enough

 My friend John always has something to tell me. He knows so much that young men have to have older and more worldly wise men to tell them. For instance who to trust, how to care for others, and how to live life to the fullest.

Recently, John lost his wife Janet. For eight years she fought against cancer, but in the end her sickness had the last word.

One day John took out a folded piece of paper from his wallet. He had found it, so he told me, when he tidied up some drawers at home. It was a small love letter Janet had written. The note could look like a school girl's scrawls about her dream guy. All that was missing was a drawing of a heart with the names John and Janet written in it. But the small letter was written by a woman who had had seven children; a woman who fought for her life and who probably only had a few months left to live.

It was also a beautiful recipe for how to keep a marriage together.

Janet's description of her husband begins thus: "Loved me. Took care of me. Worried about me."

Even though John always had a ready answer, he never joked about cancer apparently. Sometimes he came home in the evening to find Janet in the middle of one of those depressions cancer patients so often get. In no time he got her into the car and drove her to her favourite restaurant. He showed consideration for her, and she knew it. You cannot hide something for someone who knows better.

"Helped me when I was ill," the next line reads. Perhaps Janet wrote this while the cancer was in one of the horrible and wonderful lulls. Where everything is -- almost -- as it used to be, before the sickness broke out, and where it doesn't hurt to hope that everything is over, maybe forever.  "Forgave me a lot."   "Stood by my side."

And a piece of good advice for everyone who looks on giving constructive criticism as a kind of sacred duty: "Always praising."

"Made sure I had everything I needed," she goes on to write. After that she has turned over the paper and added: "Warmth. Humour. Kindness. Thoughtfulness." And then she writes about the husband she has lived with and loved the most of her life: "Always there for me when I needed you."

The last words she wrote sum up all the others. I can see her for me when she adds thoughtfully:  "Good friend."

I stand beside John now, and cannot even pretend to know how it feels to lose someone who is as close to me as Janet was to him. I need to hear what he has to say much more than he needs to talk.  "John," I ask. "How do you stick together with someone through 38 years -- not to mention the sickness? How do I know if I can bear to stand by my wife's side if she becomes sick one day?" "You can," he says quietly. "If you love her enough, you can." 

"Just Five More Minutes"

 

 Just Five More Minutes

While at the park one day, a woman sat down next to a man on a bench near a playground.

"That's my son over there," she said, pointing to a little boy in a red sweater who was gliding down the slide.

"He's a fine looking boy" the man said. "That's my daughter on the bike in the white dress."

Then, looking at his watch, he called to his daughter. "What do you say we go, Melissa?"

Melissa pleaded, "Just five more minutes, Dad. Please? Just five more minutes."

The man nodded and Melissa continued to ride her bike to her heart's content. Minutes passed and the father stood and called again to his daughter. '"Time to go now?"

Again Melissa pleaded, "Five more minutes, Dad. Just five more minutes."

The man smiled and said, "OK."

"My, you certainly are a patient father," the woman responded.

The man smiled and then said, "Her older brother Tommy was killed by a drunk driver last year while he was riding his bike near here. I never spent much time with Tommy and now I'd give anything for just five more minutes with him. I've vowed not to make the same mistake with Melissa.

She thinks she has five more minutes to ride her bike. The truth is, I get Five more minutes to watch her play."

Life is all about making priorities, what are your priorities?

Give someone you love 5 more minutes of your time today!

" Easter morning surprise "

 Easter morning surprise

On a quiet Easter morning, the village of Willowbrook woke to the soft glow of sunrise and the scent of fresh bread drifting from open windows. Children hurried down cobblestone paths with woven baskets in hand, eager for the annual egg hunt. But this year felt different—colder somehow, quieter.

At the edge of the village lived an old woman named Elara, who hadn’t joined the Easter festivities in years. People said she used to host the grandest celebrations, filling her garden with laughter, music, and bright painted eggs. But after she lost her husband, her gates stayed closed, and her garden slowly faded.

That morning, a young girl named Lila noticed something odd while searching for eggs. Near Elara’s gate lay a single golden egg—far more beautiful than any she’d seen. It shimmered softly, as if holding a secret. Instead of putting it in her basket, Lila hesitated… then gently pushed open the creaky gate.

Inside, the garden was overgrown, but beneath the wild vines were traces of what once had been—colorful stones, broken lanterns, and faded ribbons. Lila followed a narrow path to the door and knocked.

Elara opened it slowly, surprised to see anyone there. Before she could speak, Lila held out the golden egg.

“I think this belongs here,” she said.

Elara stared at the egg, her eyes filling with tears. “I used to make these,” she whispered. “Each one was meant to remind people that even after the longest winter, life finds its way back.”

Lila smiled. “Then maybe it still does.”

Something in those simple words stirred warmth in Elara’s heart. She invited Lila inside, and together they dusted off old paints, cleaned the garden, and hung new ribbons. By afternoon, curious villagers peeked in, then stepped inside, one by one.

Soon the garden was alive again—children laughing, colours blooming, and tables filled with food. Elara stood in the middle of it all, surrounded by life she thought she’d lost forever.

As the sun set, she placed the golden egg at the center of the garden.

“Easter isn’t just about what’s been,” she said softly, “but what can begin again.”

And in Willowbrook, that year, Easter became more than a celebration—it became a reminder that even the smallest act of kindness can bring a heart back to life.