Dear Sharon H,

Loving, this made me cry. How beautiful sweet and so very sad.

Loving, where's the cleanex, please?

I want to give you all a big squeeze because I love each and every 
one of you, my precious loving ones.

Lovingly in Christ,

Pat Ferguson


At 05:43 PM 4/7/2011, you wrote:
>The following story is neither political, religious, nor fiction, 
>and I think you'll like it because it's true.  This has been around 
>but too good not
>to send each time it is received.
>block quote
>
>
>The Sandpiper
>by Robert Peterson
>
>
>She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live..
>I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
>begins to close in on me.  She was building a sand castle or something
>and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
>
>
>'Hello,' she said.
>
>
>I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
>
>
>'I'm building,' she said.
>
>
>'I see that.  What is it?'  I asked, not really caring.
>
>
>'Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand.'
>
>
>That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
>
>
>A sandpiper glided by.
>
>
>'That's a joy,' the child said.
>
>
>'It's a what?'
>
>
>'It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.'
>
>
>The bird went gliding down the beach.  Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
>hello pain, and turned to walk on.  I was depressed, my life seemed
>completely out of balance.
>
>
>'What's your name?'  She wouldn't give up.
>
>
>'Robert,' I answered.  'I'm Robert Peterson.'
>
>
>'Mine's Wendy... I'm six.'
>
>
>'Hi, Wendy.'
>
>
>She giggled.  'You're funny,' she said.
>
>
>In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
>Her musical giggle followed me.
>
>
>'Come again, Mr. P,' she called.  'We'll have another happy day.'
>
>
>The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
>and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out
>of the dishwater.  I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
>
>
>The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.  The breeze was
>chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
>
>
>'Hello, Mr. P,' she said.  'Do you want to play?'
>
>
>'What did you have in mind?' I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
>
>
>'I don't know.  You say.'
>
>
>'How about charades?'  I asked sarcastically.
>
>
>The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  'I don't know what that is..'
>
>
>'Then let's just walk.'
>
>
>Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
>'Where do you live?' I asked.
>
>
>'Over there.'  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
>
>
>Strange, I thought, in winter.
>
>
>'Where do you go to school?'
>
>
>'I don't go to school.  Mommy says we're on vacation.'
>
>
>She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was
>on other things.  When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.
>Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
>
>
>Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I 
>was in no  =
>mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
>like demanding she keep her child at home.
>
>
>'Look, if you don't mind,' I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 'I'd
>rather be alone today.'  She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
>
>
>'Why?' she asked.
>
>
>I turned to her and shouted, 'Because my mother died!' and thought,
>My God, why was I saying this to a little child?
>
>
>'Oh,' she said quietly, 'then this is a bad day.'
>
>
>'Yes,' I said, 'and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!'
>
>
>'Did it hurt?' she inquired.
>
>
>'Did what hurt?' I was exasperated with her, with myself.
>
>
>'When she died?'
>
>
>'Of course it hurt!' I snapped, misunderstanding,
>wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.
>
>
>A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there..
>Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up
>to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking
>young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
>
>
>'Hello,' I said, 'I'm Robert Peterson.  I missed your little girl today
>and wondered where she was.'
>
>
>'Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in.  Wendy spoke of you so much.
>I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.  If she was a nuisance,
>please, accept my apologies.'
>
>
>'Not at all -- she's a delightful child.'  I said, suddenly realizing
>that I meant what I had just said.
>
>
>'Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson.  She had leukemia.
>Maybe she didn't tell you.'
>
>
>Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath.
>
>
>'She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
>She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.
>But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly...' Her voice faltered, 'She left
>something for you, if only I can find it.  Could you wait a moment 
>while I look?'
>
>
>I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
>woman.  She handed me a smeared envelope with 'MR. P' printed in bold
>childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a 
>yellow beach,
>a blue sea, and a brown bird.  Underneath was carefully printed:
>
>
>A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
>
>
>Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love
>opened wide.  I took Wendy's mother in my arms.  'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,
>I'm so sorry,' I uttered over and over, and we wept together.  The 
>precious little
>picture is framed now and hangs in my study.  Six words -- one for each year
>of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.
>
>
>A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand
>-- who taught me the gift of love.
>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson.  It happened over 20
>years ago and the incident changed his life forever..  It serves as a reminder
>to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and 
>each other.
>The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.
>
>
>Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas
>can make us lose focus about what is truly important
>or what is only a momentary setback or crisis..
>
>
>This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means,
>take a moment.... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.
>
>
>This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many
>and now I share it with you...
>
>
>May God Bless everyone who receives this!  There are NO coincidences!
>
>
>Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.  Never brush aside
>anyone as insignificant.  Who knows what they can teach us?
>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>I wish for you, a Sandpiper.
>
>block quote end
>
>
>
>block quote end
>
>=
>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
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>www.avg.com
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>
>block quote end