The architect Ban Shigeru uses paper tubes to make his buildings. It sounds like a strange idea, but he was not the first to build with paper. In 1922, an American named Elis Stenman built his whole house using newspapers. The house has a wooden frame, but everything else is newspapers. The papers are rolled up and painted to make them strong. The paper is excellent insulation so the house is cool in summer and warm in winter.

Stenman’s purpose for building with newspapers was to show people how much useful material we waste. Newspapers are not the only useful thing that we throw away. How about beer bottles? In 1984, monks at the Wat Pa Maha Chedi Kaew temple in Thailand helped each other to do something about the pollution in their area. The monks talked to the people and the businesses to donate their used beverage containers. The reason why they did this was that they wanted to show people how even old beer bottles could be useful, so they built their temple using a million glass beer bottles.

Our house was directly across the street from the entrance of a popular hospital in the city. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful-looking man. “Why, he’s hardly taller than my eight-year-old,” I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, “Good evening. I’ve come to see if you’ve a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there’s no bus ’till the morning.” He told me he’d been hunting for a room since noon but he had no success as no one seemed to have a room. “I guess it’s my face. I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments…”

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: “I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning.” I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us “No thank you. I have plenty.” And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him for a few minutes.

It didn’t take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn’t tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going. At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children’s room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, “Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won’t put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair.” He paused a moment and then added, “Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don’t seem to mind.” I told him he was welcome to come again.

On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they’d be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.

Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts more precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. “Did you keep that awful-looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!”

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, “If this were my plant, I’d put it in the loveliest container I had!” My friend changed my mind.
“I ran short of pots,” she explained, “and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting out in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden.”

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. “He won’t mind starting in this small body.”

Once upon a time, there lived a farmer who grew high quality award winning corn. Each year he would enter in the state farmer’s fair and win a gold award for his exceptionally good corns. The farmer’s high quality corn was praised all around in the state. The success story of his exceptional corn reached the ears of a journalist and he wanted to interview the farmer. While he was learning about the agriculture process of the farmer, he discovered that the farmer shared his best quality seeds with his neighbors.

“How can you afford to share your best corn seeds with your neighbors when some of them compete with you in the agriculture fair?”, asked the curious reporter. “Why wouldn’t I Sir?” asked the farmer. “Didn’t you know that the wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior quality corn, cross-pollination would eventually degrade the quality of my corn too. If I am to grow high quality corn, I must help my neighbors grow a good corn too.” The farmer’s answer made the reporter realize how aware the old farmer was about connections in life.

It is the same with our life. Those who choose to live in peace must help others around them to live in peace too. The one who wishes to be loved must first learn to love others too. The one who chooses to live well must help to make others live well too, as the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. Those who choose to be happy must let others find their happiness as the welfare of each is intertwined with the welfare of all.

A young man was proud of his healthy and beautiful heart. One day, standing in the middle of the town, he proclaimed that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered to have a look at his heart. His heart was smooth, shiny and looked very healthy. Indeed, the man had the most beautiful heart in the valley, everyone agreed.

The proud young man felt delighted and boasted his perfect heart which everyone admired. Suddenly, a voice from the crowd said, “Your heart is not as beautiful as mine.” The young man searched for the person behind the voice and an old man appeared in front him.

“Show us your heart if you believe you have got more beautiful heart than mine.” said the young man. The old man carefully showed his heart. The crowd and the young man looked at the old man’s heart. The heart was beating strongly and healthily but it was not smooth and shiny as the young man’s heart. Instead, it had scars all over it. It had places where some pieces of the heart had been removed and other pieces were put in. The other pieces didn’t fit perfectly and there were several uneven edges. In some places, there were deep gouges where some pieces were missing.

The crowd laughed at the old man’s heart. “How can he claim that he has the most beautiful heart when it is all scarred and uneven,” they thought.

The young man looked at the old man’s heart and laughed. “You must be kidding. Compare your heart and mine. My heart looks perfect and smooth and yours is a mess of scars and tears.”

“Yes, your heart looks perfect, but I would never trade your heart with mine”, said the old man. “Every scar in my heart represents a person whom I have given my love. I tear a piece of my heart and give to them. Often, my loved one gives me back a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart. Since everyone loves each other in a different way. Their piece of heart may not perfectly fit my heart, so you can see some rough edges. These scars and rough edges remind me of the love we shared,” he continued.

“Sometimes I would give a piece of my heart, but the other person may not return a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges. Although these gouges are painful, these remind me of the love I have for these people too. So do you now see what a true beauty?” asked the old man.

The young man and the crowd stood silently with tears running down their cheeks. The young man walked to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, ripped a piece out of it and offered it to the man with trembling hands.

The old man gratefully received is offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old heart and placed it in the young man’s heart.

The young man looked at his heart, it did not look shiny and smooth like it used to. But, it was now more beautiful because he could feel the love from the old man’s heart flowing into him.

They embraced and walked away side by side.

A professor entered his classroom with a glass of water. He raised the glass of water. Everyone in the room expected the “half-empty or half-full” question. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, the professor smiled and inquired: “How heavy is this glass of water?” The answers called out for the range from 8 Oz to 15 Oz. “I need to weigh it to know exactly how much it weighs. But forget about the exact weight. The real question I really want you to answer is: What happens if I hold the glass up for a minute?” “I don’t understand your question exactly, but I think it is nothing to hold the glass for a minute,” one of the students answered. “Good. But what if I hold it for an hour?” asked the professor.
“Your arms will start aching,” answered another student. “You are right! But what if I held it up for a whole day?” queried the professor. “Your arm will feel numb, your muscle will get stressed, and your arm may even get paralyzed,” ventured still another student. “You are right!” exclaimed the professor. “So what should I do to avoid the pain?” asked the professor. “Keep the glass down,” answered a student. “Exactly!” said the professor. He continued: “In any case, the weight of the glass remains the same. However, the longer I held it up, the heavier it becomes. The stress and worries in life are like the glass of water. If you think about them for a while, nothing happens. Think about them for longer, they will start hurting. Think about them for even longer, you will feel stress and be paralyzed.” Perhaps you may replay a negative event (e.g., nasty conversation) you had with someone over and over in your head, and each time you replay your talk, you beat yourself up for something you said. Playing the same scene repeatedly increases your worry and distress. As you repeat the painful moments in your mind, you are magnifying your misfortune. As a result, your self-confidence dwindles and hopelessness becomes overwhelming. It is important to think about problems in your life. But you should not carry your stress so long that it begins to ache and paralyze your life. It is important to let go of your stress. Don’t carry your stress all day and always remember to put the glass down before you go to bed!

As she stood in front of her 5th-grade class on the very first day of school, she
told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and
said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, marking bold X’s and then putting a big ‘F’ at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners… he is a joy to be around.’

His second-grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.’

His third-grade teacher wrote, “His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn’t show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.’

Teddy’s fourth-grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class.’

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy’s. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, ‘Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.’

After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her teacher’s pets.

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer…. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his mother had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson’s ear, “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.’

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, ‘Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn’t know how to teach until I met you.’

Note: This story by Elizabeth Ballard was originally published in Home Life Magazine in 1976 and became one of the most requested stories in the magazine’s history. Ever since then, several versions of this story have circulated around the Internet.

A sign above a shop read- “Puppies for Sale.” Signs like these have a way of grabbing the attention of the children. A small boy, upon seeing the sign, entered the shop asking; “How much are you selling the puppies for?” The shop owner said- “Anywhere from $30 to $50.”
The little boy removed all the money he had from his pocket–“I have $2.37,” he said. “Can I please look at them?” The shop owner smiled and whistled. From the kennel, five cute puppies ran out. One puppy was lagging considerably behind. Pointing at the dog the little boy asked- “what is wrong with that one?” The shopkeeper explained- “the hip socket of the puppy is missing. At least that is what the veterinarian said. It will never walk properly again.” The little boy cheered with excitement- “That is the puppy that I want to buy.” “You don’t have to buy that dog. You can have it for free.” The little boy was upset. He looked up at the shop owner and said; “I don’t want you to give him to me. That dog is of equal worth as the rest of the dogs. I’ll give you $2.37 now, and 50 cents a month until I have him fully paid for.” The shopkeeper replied- “Are you sure you want this dog? It is never going to walk, run or play with you.”
The little boy lifted one side of his pants up exposing his crippled legs supported on a big metal brace. He looked up at the shop owner and softly replied, “Well, I don’t run so well myself, and the little puppy will need someone who understands!”

He met her at a party. She was so outstanding, many guys chasing after her, while he was average-looking, shy and awkward.

At the end of the party, he finally summoned some courage to invite the girl to have coffee with him. She was surprised, but out of politeness, she accepted his invitation to go on a date. They both sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything, she felt uncomfortable, waiting for coffee. With him being so shy and awkward around her, it seemed like the conversation between them would never start.

The coffee was brought and suddenly, he asked the waiter. “Would you please get me some salt? I’d like to put it in my coffee!” Everyone at the cafe stared at him with a strange look! His face turned red, but still, he put the salt in his coffee and drank it. She asked him curiously, “Why this unusual habit?” He took a couple of sips and replied, “When I was a little boy, I lived near the sea. I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea, just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, think of my hometown, I miss my hometown so much, I miss my parents who are still living there.” While saying that, tears filled his eyes.

She was deeply touched. That’s his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart. A man who can tell out his homesickness, he must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has realized his responsibility for his family … She then started talking about her childhood, her faraway hometown, and her family.

That was a really nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their love story. They continued to date. She found that actually, he was a man who met all her demands: he had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful. He was such a good man and had it not been for the salt in the coffee, she’d never have really known him!

The rest of the story was just like any other beautiful love story: they finally got married, and they lived a very happy married life. And sure! every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, just the way he liked it! After 40 years of marital bliss, he died after a short illness.

One day, she found a letter he had left for her which said:

“My dearest, please forgive me, forgive my whole life’s lie. This was the only lie I told you—the salty coffee. Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time. Actually, I wanted some sugar, but I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought that could be the start of our conversation! I wanted to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I promised not to lie to you for anything… Now I’m dying, so I tell you the truth, I don’t like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste… But I have had the salty coffee for my whole life! Having you with me is my biggest happiness for my whole life. If I can live for the second time, I still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even though I have to drink the salty coffee again.

Please forgive me, darling, for lying to you first in that coffee shop and then not telling you the truth every time you made coffee for me! I am not lying now when I say, I couldn’t have that coffee any other way! – still madly in love with you.”

Tears fell down her cheek as she finished reading the letter.

If anybody asks her: “How did that salted coffee taste?” “It’s sweet.” She always replied.

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that the island was going to sink, so they all needed to vacate it as soon as possible. All the feelings prepared their boats and left. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to stay until it started sinking. When Love was almost sinking, he decided to ask for help.
Wealth was passing by Love in a beautiful boat. Love said, “Wealth, can you take me with you?” Wealth answered, “No, I can’t. There are a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you.” Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by, “Vanity, please help me!” “I can’t help you Love. You are all wet and can probably damage my boat,” Vanity answered. Sadness was close by so Love asked for help, “Sadness, let me go with you.” “Oh, Love, I am so sad that I prefer to go alone!” Happiness passed by Love too, but she was so happy that she did not hear when Love called her! Suddenly, there was a voice, “Come Love, I will take you.” It was an elder. Love became so happy that he even forgot to ask the elder her name. When they arrived at dry land, the elder went on her own way. Love asked Knowledge, another elder, the name of the elder who had helped him. “It was Time,” answered Knowledge. “Time? But why did Time help me?” asked Love. “Because only Time is capable of understanding how valuable Love is,” answered Knowledge.

When I was a little girl I used to sit in the kitchen and watch Mother bake bread. I loved to watch her throw the dough on the board, grasp it with her large, sure hands, and knead it. The dough came up between her fingers as she squeezed it. When it was just right, she smoothed it into a big flat mass and cut it into pieces. The dough went down – and then came up again as if it were breathing. She molded one part after another into loaves, dropped them into buttered pans, patted the tops with melted butter, and then popped them into the oven. I always waited breathlessly for her to open the oven door, and when she did I was always excited by the miracle of the little white loaf growing so quickly into a big, golden brown loaf. Then after what seemed to me almost forever, the bread was baked. When it had cooled a little, Mother often cut off a brown, crisp heel for me and spread it with butter. My mouth waters now when I think of its crispiness, its softness inside, its sweet nutlike richness.