Ask Bob Lampard

We all, from time to time, get so wrapped up in our own world that we sometimes forget to show the love we owe to our wives, husbands, boy/girlfriends, friends, children and parents.

I came across this simple story and it certainly made me think. Take a look and if it somehow rings a bell with you, leave a comment.

If nothing else please feel free to share it with whoever matters in your life.  I guarantee you will remember the tale of the Wooden Bowl tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now, a year from now.

“The Wooden Bowl”

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year old grandson. The old man’s hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.

The family ate together at the table .. But the elderly grandfather’s shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult.  Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor.  When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.

The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. “We must do something about father,” said the son. “I’ve had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.”

So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.  Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl!

When the family glanced in Grandfather’s direction, sometime he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.

The four-year-old watched it all in silence. One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?”

Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up.” The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.

That evening the husband took Grandfather’s hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

On a positive note, I’ve learned that, no matter what happens, how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.

I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles four things: a rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.

I’ve learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life.

I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life…”

I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.

I’ve learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others, your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.

I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.

I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one.

I’ve learned that every day, you should reach out and touch someone.

People love that human touch — holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn!

I’ve learned that you should pass this on to everyone you care about. I just did.

NOTICE AT THE END, THE DATE THE CANDLE WAS STARTED. GONNA GIVE YOU
GOOSE BUMPS.

I am not going to be the one who lets it die. I found it believable — angels have walked beside me all my life–and they still do.
The Candle Of Love, Hope & Friendship

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This candle was lit on September, 15, 1998.

Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend

Think about this simple story. It’s not just about eating from a wooden bowl but about all the little things we have allowed to become important. Most of them really do not matter much.

Have a great day.

Bob Lampard

I came across this letter by Sally Brompton, who writes for the Sunday Times on the ’subject of love’ and felt I ought to share it with you.

See what you think and let me have your comments.

Last year, I asked a friend what his new year’s resolutions might be. He said he didn’t make resolutions. He set goals. There were quite a few, he said, but by far the most important was, “To love and be loved.” Adorable, no? Most people would simply say they want to find love, a relationship or a boyfriend, as if love was a state of having rather than one of sharing.

That friend has still not found love, which drives his closest friend, my normally sane husband, to the conclusion that all women are in some way mad. It may be because he tucks his T-shirts into his trousers. Still, you’d think anyone would jump at the chance to be loved by someone who understands that losing is the better part of love.

But most of us, sadly, are weirdly had at being loved, perhaps because we find it hard to believe that we are lovable. You cannot accept love if you think you might be unworthy in some way. The real luxury of love is being at ease in ourselves. We might catch the odd, fleeting glimpse, when our child smiles, when the person we love looks at us and thinks that we are perfect, when, for just a moment, this difficult, disjointed universe holds its breath. Or we might try to create it in ourselves.

We talk, in the vaguest way, about “finding love”, as if it is some rare butterfly that must be netted, rather than an act of conscious effort. We rarely talk about wanting to “give love”, but instead focus on giddy happiness and a world suddenly transformed and made wonderful. We want love to be done to us.

But love comes in two parts — receiving and giving. Love is seeing another person as they are (rather than as we want them to be). And it is allowing ourselves to be seen as we truly are — all flaws and frailties forgiven. My husband does not buy me diamonds or handbags or fine leather shoes, but every time he goes to the supermarket, he never forgets to buy a crate of my favourite Diet Coke (of which he strongly disapproves), and he has never once taken me to task for the cigarettes I love so much. He does not try to change me, but leaves the question of giving them up to me, which I will one day.

My favourite therapist says there are only two pure emotions — love and fear. “Live in love,” she says, not as an idle instruction from a self-help manual, but as a serious act that requires discipline, focus and intense effort. For me, this may mean accepting my husband’s occasional dark mood as his own, and not mine to take personally, and giving him a hug rather than a cold shoulder. Or it may simply mean smiling at a stranger. I know if I live in love, the world seems better.

Every morning, very early, I take my teenage daughter to the Tube to go to school. Inevitably, this being the inner city, there is somebody ranting on the pavement, mad with drink or crack. The first time it happened, Molly was so frightened, she wanted to cross the road. I held her hand and we both said, “Good morning,” smiling at the woman who was shouting. A hand shot out to pat Molly clumsily on the shoulder. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean no harm. You have a good morning too.”

We are all frightened. None of us feels good enough, so we turn inward, not outward — to drink, to drugs, to food, to loneliness. We are blinded by self-absorption. We forget that we are all in this together. Just the other day, when life seemed difficult and hostile, I found a text message on my phone from a friend. “Don’t ever forget how much you are loved.” It was a small gesture, born out of enormous generosity. Immediately, it made the world seem better. And that is the luxury of love.