Who Would You Choose?

I just recalled a story someone told me a long time ago .

Actually, it was more of a test than a story as several companies (allegedly) pose this question to job applicants as a test of character.

It goes something like this:



You are riding your motorbike down a remote mountain road one day when clouds begin to loom overhead and droplets start to fall.

The nearest town either way is a long way off but you come up to a bus stop where you can park your motorbike and put on a rain jacket.

Strangely, you find 3 very important people sitting at the bus stop, sheltering from the rain: your mother, your best friend and the love of your life.

Here's the question.

Since you have a motorbike, you can only carry ONE person with you.

Now, WHO would you choose to take with you?

When you have your answer, scroll down.































It turned out that the applicant who got the job said he would give the bike to his best friend so that he could take his mother with him back to the nearest town while he himself would wait out the rain with the love of his life.

Can't Get Any Wiser Than This

A slice of conversation last night:

Me: So, what do you think of Jane?

Pretty girl Jane's just leaving the cafe. We chatted with her and her friend at the next table earlier.

The Other Dude: (Frowns) Umm... she's ok lah. But I prefer her sister.

Me: Ok, cool. Who's her sister?

TOD: Jennifer.

Me: Which one's Jennifer again?

TOD: Neeehhh... the one in Perth.

Me: Wow. Thanks man. That's like saying there's sand in the Sahara.

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

- by Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936)

Friendship, Cooperation, Love

A Baby's Hug

I found this in my inbox today amidst major changes in my life at the moment. More on those later. But this article hit home and reaffirmed some principles I hold.

~A Baby's Hug ~

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly,Erik squealed with glee and said, 'Hi.' He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray.

His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes.

His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. 'Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,' the man said to Erik.

My husband and I exchanged looks, 'What do we do?' Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.' Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby.

Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, 'Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek- a-boo.' Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk.

My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; All except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.

'Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,' I prayed.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's 'pick-me-up' position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man.

Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes.

His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck.

The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice: 'You take care of this baby.' Somehow I managed: 'I will,' from a throat that contained a stone.


He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said: 'God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift.' I said nothing more than a muttered thanks.

With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, 'My God, my God, forgive me.'

I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes.

I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, 'Are you willing to share your son for a moment?' when He shared His for all eternity.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, 'To enter the Kingdom of God , we must become as little children.'

Sometimes, it takes a child to remind us of what is really important. We must always remember who we are, where we came from and, most importantly, how we feel about others.

The clothes on your back or the car that you drive or the house that you live in, does not define you at all; it is how you treat your fellow man that identifies who you are.