We generally change ourselves for one of two reasons: inspiration or desperation.

Leading Change

Leadership is about change. If you need no change, you need no leader. In times of change, people seek out more and better leaders. Those successful sought-out leaders embrace the following thought: “The best reformers the world has ever known are those who began with themselves.”

Mahatma Gandhi said, “We must be the change that we envision.” Tolstoy said, “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

The following comments are about personal change:

1. One person cannot change another person.
When I started as a young leader, I thought that a leader could change the people; and boy, did I work at it. I said, “All right, I’m going to give them thoughts, ideas, and principles; and I’m going to change people.”

After several years, I awakened to the thought that the only person who can change himself or herself is himself or herself. You can change yourself, but I cannot change you. You see, I am responsible to you but I am not responsible for you; and there is a world of difference between those two. I am responsible for teaching you good leadership, I am responsible for sharing things that can help add value to your life; but you are the only one who can take responsibility to change yourself, and that is what this whole article is about.

2. Most people need to look at the way that they look at change.
How many times have you heard somebody say, “I sure hope things will change.” The only way things will change for me is when I change. It has nothing to do with hope. You can’t just say, “Well, I just hope things will change around me,” and expect results. The only way that things will change for me is when I change.

I have also heard this before, “I don’t know why I’m this way.” Well, you are the way you are because that is the way you want to be. Let’s expose it for what it really is.

3. When you make the right personal changes, other things begin to turn out right.
So when people say, “I’d like things to turn out better for me, I’d like things to turn out right, I’d like things to turn out better in the organization, or in my family,” I say to them, “Start by making personal changes.”

by Dr. John C. Maxwell

Here Are Some Examples:

Years ago, a young mother about to go out with her husband prepared to feed their baby before they left. The husband became impatient as she started her daily routine of mashing vegetables through a strainer. Tired of him standing over her with the car keys in one hand and the other hand on the door knob, she turned the task over to him. Within a few minutes, the strainer, peas, carrots, and bowl ended up in his lap. As he changed clothes, he reasoned that there must be a better way to prepare baby food and that there must be a lot of frustrated parents who didn´t enjoy the monotony of straining fruit and vegetables three times a day. Soon, they began discussing the idea of designing machinery to strain the food in a factory and sell it already prepared.

Fortunately, the young father and his dad owned a small canning plant, but it was difficult to sell the older man on the concept. One mistake that harmed a child would destroy everything it had taken them a lifetime to build.

And what about the expense of marketing surveys, developing and financing new machinery, packaging, getting stores to accept the products, and getting parents to buy something totally new at a price that would be both affordable and profitable? You’ve been through this in your own organization or family when someone comes up with an idea that colors outside the lines! I see you’re nodding affirmatively.

The risk was enormous, but in the end, they went forward with their idea because it filled a need they understood first-hand. They had the skills and experience. And the market was so vast that the positive benefits far outweighed the negative factors. One year after Dan Gerber dumped the strainer of cooked vegetables into his lap, the Gerber Products Company introduced its first five baby foods to the market. The point of the story is that, so often, an idea becomes a goal when we realize it meets a need in our own lives and the lives of others. Our motivation to achieve this goal is dependent upon how strong our need is and whether or not we have the determination, optimism and toughness to follow through our ideas to fruition.

Consider the following:

- The outboard motor was invented by Ole Evinrude because he couldn’t row the boat fast enough on a Wisconsin lake to keep his girlfriend’s ice cream from melting.

- The Automatic Dishwasher was invented by a woman whose housekeeper kept breaking her fine china when she washed it by hand.

- The ice cream cone was invented by a waffle vendor who ran out of plates to serve his waffles.

- The Polaroid camera was invented by Edward Land because his daughter wanted to see the pictures she took with her camera right away, rather than wait.

- And the hot dog was invented by a German immigrant whose silk gloves used to serve bratwurst in his restaurant were taken home by his patrons. His solution was to split a bun, and serve the bratwurst that way. Yes, necessity is the mother of invention.

This week think about what problem or need you have that you might solve with an innovative idea, product or service.

Find out How You Can Best Change You

Red Marbles by:
Author Unknown

During the waning years of the depression in a small Idaho community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller’s roadside stand for farm fresh produce as the season made it available.

Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used extensively.
One day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me.

I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me. “Hello Barry, how are you today?”
“H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.. sure look good.”

“They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?” “Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.” “Good. Anything I can help you with?” “No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.”
“Would you like to take some home?” “No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.”
“Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?”
“All I got’s my prize marble here.” “Is that right? Let me see it.” “Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.” “I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?”
“Not zackley … but almost.” “Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble.” “Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.”
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, “There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps.”

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had the occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there I learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts … all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

“Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim “traded” them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size … they came to pay their debt.”

“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,” she confided, “but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.” With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Thing I Value Most
by: Author Unknown

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man.
College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.” Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

“Jack, did you hear me?”

“Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.

“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.

“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.

“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.

“He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important… Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown.

Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered.
Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture… Jack stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked.

“The box is gone,” he said.

“What box? ” Mom asked.

“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most,’”
Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said. “I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
“Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,”
the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.

The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

“Mr. Harold Belser” it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside.”Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It’s the thing I valued most in my life.” A small key was taped to the letter.

His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.

Inside he found these words engraved: “Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser.”

“The thing he valued most… was… my time.”

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.

“Why?” Janet, his assistant asked.

“I need some time to spend with my son,” he said.

“Oh, by the way, Janet… thanks for your time!”

The Thing I Value Most
by: Author Unknown

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man.
College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.” Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

“Jack, did you hear me?”

“Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.

“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.

“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.

“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.

“He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important… Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown.

Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered.
Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture… Jack stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked.

“The box is gone,” he said.

“What box? ” Mom asked.

“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most,’”
Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said. “I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
“Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,”
the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.

The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

“Mr. Harold Belser” it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside.”Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It’s the thing I valued most in my life.” A small key was taped to the letter.

His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.

Inside he found these words engraved: “Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser.”

“The thing he valued most… was… my time.”

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.

“Why?” Janet, his assistant asked.

“I need some time to spend with my son,” he said.

“Oh, by the way, Janet… thanks for your time!”
So Who Are You Not Giving Their True Value? Could It Be YOU?

I git this in an email ..you Know the Ones that say: Have send this to

5, 10 people etc. Well I just don’t ..But for some reason I read this one and Thought HMMMM

This One Is worthwhile Sharing with everyone!! Why Because It isn’t really that uncommon or is it??

My mom only had one eye. I hated her… She was such an embarrassment. .
She cooked for students & teachers to support the family.

My mom only had one eye. I hated her… She was such an embarrassment. .
She cooked for students & teachers to support the family.

There was this one day during elementary school where my mom came to Say hello to me.

I was so embarrassed.

How could she do this to me?
I ignored her, threw her a hateful look and ran out.
The next day at school one of my classmates said, “EEEE, your mom only
Has one eye!”

I wanted to bury myself.
I also wanted my mom to just disappear..
I confronted her that day and said, ” If you’re only goanna make me a
Laughing stock, why don’t you just die?”

My mom did not respond….
I didn’t even stop to think for a second about what I had said, because
I was full of anger.
I was oblivious to her feelings.

I wanted out of that house, and have nothing to do with her.
So I studied real hard, got a chance to go abroad to study.
Then, I got married.
I bought a house of my own.
I had kids of my own.
I was happy with my life, my kids and the comforts, Then one day, my Mother came to visit me.
She hadn’t seen me in years and she didn’t even meet her
Grandchildren.

When she stood by the door, my children laughed at her, and I yelled at Her for coming over uninvited.
I screamed at her, “How dare you come to my house and scare my
Children!”
GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!!!”

And to this, my mother quietly answered, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I may have Gotten the wrong address,”
And she disappeared out of sight.
One day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house.

So I lied to my wife that I was going on a business trip.
After the reunion, I went to the old shack just out of curiosity.
My neighbors said that she died.
I did not shed a single tear.
They handed me a letter that she had wanted me to have.

“My dearest son,
I think of you all the time. I’m sorry that I came to your house and Scared your children.
I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion.
But I may not be able to even get out of bed to see you.
I’m sorry that I was a constant embarrassment to you when you were Growing up.
You see……..when you were very little, you got into an accident, and Lost your eye.
As a mother, I couldn’t stand watching you
Having to grow up with one eye.
So I gave you mine.
I was so proud of my son who was seeing a whole new world for me, in my Place, with that eye.

With all my love to you,
Your mother.

Growing Up or Growing Old

By: Author Unknown

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know.

I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a Smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, “Hi, handsome! My name is Rose. I’m 87 years old.

Can I give you a hug?”

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze.

“Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked. She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel.”

“No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends.

Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop.

I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me. Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her 3×5 cards on the floor.

Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order, so let me just tell you what I know.” As we laughed, she cleared her throat and

began:

“We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor everyday. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead, and they don’t even know it!” she said.

“There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn 20 years old. If I am 87 years old, and stay in bed for a year, and never do anything, I will turn 88. Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability,” she added.

“The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change. Have no regrets. The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.”

She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.”

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the years end, Rose finished the college degree she had

begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose

died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college

students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful

woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be

all you can possibly be.

The Pickle Jar
by: Author Unknown

The pickle jar, as far back as I can remember, sat beside
the dresser in my parents’ bedroom. When he got ready for
bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the
jar. As they were dropped into the jar, they landed with a
merry jingle when the jar was almost empty.

Then, the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar
filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and
admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a
pirate’s treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom
window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the
kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the
bank.

Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production.
Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were
placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck. Each
and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at
me hopefully. “Those coins are going to keep you out of the
textile mill, son. You’re going to do better than me. This
old mill town’s not going to hold you back.” Also, each and
every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the
counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin
proudly and say, “These are for my son’s college fund. He’ll
never work at the mill all his life like me.”

We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an
ice cream cone. I always got chocolate; Dad always got
vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad
his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his
palm. “When we get home, we’ll start filling the jar again.”
He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As
they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned
at each other. “You’ll get to college on pennies, nickels,
dimes and quarters,” he said. “But you’ll get there. I’ll
see to that.”

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in
another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the
phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was
gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump
rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser
where the jar had always stood. My Dad was a man of few
words, and never lectured me on the values of determination,
perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all
these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of
words could have done.

When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant
part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In
my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my
Dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got a home, Dad
continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the
summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to
serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime
was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked
across the table at me pouring catsup over my beans to make
them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to
make a way out for me. “When you finish college, Son,” he
told me, his eyes glistening, “you’ll never have to eat
beans again, unless you want to.”

The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we
spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad
sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling
their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and
Susan took her from Dad’s arms. “She probably needs to be
changed,” she said, carrying the baby into my parents’
bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living
room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed
Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me
into the room. “Look,” she said softly, her eyes directing
me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my
amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the
old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I
walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and
pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions
choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. Then I looked
up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly
into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling
the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak, but
we knew nothing had to be said.

Creative Goal-Setting for Kids and Teens

by Denis Waitley

An Indian guide who displayed uncanny skills in navigating the rugged regions of the Southwest was asked how he did it. “What is your secret of being an expert tracker and trail-blazer?”, a visitor asked him.

The guide answered: “There is no secret. One must only possess the far vision and the near look. The first step is to determine where you want to go. Then you must be sure that each step you take is a step in that direction.”

A dream is what you would like for life to be. A Goal is what you intend to make happen. A goal is the near look; what, specifically, you intend to do on a daily basis to get there.

No matter what their current ages, try to determine the sensory learning style of each of your children: visual, auditory, or kinesthetic. Visual learners understand and remember best what they see. Auditory learners prefer to hear and verbalize in order to comprehend. Kinesthetic learners need to involve touch and movement into the processing of new concepts, and to learn by doing. All of these styles have some overlap because we all use hearing, seeing and doing. But keep these styles in mind when you stimulate your children’s creative and goal-setting activities.

To build a pattern of positive expectations for your children, they need a way to keep score. Children know they are doing well when the task or project is well defined and the goals are clearly stated. How can a child experience the thrill of hitting the bull’s eye, when he or she doesn’t know what the target is? Kids need to see the end before they begin a task or they will lose interest. When you are giving your child a task, such as cleaning her room, be specific in telling her what you want her to do and when you want it done and stick to it. By providing a clear and specific ending, your child can look forward to enjoying time with her friends when the task is completed.

Goals are the target of success! Who you see is who you’ll be. What you set is what you get. Help your kids get the far vision, the dream. Help them get the near look, the steps and action plans that pave the road to their dreams. Participate in your children’s games, problem-solving exercises, field trips and creative projects. Instead of telling them how things work, help them learn to discover the “hows” and “whys.”

Help your children dream about their future. Set the example by jotting down and cutting pictures out to describe family dreams. Assist them in defining their own goals and writing them down on index cards. Post the cards in their bedroom or on a board where they can see and review their goals daily.

Help your kids prioritize their goals. Have them consider their goals in the order of their importance. Place beside each written goal, a proposed target date for the attainment of that goal.

Help your child make plans. Unfortunately, many kids view problems as insurmountable mountains. Your role as parents is to help them view problems as opportunities. Teach them to go over, around, under or to bore a hole right through their roadblocks.

Show children how to prepare a daily “to do” list. In the evening, help prepare a list of a few important things to do the following day. At the end of the day, help them review their progress. By using index cards, you can use a file box to store daily activity cards. Monthly, quarterly and yearly, let them go through the cards in the box, to see all they have accomplished through step-by-step actions.

Help your kids to visualize, in advance, what the accomplishment of their goals looks and feels like. Bedtime is an ideal setting, where you can see in their imaginations where they want to be, what they want to do, and things they will have to work and save for to get.

Build goals and evaluations around the school year. When you go over your child’s report card, discuss the goals that he set for himself and how he is doing toward achieving those goals. Share with your child any comments teachers might have regarding his grades.

Kids need rewards and behavior that gets rewarded gets repeated, especially if they understand that the reward is coming when the goal is accomplished. Rewards do not have to be strictly financial, but can be going out for an ice cream or whatever your child enjoys doing. By rewarding goal directed behavior, you are providing additional incentive to achieve almost any goal.

Denis Waitley

When you have children  MyChild Profiles are a must to find out what their hardwired style is….

Welcome to a more peaceful world

In most families, children are quite different from one another – and their parents. What works for one, doesn’t necessarily work for the other. Discovering a child’s behavioural and personality style can greatly assist you in becoming the best parent or teacher for that particular child.

Mychild Behavioural Reports will help you:

• Create a harmonious and rewarding partnership with your child
• Reduce the number of conflicts at home and in the classroom
• Help children get along better with their friends and classmates
• Identify a child’s natural gifts
• Recognise areas for motivation and growth
• Improve your relationship and communication skills

Mychild is designed to help you communicate more effectively with your child or children. Understanding each child’s personal style will prevent unwanted clashes and conflicts.

Know Yourself First

We encourage parents, guardians and teachers to first complete their own behavioural assessment to gain a better understanding of why you behave the way you do. Each style may cause conflict and stress in other styles and your ability to adjust is essential if you are to maintain harmony at home and in the class room.

Our children are not like us

For most parents their children are not like them. One of the common mistakes parents make is to assume their children are like them. For most parents this is not the case. Their children do not share the same way of coping with conflict, managing time, setting priorities, forming relationships, career paths or the way they handle their emotions. These differences are the prime cause of conflict and disharmony. These behavioural style differences if not understood create dysfunctional families and often reflect on the child’s poor performance at school.

Discover Your Child’s Behavioural Style

Every child has one dominant style that determines the way they behave. This style is constant throughout their lives and sets the basis for how they will form relationships with other people. Most children also have a secondary style and when combined with the dominant style creates the child’s personality.

We have named these four dominant styles:

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“Thought This was Brilliant and Parents Must Read”- Creative Goal-Setting for Kids and Teens

The Greatest Hitter

by: Author Unknown

A little boy was overheard talking to himself as he strutted through the backyard, wearing his baseball cap and toting a ball and bat. “I’m the greatest hitter in the world,” he announced.

Then, he tossed the ball into the air, swung at it, and missed. “Strike One!” he yelled.

Undaunted, he picked up the ball and said again, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!” He tossed the ball into the air. When it came down he swung again and missed. “Strike Two!” he cried out.

The boy then paused a moment to examine his bat and ball carefully. He spit on his hands and rubbed them together. He straightened his cap and said once more, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!” Again he tossed the ball up in the air and swung at it. He missed. “Strike Three!”

“Wow!” he exclaimed… “I’m the greatest pitcher in the world!”

Your attitude determines how circumstances impact your life. The little boy’s circumstances hadn’t changed, but his optimistic attitude prompted him to give an encouraging meaning to what had happened.

What difficult time are you going through right now?

Can you do something to change it? If you can, don’t wait another day… make the needed changes. If you can’t change the circumstance, however, change your attitude… you’ll discover that circumstances won’t have the last word.

How To Keep Yourself On Track in 2008 www.axelhenriksen.com
“The Wizard Of Wealth”

Becoming As Little Children
by: Author Unknown

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” 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, hi there.” 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’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their relationship. 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 unwillingly, 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. You see, m’am, I never saw my child grow up. My wife and son were taken from me in an automobile accident when they were both too young. I was never able to get over it.”