Journal of a
Living Lady #54
Those of you who have been reading this column for a while already know that I have Cherokee Indian heritage. Not much, but enough to appreciate the following story.
A Native American
and his friend were in downtown New York City walking
near Times Square in Manhattan. It was during the noon lunch hour. The
streets were filled with people. Cars
were honking their horns. Taxicabs were squealing around corners. Sirens were
wailing and the sounds of the city were almost deafening. Suddenly, the Native American said, "I
hear a cricket."
His friend said,
"What? You must be crazy. You couldn't possibly hear a
cricket in all of this noise!"
"No, I'm sure of it," the Native
American said. "I heard a cricket."
"That's
crazy," said the friend.
The Native American listened carefully
for a moment and then walked across the
street to a big cement planter where some
shrubs were growing. He looked
into the bushes beneath the branches and,
sure enough, he located a small cricket.
His friend was utterly amazed.
"That's incredible," said his
friend. "You must have superhuman
ears!”
"No," said the Native
American. "My ears are no
different from yours. It all depends on
what you're listening for."
"But that can't be!" said
the friend. "I could never hear a
cricket in all this noise."
"Yes, it's true," came the reply. "It depends on what is
really important to you. Here, let me show you."
He reached into
his pocket, pulled out a few coins and discreetly dropped them on the
sidewalk. Then, with the noise of the
crowded street still blaring in their ears, they noticed every head within
twenty feet turn. They were looking to see if the money that tinkled on the
pavement was theirs.
"See what I mean?" asked the
Native American. "It all depends
on what's important to you."
When you are seriously ill, nothing is more significant than finishing the race of life with integrity. As likeable as he seems, I am not trying to get in touch with Regis Philbin for the Millionaire show. I am more interested in being in tune with my Maker who alone gives me hope for tomorrow and all future tomorrows.
It has been a tough week and I am still not over the effects of the last round of chemo. I have CAT scans this week. By the time you read this I will be as bald as a billiard ball again. Think I’ll get an artist friend to paint a big Number 8 right smack on the back.
nancyk@alltel.net https://www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly
