2006 Happy New Year!!

Well 2006 came in with a bang eh?? If you're like me you're probably asking yourself, where did the last 6 years go??? Heck, it was only yesterday that I was stocking my pantry with water and food. Not only that, I was extremely tempted to buy gold because supposedly money would be worth nil' due to a coming technology disaster due to the date. Yes the year was 1999. Over this last 6 years I've also battled with something we all know.....and that's "our purpose." After reading this special story below, I couldn't help but share it with you as a little reminder that everything little thing we do in life matters. And it's all apart of "our purpose." Here's wishing you a blessed and amazing journey through 2006.......please feel free to share this with somebody.... Love, Ryno STORY of a CAB RIDE > Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I > arrived at 2:30a.m., the building was dark except > for a single light in a ground floor window. > > Under these circumstances, many drivers would just > honk once or twice,wait a minute, then drive away. > But, I had seen too many impoverished people who > depended on taxis as their only means of > transportation. Unless a situation smelled of > danger, I always went to the door. > > This passenger might be someone who needs my > assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the > door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, > elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged > across the floor. > > After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman > in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print > dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, > like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was > a small nylon suitcase. > > The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it > for years. All the furniture was covered with > sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no > knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the > corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and > glassware. > > "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I > took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to > assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked > slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my > kindness. > > "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way > I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she > said. > > When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then > asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not > the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't > mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to > a hospice". > > I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were > glistening. "I don't have any family left," she > continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." > I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. > "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. > > For the next two hours, we drove through the city. > She showed me the building where she had once worked > as an elevator operator. We drove through the > neighborhood where she and her husband had lived > when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in > front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a > ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. > Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a > particular building or corner and would sit staring > into the darkness, saying nothing. > > As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, > she suddenly said,"I'm tired. Let's go now." > > We drove in silence to the address she had given me. > It was a low building, like a small convalescent > home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. > Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we > pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, > watching her every move. They must have been > expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small > suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated > in a wheelchair. > > "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into > her purse. > "Nothing," I said. > "You have to make a living," she answered. > "There are other passengers," I responded. > Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. > She held onto me tightly. > "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she > said. "Thank you." > I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim > morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the > sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any > more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost > in thought. > > For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What > if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who > was impatient to end his shift? What if I had > refused to take the run, or had honked once, then > driven away? > > On a quick review, I don't think that I have done > anything more important in my life. We're > conditioned to think that our lives revolve around > great moments. But great moments often catch us > unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may > consider a small one. > > Ten things God won't ask: > 1...God won't ask what kind of car you drove; He'll > ask how many people you drove who didn't have > transportation. > 2...God won't ask the square footage of your house; > He'll ask how many people you welcomed into your > home. > 3...God won't ask about the clothes you had in your > closet; He'll ask how many you helped to clothe. > 4...God won't ask what your highest salary was; > He'll ask if you compromised your character to > obtain it. > 5...God won't ask what your job title was; He'll ask > if you performed your job to the best of your > ability. > 6...God won't ask how many friends you had; He'll > ask how many people to whom you were a friend. > 7...God won't ask in what neighborhood you lived; > He'll ask how you treated your neighbors. > 8...God won't ask about the color of your skin; > He'll ask about the content of your character. > 9...God won't ask why it took you so long to seek > Salvation; He'll lovingly take you to your mansion > in heaven, and not to the gates of Hell. > 10...God won't ask how many people you forwarded > this to; He'll ask if you were ashamed to pass it on > to your friends

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