29 May 2008


I was just reading a thread about abbreviations, of all things, in one of the Sikh forums I regularly participate in. A Sikh friend has commented to me that Sikhs will argue, seriously, with each other about ANYTHING. That argument convinvces me. (OK, not to be mysterious, someone refered to the "Sikh Relay Marathon" as the SRM. SRM, however, usually stands for "Sikh Rehat Maryada," the Sikh Code of Conduct. I admit it confused me a bit, at first, but is it really something to argue about when we really do have so many serious problems facing us?)

One of my daughters-in-law sent this to me, and I think it's appropriate to share it here:

Some years ago, on a hot summer day, a little boy
decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole that was behind his
house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back
door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went.
He flew into the water, not realising that as he swam toward the
middle of the lake, an crocodile was swimming toward the shore.

In the house, his mother was looking out the window. She saw the two
as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, she ran toward
the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could.

Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed, and made a U-turn
to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached her, the
crocodile reached him. From the dock, the mother grabbed her little
boy by the arms, just as the crocodile snatched his legs. That began
a very incredible tug-of-war between the two.

The crocodile was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was
much too passionate to let go.

A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his
truck, took aim, and shot the crocodile. Remarkably, after weeks and
weeks in the hospital, the little boy Survived. His legs were
extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. On his arms,
there were deep scratches where his mother's fingernails dug into his
flesh, in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter, who interviewed the boy after the trauma,
asked the boy if he would show him his scars.

The boy lifted his pant legs. Then, with obvious pride, he said to
the reporter, 'But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms,
too. I have them because my Mom wouldn't let go.'

You and I can identify with that little boy.

We have scars, too. No, not from an crocodile, but the scars of a
painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly, and have caused us
deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused
to let go. In the midst of your struggle, S/He's been right there,
holding on to you.

Gurbani teaches that God loves you.

You are a child of God. S/He wants to protect you, and provide for
you in every way. But, sometimes, we foolishly wade into dangerous
situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming hole of life -
the terrifying world ocean - is filled with peril ~ and we forget
that anything can - and does - happen. That is when the tug-of-war

If you have the scars of His/Her love on your arms, be very, very
grateful. S/He will not ever let you go.

Never judge other persons' scars, because you don't know how they got them

(A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the
bricks that others throw at him or her.)

Chardi kala!