The strength of a man isn’t seen in the width of his shoulders.
Its seen in the width of his arms that circle you.

The strength of a man isn’t in the deep tone of his voice.
It is in the gentle words he whispers.

The strength of a man isn’t how many buddies he has.
Its how good a buddies he is with his kids.

The strength of a man isn’t in how respected he is at work.
Its in how respected he is at home.

The strength of a man isn’t in how hard he hits.
Its in how tender he touches.

The strength of a man isn’t in the hair on his chest.
Its in his heart…that lies within his chest.

The strength of a man isn’t how many women he Loved.
Its in can he be true to one woman.

The strength of a man isn’t in the weight he can lift.
It is in the burdens he can carry.

This was first published in a Dear Abby column years ago.
MOM’S STRENGTH, FORGIVENESS STILL INSPIRE DECADES LATER

DEAR ABBY: My dear, late father read the old Baltimore News Post newspaper from cover to cover. He would put me on his lap and read the funnies or something special to keep me current and interested in the news. I have read newspapers ever since — and always your column.

The letter from the woman whose little sister was killed when a young neighbor backed her car out of the driveway brought back many memories.

I believe I knew the family. We were in our early 30s then, with two children of our own. We met the family at church functions. They carried that beautiful child on their shoulders as a trophy — and beautiful she was.

The parents owned a religious bookstore. When news of the tragic accident spread, everyone who knew them showed up at the church service and funeral. I remember the eulogies. That outpouring of love for this precious family was overwhelming.

After the service, there was a profound silence. Then a strong, beautiful singing voice began to fill the church. The song was, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” I looked around and realized the voice was coming from the child’s mother! People around me wanted to join in, but they couldn’t choke back the tears.

I watched in amazement as this mother helped her husband to stand as their children followed. She led the entire church in the procession, never losing her strength or composure. Her voice soared above every other in that huge gathering.

She taught us that God loves us so much he grants supernatural strength when we need it most. Please tell this young woman that her family’s example of strength and forgiveness touched my life and many others for more than 24 years.

– LINDA BRESSLER, TAMPA, FLA.

DEAR LINDA: And I’m sure your letter will touch the hearts of others, as it touched mine.

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was raised in a orphanage. The little boy had always wished that he could fly like a bird. It was very difficult for him to understand why he could not fly. There were birds
at the zoo that were much bigger than he, and they could fly. “Why can’t I?” he thought. “Is
there something wrong with me?” he wondered.

There was another little boy who was crippled. He had always wished that he could walk and run like other little boys and girls. “Why can’t I be like them?” he thought.

One day the little orphan boy who had wanted to fly like a bird ran away from the orphanage. He came upon a park where he saw the
little boy who could not walk or run playing in the sandbox. He ran over to the little boy and asked him if he had ever wanted to fly like a bird.

“No,” said the little boy who could not walk or run. “But I have wondered what it would be like to walk and run like other boys and girls.”

“That is very sad.” said the little boy who wanted to fly. “Do you think we could be friends?” he said to the little boy in the
sandbox.

“Sure.” said the little boy.

The two little boys played for hours. They made sand castles and made really funny sounds with their mouths. Sounds which made
them laugh real hard. Then the little boy’s father came with a wheel chair to pick up his son. The little boy who had always wanted to fly ran over to the boy’s father and whispered something into his ear. “That would be OK,”
said the man.

The little boy who had always wanted to fly like a bird ran over to his new friend and said, “You are my only friend and I wish that there was something that I could do to make you walk and run like other little boys and girls. But I can’t. But there is something that I can do for you.”

The little orphan boy turned around and told his new friend to slide up onto his back. He then began to run across the grass. Faster and faster he ran, carrying the little crippled boy on his back. Faster and harder he ran across the park. Harder and harder he made his legs travel.

Soon the wind just whistled across the two little boys’ faces. The little boy’s father began to cry as he watched his beautiful
little crippled son flapping his arms up and down in the wind, all the while yelling at the top of his voice, “I’M FLYING, DADDY. I’M FLYING!”

Roger Dean Kiser,Sr.

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Flying is a true story. The author, Roger Dean Kiser, was the little orphan boy who carried his friend through the wind.