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Me and my tennis coach 1985

I have some good news and some bad news.  The good news is that my tennis game improved this year.  The bad news is that I've been married to my tennis coach for 31 years and didn't allow him to help me until a few months ago.  That's because I already knew everything, which is interesting in light of the fact that I am a below average tennis player.  But then I decided that maybe I could risk the pain of being told what to do to see if there were ways I could change.  As luck would have it, I started to improve.

In the most excellent movie, "Beezus and Ramona" Ramona is trying to behave to help her family.  When her sister corrects her she starts to say, "Butt out Beezus" and then quickly recovers with "Thank you for your feedback" between clenched teeth.  I admire her efforts and acknowledge the grueling but vital process of developing humility.

We had good friend in West Virginia.  He was a professor at the University and had received the "teacher of the year" award in physics. In church he had served as the Stake President for 11 years.  He was an inspiring speaker and leader.  When the time came for him to be released as Stake President he was called to serve as a Primary teacher.  Primary is the children's organization and ministers to ages 18 months to 12 years.  He taught a class of 9 or 10 year-olds every Sunday.  I was the Primary President at that time and had the responsibility of visiting the various classes occasionally.  One Sunday after visiting Brother Edward's class I told him I enjoyed his lesson.  It was very good of course.  He looked at me sincerely and asked, "Sister Stoker, what can I do to be a better Primary teacher?"  I cannot describe the powerful impact this question had on me as I viewed the face of humility in perfect clarity.  This was what had made this man great.  What could God do with me if I had the courage to ask, "What can I do to improve?"

I had another inspiring experience recently.  I serve as a counselor in the Stake Primary and we visit the different Primaries in our Stake.  The church has approved curriculum that the units are supposed to use to teach the children.  We are to be creative and teach as inspired but use the curriculum to maintain the integrity of the doctrine and make sure important principles are taught.  Another policy is that we should not use cartoon characters to depict Jesus Christ.  We are to use pictures from the gospel art kit to show reverence.  We were visiting a primary and their singing time visual contained a cartoon depiction of Christ.  The sharing time lesson that was given to the younger children was from an unapproved source.  It was a nice lesson, but not from the outline.  The Stake Primary President gently visited with the ward Primary president in the hall during singing time and reminded her of the policies.  Within minutes the cartoon picture was replaced with a beautiful artist's rendition, and the leader presenting the sharing time lesson totally prepared another lesson for the older children following the approved outline.  Never have I seen such immediate desire to comply with counsel from a leader.  I was impressed. Would I be as humble and obedient?   Hopefully I will be, now that I have this example.

So I guess knowing everything means knowing less, and people who know they have a lot to learn will learn the most.

I don't remember you, but...

One time when I was living in the distant and foreign land of Buffalo, Minnesota I went to a rather large church activity.  I recognized a woman I had known many years before in Nebraska.  Her husband had been a student at UNL and I recalled that they had said they were from Minnesota.  I remember I had thought, "People live in Minnesota?"  That very thought is probably the reason I got moved there.  Anyway, I approached her and said, "I"m Laurie Stoker.  We were in school in NE together.  Do you remember me?"  She looked at me blankly at first and then said, "I don't remember you, but I remember your chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.  We make them all the time."  I realized then the power of food and the importance of sharing recipes if you want to make a difference in the world.

Food's tricky.  We have to deal with it several times a day.  The best tasting food is probably the least helpful to our health, but I have some really fond memories and dearly held traditions associated with some very delicious comfort foods.  I know, I know, thin people eat a lot of protein, small meals, raw foods, blah, blah, blah.  I believe it and sometimes live it, but I'm not writing about that right now.

I have some early and delicious memories with my Grandparents that help anchor their spot in my heart.  Grandma and Grandpa Miller lived off the land.  Spinach smoothies seem like such a new, cool thing, but 45 years ago my grandparents were drinking lettuce milkshakes.  They put garden lettuce, milk-ice cubes and a little sweetener in the blender and whipped it up for a refreshing treat.  Okay, it used to freak me out, and I only had them at their house. But they were good in a what-the-heck-is-this way.  Breakfast was cracked wheat cereal.  If the hard times come, just know that you can grind your wheat coarsely, mix it with water, simmer it over the stove for about 20 minutes and have hot cereal.  In the meantime, Life cereal it is.  My favorite dinner at Grandma's was creamed new potatoes and peas.  I've tried to make that for my family, but the trick is the new potatoes and fresh peas from the garden.  My frozen peas just aren't cuttin' it.  At Christmas Grandma Miller sent boxes of homemade candy and cookies.  My Dad's favorite were the raisin filled sugar cookies.  I'm still looking for the recipe just for nostalgia's sake.  The penuche was my favorite.  One Grandma Miller treat that I do have the recipe for is this.


Rhubarb Ice:  Make a syrup of 1 c. sugar and 1 c. of water.  Bring it to a boil.  Add 4 c. of chopped rhubarb and cook until tender.  Add one 3 oz. package of strawberry jello and stir until dissolved.  Put in the blender and liquefy.  Freeze until firm and whip again.  Return it to the freezer and freeze solid.  Serve when desired.  It keeps well in the freezer.


My Mom's mom, Grandma Fawson,  contributed heavily to the Christmas food traditions we had growing up.  My Grandma's Christmas eve dinner was tuna sandwiches and 7-up and cinnamon rolls.  My Mom's Christmas Eve dinner was tuna sandwiches (always on white bread, because it was a special occasion), 7-up with grape juice, and potato chips.  Christmas dinner was ham and whatever, but the best part was the Cinnamon Rolls.  When my brother was on a mission to Columbia my mom sent him Cinnamon Rolls for Christmas.  She anticipated that they would be greatly altered by the trip, but she knew how much love could fit into a cinnamon roll so she sent them anyway.

Mom’s Cinnamon Roll Recipe:

Heat together until butter melts the water, milk, raisins and butter. Cool until luke warm then pour on three beaten egg. Add the dissolved yeast and enough flour to make soft consistency. Allow to rise until bulk doubles.

Roll out on large cookie sheet and spread butter on surface then sprinkle on sugar and cinnamon. 

Roll up like a jellyroll and slice up in one half inch thick slices. Place on cookie sheet and allow to rise to double bulk. Bake approximately 15 minutes (until golden brown) at 325 degrees.

Ingredients for dough:

6 ½ cups flour.

1 cup water

1 cup milk

1 cup raisins

1 teaspoon salt

½ cup sugar

2 pkgs. Yeast

Ingredients for the glaze (Mix to the right consistency):

Powdered sugar

Milk

Vanilla

Ingredients for the sprinkle mixture on the rolled out dough:

butter, cinnamon and sugar.

My mom's dad and step-mom, Grandpa Miner and Nana lived in the city.Their foods were more modern, like them.  Nana introduced us to carrot juice and a fresh soup made with v-8 juice poured over chopped celery and grated carrots.  Once when we visited she had us try these new little vitamin balls that you could eat instead of food.  They were okay, but I was still hungry.  For a treat she would take me to the mall for Orange Julius, only the most delicious drink on the planet.  Grandpa always came through for the kids with his little bowls of bridge mix and boston bean candy.  I wonder if he ever noticed that after I spent a little time watching TV on his easy chair the candy dish was greatly depleted.

I had the privilege of living by a dear friend who created some of the most wonderful things in her kitchen. Actually this could apply to several dear friends.   If I went to this friend's house around noon there would be homemade soup simmering on the stove.  She was from Canada and introduced me to maple dressing, maple chicken, and maple candy.  Her world of food was new and vast and beautiful. While I learned so many things from her she took a couple recipes from my tiny repertoire.  Those were some good years.  Recently this lovely girl sent  this message to me on facebook, "Funny how little things can bring us back in time.  I frequently think of you when I cook your recipes.  My favorite are the two breakfast casseroles.  I usually cook them when I have big family gatherings and I feel like you are part of it."  Pinterest is great and all, but I think a little love is lost.  Friend and family food fills me the best

Happy Father's Day, Dad

Grandchildren Erin and Matt Christensen

You know you're a Miller if you wear your "My Dentist Loves Me" t-shirt and you know it's true.  One of the most powerful moments in my life came because my Dad was my dentist and I knew he loved me.  Like many people I am seriously afraid of dental work.  It's very possibly because I have had so many cavities. I was home from college one summer and needed some fillings (of course).  I was sitting in the chair trying to talk myself into being a big girl..  I was suddenly filled with the knowledge that my Dad loved me and only would do what he thought was best for me.  I felt complete trust and increased calm.  Then I had a realization that my Heavenly Father loved me even more perfectly and I could completely trust in His love and care for me.  Life had challenges, but I was safe.

It seemed that my father had one main goal in life, to do all he could to ensure the spiritual and temporal success of his family.  He, like many of us, discovered that children can and do make their own choices.  But when I think of him, I think of him always trying to teach us the big picture.

Big picture number one.  "Love God with all your heart, mind and strength."  We woke up every morning to the sound of Dad playing "Oh Susanna" on the harmonica to call us to scriptures and prayers.  He served in the church in whatever capacity he was asked  and taught us to do the same.  We spent many hours on the road together driving to church meetings in the surrounding towns.  He used this time to teach us about life.

front row Mary, me, Susie
back row Melinda, Dad, my cousin Maren

Big picture number two.  "Families are forever."  Not only are they forever,  family comes first.  He took my mom on a date every Friday night.  There was never anything else planned on the church calendar or our calendar.  Friday's date night and that's that.  Tuesday night was date night with the kids.  He would take us to the Firebaugh Mexican restaurant, the ONLY Mexican restaurant as far as we're concerned. He told us that my mother's job (homemaker) was way more important than his.  His job was just to support her in her heavenly cause.  When he wasn't at work or at church he was home with us. I grew up with a father that was always accessible to his children.  He changed diapers too but only wearing latex gloves.  He explained, "Would you like to go to a dentist that had been changing diapers with his bare hands?"

The rickshaw after many years of fun.
Pete, Megan, Carrie, HJ and Susie

My Dad wasn't the type of guy that liked to take his kids to a beach house, but we had some great adventures.  He made a kayak and let us paint the canvas.  It seems like we used lots of purple.  We took it up to the canal for the maiden voyage.  We paddled around and then all "accidentally" fell in.   He took a welding class and had 2 projects.  One was a rabbit hutch welded to a tricycle.  His idea was that we could just pedal it around the yard and the rabbits could eat the grass.  The other was a little rickshaw.   We gave each other rides up and down the driveway (we called it the lane.)  We didn't have a swing-set on the farm, but we played on the tire swing, (Miller style) the bumpity bump (an old trailer that we would run end to end to make it well...bumpity bump,) and a spool that we rolled like a barrel. It's hard to describe, but it was a valuable skill, trust me.

OK, my mom's a great dancer but guess what?  so's my dad.  He taught me how to swing dance.  When we went to the Daddy-daughter dances at church there was no awkward  "How long do we have to do this?"  It was a blast.  Sometimes he'd show me the camel or whatever the dances were from his day. Thanks to this genetic heritage more often than not, if you're related to the Millers you can dance.

Daddy-daughter dance when I was in seventh grade

There are a couple of things my Dad does not like: entitlement and running scared.  He tried to instill a sense of self-sufficiency in his children.  We rode our bikes everywhere, we worked for our money,  If we were  demanding we could count on not getting what we were crying about.  Here's a little secret.  He likes to give.  When I was little and Dad was taking care of me, sometimes, because I didn't dream it could happen, he'd buy me a treat from the ice cream truck.  I went to campfire-girl summer camp and didn't have everything on my packing list.  I was planning on just living without.  When he found out I had no stationery he stopped at the drugstore and bought me some beautiful paper and a pen.

Nowadays we tell our kids to walk away from threats and alert the authorities, but that's not how I was raised.  Dad thought that was bad for confidence.  We were instructed, "If you get in a fight make sure and get your licks in so even if the other guy wins, he won't come back for more."  If my brothers were threatened at school he would say, "Don't come home until you've fought them."  He thought that we should stand up to our fears because if we ran scared, we'd always be scared.

One of the greatest legacies Dad has left us is music making.  He played his guitar and sang to us.  We sang in the car, we sang around the piano, we sang in church and we definitely sang in the "Program" (the family talent show.)  When I was about 3 yrs. old he was trying to keep me entertained and made up a song.    He sang it to each child.  In fact "You know you're a Miller if you think 'I know a little girl/boy named Laurie/Susie/Melinda/Mary/Heidi/Carrie/Peter/Megan/Charlie/Sam was written for you."  The best part about it is that my son sings it to his son too.

I'll be your buddy

This past week I spent a couple of days at 11 yr. old scout camp.  Twenty-three boys and 10 leaders--not bad odds.  There were a couple of  "You know you're in the south" moments.  The first being the rocking chairs.  We had 2 on the porch of our cabin and 25 in the pavilion.  It just gave us that down-home feeling.The next was when I heard some digging in the pine needles in the middle of the night.  I was half asleep trying to process what critter it could be.  When it came around to my end of our open cabin I shined my flashlight on it.  There was the  silhouette of...ugh...an armadillo.
Later, I smiled when my born-and-raised Georgia friend said,  "I said to those boys come pick up the trash.  Your mama don't work here."  The next day after breakfast she looked at the left-over breakfast foods and said, "We'd better hold stingy to those apples.  We can feed them later to the boys."  I'm definitely going to start saying "Your mama don't work here" and "Hold stingy."

If anyone has spent time in scouting you know they're big into "The buddy system."  This is an important safety procedure, but it's always a little painful when they say, "Choose a buddy and hold up their hand."  Some boys quickly grab their best buddy's hand.  All are in agreement.  Then there are the boys that are the third in a group of friends or don't know anyone very well or just don't have a buddy.  That's when my heart starts to break.  The mom in me says, "Do we have to have a buddy system?"  The scouters look at me incredulously, "Safety first Ma'am."  After about 15 awkward moments we were all set.  We did have one group of 3, but that's just math.

Next we went to the swimming test.  If you're a swimmer you get to swim anywhere.  The best of anywhere includes the iceberg. It's the coveted floating device with a climbing wall on one side and a slide on the other.  Beginners can swim out to the red buoys and non-swimmers have to stay this side of the blue buoys next to the lifeguard.  We had 4 boys who didn't take the test, 2 non swimmers, 4 beginners and the rest swimmers. There were some disappointed boys, but none so sad as a little boy with special needs.  It took him a while to get over being classified as a non-swimmer.  When we returned that afternoon for our swimming fun we tried to rearrange some buddies so the swimmers didn't need to swim down a level.  This little boy was crying loudly because he didn't have a buddy.  I was getting the other boys situated and planning to take care of him in a minute.  I looked over as a super-de-duper 11 yr. old scout came up to him and said, "I'll be your buddy."  Bless your heart little man.

In church I serve in the Primary Organization.  Our outline says, "Each child is precious to God.  They should be welcomed, loved, nurtured and included. "  In other words, we all need a buddy.  This scout was looking to see who needed him and was willing to take on a buddy that had more challenges than others.  I know how thankful I feel to the people who are buddies to my children.  I think that's how God felt when he saw this scout.

  Our last camp activity was canoeing in the Flint River.  Each canoe had 1 adult and 2 scouts.  My scouts were trying to decide if they should jump into the water.  We discussed the difficulty of getting them back into the canoe.  They decided they would wait til we were closer to take-out.  We were nearing our finish when one boy said, "You wanna go in?"  "I don't know do you?" asked the other.  They hemmed and hawed until another canoe approached.  One of those boys called out "Let's jump."  The time had come,and both of my boys shouted, "We're going in!"  They jumped, the canoe overturned, and we were all swimming.  I got to our canoe and turned it aright, but it was filled with water and barely floating.  It looked like I would be towing the canoe to shore with my mighty sidestroke.  It was a dismal prospect, but the gentleman in the other canoe saw that I was in trouble, tied my canoe to his and rowed them both ashore.  Thanks buddy.

.

Did you get your tickets?

Okay, you can't see them in action,
but you can imagine these brothers comparing buffness.

Tickets to what?  To the Gun Show!  I was 15 when my first brother was born.  Growing up in a house full of girls I didn't know anything about the gun show.  My education began in 1980 when I got married and started living with boys.  In my husband's family it's called  the "tale of the tape".  Whenever he and his brothers were home for a holiday, they would get out the measuring tape and see who had the biggest muscles.

I was fascinated by these testosterone driven activities. When I became the mother to 7 boys I had front row seats to the "Gun Show."  (Guns meaning muscly arms for anyone living in a girl world.)

 My husband initiated "Stoker Olympics."  We had events in push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, etc.  He tried to handicap a little for age difference, but it was still intense competition which left some of these manly men close to tears.  The boys played field hockey out in the yard.  I would referee.  There was more than one brother that had to sit on the deck for "high sticking" or just garden variety "losing it".  It was rare that a male teenager would pass up the opportunity to flex if they passed a mirror when they were shirtless. They had light sabre fights and trampoline battles with  the code name of "rice."  This way mom didn't know they were playing anything violent.  The boys loved to wrestle on the bed with Dad.  He had to get all the boys off the bed to win.  They only had to get one dad off the bed to win.  Dad usually won.

I tried to quell the violent tendencies with mom rules.  When I first started I said, "No guns."  The boys got creative and made guns out of PVC pipe, fingers, whatever.  I conceded and modified the rules.  "No guns that look like real guns.  They have to be orange or green or some other unrealistic color."  My mom told us to shoot the sky or the ground.  I tried to pass that on, but my sons looked at me like I was crazy and asked, "How can we shoot each other if we're shooting the ground?"  They had a point.  New rule, "You can only shoot someone who has a weapon."  Just a side note, if a Stoker boy hands you a weapon, consider first before you accept it.

Paul was very popular when he made 4 wooden swords.  The boys loved them.  Me, not so much.  They always came crying to me after their fingers (or worse) got wacked.  We told them to make paper swords.  This was great until some people, (you know who you are)  started stuffing the paper swords with condensed paper wads to make them stronger and more lethal.

These were some crazy times...brawls on the church pews, scuffling in the kitchen (which we had a rule about by the way.)  But I learned a few things about raising boys.  One evening I was in tears because the boys had been so wild, running through the house, jumping on the beds, sword fighting, yelling.  I was feeling very discouraged and then it occurred to me, my worst day was their best day.  Their life was great and this was how boys became men.  

 So I gathered these muscle pictures that I have accumulated over the years.  They make me giggle, but they also make me proud.  These are some of my favorite boys.  They are good.  They love God and country. They are sweet to their mothers. They love and care for their families.  They respect women and children.  They keep their promises and are working hard to make the world a better place.

As Daniel would say, "Sun's out guns out."

"Bearing  gifts we traversed afar"
(star in the background)

one of my awesome brothers

cousin swords

Small arms repair shop

Paul Stoker's son "Flex your muscles."
Don Stoker's sons "Puff out your chest."

Welcome to the show.

And I think this is funny.

The heart of the watermelon.

My parents tried to instill in their children the importance of sharing.  Sometimes Dad would come in and hand Mom a plate of the very best part of the watermelon.  He would say, "I love you so much I would give you the heart of my watermelon."  Mom taught us that "If you want it and I want it  you get it."   We  would laughingly tell each other, "If you want it and I want it I get it."  I was only half kidding.  I wanted to be a good sharer, but it was hard.

One of many times I failed to share I had built a fort of sorts in the furthest corner of the pasture by the canal bank.  The irrigation ditch bordered the small area and served as a perfect moat.  I made a little place to sit under the tree and imagined the wonderful times I would have.  The next day I was walking in the yard in shorts and cowboy boots. (who knows why)  I saw my younger sister and her little friend playing in my newly created secret fort.  My selfish nerve snapped and I went running and yelling.  I tried to climb the barbed-wire fence to get there faster.  My boot slipped, and I sliced my thigh on the barb.  I regret my selfishness and my scar.  It's a good reminder that sharing is the better choice.

As a parent I have struggled with teaching this important concept that doesn't always come naturally.  My youngest received a snazzy little keyboard for his birthday.  His musical sister enjoyed playing it, but he was not interested in sharing his birthday toy.  That night we knelt at the side of his bed while he said his prayers.  I whispered into his ear, "And bless me that I can be a good sharer."  He said, "And bless that I not share my piano with Becca because it's mine."  

There have been a few times in life when people have reached out and shown me what sharing is really supposed to look like.  I was walking down the street in a dress in Laie, HI.  Suddenly it started to rain, hard.  I was halfway between campus and the temple when a car stopped, a lady jumped out and handed me an umbrella, and started to drive away.  I called out asking how to return it.  She quickly yelled, "Keep it."  and that was that.  I was overwhelmed, not only with the fact that I now had an umbrella, but with the demonstration of  the loving kindness that takes no thought of return favors, only in blessing others.

On another enlightening day I was driving around the very busy parking lot of the Lawrence, KS downtown library.  Finding a parking place was serious business.  I saw someone pulling out to the left of me.  I stopped and waited only to see a car coming the opposite way.  Clearly they had the better position and would take the newly opened spot.  The driver saw me waiting, smiled and waved and drove on.  I recognized her as the children's librarian.  I was inspired by her magnanimity and was left to wonder at the largeness of her heart.  I approached her on another day to thank her for her example and the parking spot.  She didn't even remember the incident.  It was so natural she didn't give it another thought, but I did.

A gentleman shared an experience he had on a date with his wife.  They were out for cheeseburgers.  At one point he realized his wife might want a bite of his cheeseburger.  He started eating the less desirable parts to leave the best for her.  At same time she was having similar thoughts and saving the best for him.  As I listened to this story I realized the secret to sharing is loving people more than food, toys, forts, and everything else that I think is mine but in reality is just another gift from God.

So my goal is to give you the heart of my watermelon and my parking place and whatever else would make you happy.  If I forget please remind me because if I want it and you want it you get it.

Don't Quit author unkown

A buddy of one of my teenagers once said, "Stoker's are good at the weird sports."  The main reason for this is that we're not very competitive in the normal sports, but we like sports so we find something else to play.

One of the "weird" sports that son #2 chose to join was Cross Country.  I knew nothing about it although I had seen a bunch of skinny kids running in the street before.  Now one of those kids was mine.  This child started saying things like, "I don't eat sausage."  "I don't drink soda."  "I need more vegetables."  Cross Country really got interesting when I went to my first meet.  All the parents, supporters, and runners were out in a field.  The race started and soon the runners were out of sight.  Then the spectators ran to a pre-appointed spot where we got another glimpse of the race.  We cheered when the runners went by. One man encouraged the runners in a loud clear voice, "You got this!  Stay strong!  You're doing great!"  It helped me, so I"ll bet it helped them.   Some spectators found the next spot, I missed it and headed to the finish.  We were excited for the winner, but we were just as excited, maybe more, for the runner coming in last.  Their run was harder so the finishing seemed more glorious.  All the runners came in spent.  They were so exhausted, some threw up.  Brandon explained that there was no shame in this.  The object of the game was to "Leave it all out there."

There was one race that I'll never forget.  I was standing with the other spectators at the finish of a girls race.  The runners had started to come in.  One girl came running towards the finish line, faltered and then fell.  Adults (parents, coaches?) rushed to her aid.  She tried to stand and shake off the help.  She wasn't quitting.  She took a few trembling steps and fell again.  I watched this courageous little high school athlete crawl across the finish line.  Tears streamed down my face as I comprehended determination and heart and discipline like never before.

Life gets hard and sometimes it hurts to grow, but confidence comes from doing hard things and so does strength.  Daughter #1 decided she wanted to learn to ride a bicycle.  I helped her sometimes, but more often than not she was out with her bike and helmet starting by the curb, riding a ways, falling, starting again, repeating until she was a rider for realsies.  When my youngest began to walk he would start by the couch, head to the loveseat, stumble a few feet in, crawl to the starting point and head to the loveseat again.  At the time we laughed because he wouldn't quit.  I don't laugh now.  These children had the perfect formula for success.  Set your goal, head in that direction,  and start again after every stumble until you finish.

Daughter #2's teacher introduced her class to a poem, "Don't Quit"  author unknown. I loved it so much that when my youngest was assigned to memorize a poem I encouraged him to choose it.  The process mirrored the message.  It was a big undertaking.  He memorized a stanza at a time.  Sometimes he'd forget a line, and then start at the beginning.  We worked on it in the car, waiting for the bus, before going to bed.  Sometimes he said "I'm sick of "Don't Quit,"  but it was a proud day when he recited it in class.  And I hope we always remember:


                              DON'T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than,
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up,
When he might have captured the victor's cup,
And he learned too late when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out--
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far,
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.
- Author unknown