It was 1952 and my father was away at war, leaving my mother and me behind to face hardship alone. I was ten. My mother was a 1 and worked at the local clinic a few blocks from where we lived.

    The bell rang and 2of Christmas were the only thing on my mind. I raced home. The apartment was empty and a note was  3to the refrigerator. My mother was working a double shift and  4 me instructions for the day. We had planned on making Christmas biscuits 5 , but my mother6 it.

    I carefully 7through mother's closet, finding most of the  8   for Christmas wrapped in linen cloth, all but one toy, a model airplane. I was still 9 at my mother and I threw the airplane onto the floor, breaking one of its wings. I stood10 . How was I going to explain this? Then I heard my mother coming through the door. I 11  to my room.

    After telling my mother the horrible12, I did not hear my mother 13  me. She just told me to follow her. Climbing the steps without catching our  14, we entered the clinic. There in a bed was a boy who looked very sick.

    “He is going to die, Danny,” my mother told me, “15  today, maybe tomorrow. He loves planes. I knew his mother could not 16   to buy him one. So I did. I count my blessings every night and think of this boy and how 17 I am that you are not in that bed.”

    The  18 cut hard and sharp in my heart. The tears 19 down my face and I was so guilty. I ran home as fast as I could and into my room where I 20  myself to sleep.

    Whenever we hear about “the homeless”, most of us think of the Developing world. But the1is that homelessness is everywhere. For example, how many of us would expect to see people living on the streets of a2country like Germany?

    Kurt Muller and his wife Rita have spent eleven years making3for the homeless of Berlin, Germany's capital. They first4one long hot summer when most Germans were5on holiday. Kurt and his wife stayed at home, made sandwiches,6.

    The Mullers soon realized that food and clothing weren't7. “What these people also need is warmth and8,” says Rita. The Mullers didn't9to give their phone number to the street people and told them to phone anytime. Rita10there was somebody at home to answer the phone and their home was always11to anyone who couldn't face another night on the street.

    The couple were soon12all their time and money, so Kurt visited food and clothing companies to13donations. Today, over thirty companies14donate food and other goods to the cause and volunteers help to15them to the homeless. The public also give clothes and money and a shoe producer16new shoes.

    Kurt and Rita receive no17for their hard work. “ We feel like parents,” says Rita, “and parents shouldn't18money for helping their children. The love we get on the streets is our salary.” Though Rita admits she often gets19 She says she will continue with her work because she likes the feeling of having made a20.

    We have been driving in fog all morning, but the fog is lifting now. The little seaside villages are1one by one. “There is my grandmother's house,” I say2across the bay to a shabby old house.

    I am in Nova Scotia on a pilgrimage(朝圣) with Lisa, my granddaughter, seeking roots for her, retracing(追溯)3 memory for me. Lisa was one of the mobile children4 from house to house in childhood. She longs for a sense of5and so we have come to Nova Scotia where my husband and I were born and where our ancestors6for 200 years.

We soon7 by the house and I tell her what it was like here, the memories8back, swift as the tide (潮水).

    Suddenly, I long to walk again in the9 where I was once so gloriously a child. It still10 a member of the family, but has not been lived in for a while. We cannot go into the house, but I can still walk 11 the rooms in memory. Here, my mother 12 in her bedroom window and wrote in her diary. I can still see the enthusiastic family13 into and out of the house. I could never have enough of being 14 them. However, that was long after those childhood days. Lisa15 attentively as I talk and then says, “So this is where I16 where I belong.”

    She has17 her roots. To know where I come from is one of the great longings of the human18 To be rooted is “to have an origin”. We need19origin. Looking backward, we discover what is unique in us; learn the 20 of “I”. We must all go home again—in reality or memory.

    During the war, my husband was stationed at an army camp in a desert in California. I went to live there in order to be 1 him. I hated the place. I had never 2 been so unhappy. My husband was ordered out on a long-term duty, and I was left in a tiny shack(棚屋) alone. The heat was 3 — almost 125°F even in the shade of a cactus(仙人掌). 4 a soul to talk to. The wind blew non-stop, and all the food I ate, and the very air I breathed, were 5 with sand, sand, sand!

    I was so sorry for myself that I wrote to my parents. I told them I was 6 and coming back home. I said I couldn't stand it one minute longer. I 7 be in prison! My father answered my 8 with just two lines — two lines that will always sing in my 9— two lines that completely changed my life:

Two men looked out from prison bars,

One saw the mud, the other saw the stars.

    I read those two lines 10. I was ashamed of myself. I made up my mind I would find out what was good in my present 11； I would look for the stars.

    I made friends with the natives, and their 12 amazed me. They gave me presents of their favorite artworks which they had 13 to sell to tourists. I studied the delightful forms of the cactus. I watched for the desert sunsets, and 14 for seashells that had been left there millions of years ago when the sands of the desert had been an ocean 15.

    What brought about this 16 change in me? The desert hadn't changed, 17 I had. I had changed my 18. And by doing so, I changed an unhappy experience into the most amazing 19 of my life. I was excited by this new world that I had discovered.  I had looked out of my self-created prison and 20 the stars.

    A little boy invited his mother to attend his school's first teacher-parent meeting. To the little boy's 1, she said she would go. This would be the 2 time that his classmates and teacher3 his mother and he felt 4of her appearance. Although she was a beautiful woman, there was a severe scar（疤痕）that5 nearly the entire right side of her face. The boy never wanted to 6why or how she got the scar.

    At the meeting, the people were 7 by the kindness and natural beauty of his mother 8the scar, but the little boy was still embarrassed（尴尬）and9himself from everyone. He, however,  10 a conversation between his mother and his teacher.

    The teacher asked11 ,"How did you get the scar on your face?"

    The mother replied,"12my son was a baby, he was in a room that caught fire. Everyone was13 afraid to go in because the fire was 14, so I went in. As I was running toward his bed, I saw a piece of wood coming down and I placed myself over him trying to protect him. I was knocked15 but fortunately, a fireman came in and saved both of us." She16 the burned side of her face. "This scar will be17 , but to this day, I have never 18what I did."

    At this point, the little boy came out running toward his mother with tears in his eyes. He held her in his arms and felt a great19of the sacrifice（牺牲）that his mother had made for him. He held her hand20for the rest of the day.

    It was a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon some fifteen or sixteen years ago. I took my two kids to the local playground. As soon as we got there my daughter headed for the swings (秋千)and asked for a1. I noticed another little girl2to get her own swing going high as I was3my daughter to go higher and higher.

    I walked over to the little girl and asked4she needed help. She smiled and said YES and I soon had her feet flying towards the5while she laughed happily. For the next two hours I found myself pushing swings and playing games with my daughter and the little girl. By the time we headed home, I was6tired, but my spirits were flying7than those swings.

    Three years later I was8again after a day's work. Still, I needed to9my kids from their school before heading home. I stood in the10waiting area waiting for my children. Suddenly, I felt two11arms wrapped around my legs. I looked down and there was the little girl I met 3 years before on the12smiling up at me. She gave me a big hug before running away to13the school bus. As I watched her14, I didn't feel tired any more and my spirits were once again15with that swing.

    The love we16with others will find its way back to us. It will travel from heart to heart. It may take seconds or it may take17. The law of love,18, is never broken. We will get back what we give. We will harvest what we19. The kindness we give and the joy we create will always come back to20us.