The Traveler's Gift
Page 3
David was incredulous. “That doesn’t seem to be a problem big enough for the president.”
“What are you here for?” Truman asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” the president said as he moved across the room, “at least the kid had a question.” Leaning against the desk, he motioned for David to sit in a chair near the globe. “Anyway, there was a lot of pressure for him to stay in school.”
“What did you tell him to do?” David asked.
“I didn’t tell him to do anything,” Truman replied. “That’s not my part in all this. I offer perspective. The ultimate outcome of anyone’s life is a matter of personal choice.” The president continued, “I was evidently his second visit. He had just spent an hour or so with Albert Einstein.”
David shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Will I be going somewhere after this?”
“Yes, you will,” Truman said. “Several different places actually, but don’t worry. They will be expecting you.”
“So you knew I was coming?”
“I was informed as you might expect—in a dream— the other evening,” Truman said. Walking around behind his desk, Truman opened the right top drawer. Removing a folded piece of paper, he handed it to David and said, “I was instructed to prepare this for you. This is the essence of why you are here. It is one of the Decisions for Success. This is the first of seven you will receive. You are to keep it with you, reading it twice daily until it is committed to your heart. For only by committing this principle to your heart will you be able to share its value with others.”
David started to unfold the page. “No, no,” the president said as he put his hands over David’s. “Don’t read it now. You must wait until our meeting is finished. As soon as you read these words, you will immediately travel to your next destination. Amazing, actually. You read the last word and—bang!—you’re gone!”
David reached over and touched the globe, unconsciously turning it to the United States. “Do you know my future?” he asked.
“Nope,” Truman said. “Can’t help you there. And wouldn’t if I could. Your future is what you decide it will be. Now you, on the other hand, could probably tell me mine.” As David opened his mouth to speak, the president held out his hands as if to ward off the words. “Thanks, but no thanks. God knows, there are enough influences coming to bear without you telling me what I already did!”
“You say my future is what I decide it to be,” David ventured. “I’m not sure I agree with that. My present is certainly not of my making. I worked for years to finally end up with no job, no money, and no prospects.”
“David, we are all in situations of our own choosing. Our thinking creates a pathway to success or failure. By disclaiming responsibility for our present, we crush the prospect of an incredible future that might have been ours.”
“I don’t understand,” David said.
“I am saying that outside influences are not responsible for where you are mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, or financially. You have chosen the pathway to your present destination. The responsibility for your situation is yours.”
David stood up. “That’s not true,” he cried angrily. “I did a good job at the plant. I could’ve taken early retirement, but I stayed. I stayed to help the company remain afloat, and I was fired. It was not . . . my . . . fault!”
“Sit down,” Truman said softly. Drawing a chair around to face David, who was trembling with anger and confusion, he said, “Look here, son. It is not my desire to upset you, but with the limited time we have been given together, truth will have to stand before tact.”
Placing his elbows on his knees, the president leaned forward and took a deep breath. “Listen to me now. You are where you are because of your thinking. Your thinking dictates your decisions. Decisions are choices. Years ago, you chose where you would attend college. You chose your course of study. When you graduated with the degree you chose to pursue, you chose the companies to which you would send a résumé. After interviewing with the companies that responded, you chose the one for which you would work. Somewhere during that time, you chose to go to a party or a play or a ball game. There, you met a girl whom you chose to marry. Together, you chose to have a family and how large that family would be.
“When you chose the house in which you would live and the cars you would drive, you chose how much the payments would be each month. By choosing to eat rib eye steaks or hot dogs, you chose your household expenses. And you were the one who chose not to take early retirement. You chose to stay until the bitter end. Years ago, you began making the choices that led you to your present situation. And you walked right down the middle of the path every step of the way.”
Truman paused. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. David’s head was hanging, his chin on his chest. “David, look at me,” the president said. David’s eyes met his. “The words It’s not my fault! should never again come from your mouth. The words It’s not my fault! have been symbolically written on the gravestones of unsuccessful people ever since Eve took her first bite of the apple. Until a person takes responsibility for where he is, there is no basis for moving on. The bad news is that the past was in your hands, but the good news is that the future, my friend, is also in your hands.”
As the president leaned forward to touch the younger man on the shoulder, he was interrupted by three quick knocks on the door. “Mr. President,” came a voice from the hallway. It was Fred Canfil.
“Five-minute warning, sir. I’ll wait for you out here. Mr. Churchill and the Russian are already making their way to the conference room.”
“Thank you, Fred.” Truman chuckled. “It seems my bodyguard doesn’t care very much for Mr. Stalin. Come to think of it, neither do I, and frankly, I keep a few of my plans to myself. But I suppose he’s a necessary part of this process.” He stood up and began rolling down his sleeves and buttoning the cuffs.
David saw the president’s jacket hanging over the back of the desk chair and went to retrieve it.
“What will you do?” he asked.
Truman buttoned his collar, straightened his tie, and eyed David warily. “Let’s not play any games here, son. I think we both know what I’m about to do. Do I want to do it? Do I want to deploy this . . . this bomb? Of course not!”
He strode to his desk and gathered several notebooks. Suddenly, he put them down again and faced David. “I don’t have any idea what you know about me.” He paused. “I suppose I mean that I don’t know what people say about me in the . . . ahh . . .” He wiggled his left hand at David as if he could conjure up the words he wanted to say. “I don’t know what they say about me where you come from. For all I know, history books are full of how I feel or how I look or what kind of scotch I drink, and frankly, I don’t care. But let’s get something straight between you and me. I hate this weapon, okay? I’m scared of it and concerned about what it might mean for the future of our world.”
“Why have you decided to use it?” David asked the question with no accusation, no judgment in the tone of his voice. He simply wanted to understand the thoughts of this common man who had been placed in an uncommon position. “Why have you decided to drop the bomb?”
Truman took a deep breath. “I am the first president since the beginning of modern warfare to have experienced combat. During the First World War, I would have given anything, paid any price, to end the death and suffering I watched my friends endure. And now, here I sit, the commander in chief with the ability—no, the responsibility— to end this war and bring our boys home.
“Believe me,” he said as he slipped on his jacket, “I have examined every option. I asked General Marshall what it would cost in lives to land on the Tokyo plain and other places in Japan. It was his opinion that such an invasion would cost at a minimum a quarter of a million American lives. And that’s just the invasion. After that we would literally be forced to go house to house and take the country. Did you know that during this whole war, not one si
ngle Japanese platoon has surrendered, not one?”
David watched Truman, his jaw set, but with a weariness in his face as he placed the final papers in a leather satchel. “Yes,” he said. “It must be done. How could any president face the mothers and sons and daughters of these American servicemen if, after the slaughter of an invasion of Japan, it became known that there was within the arsenal a weapon of sufficient force to end the war and it was not used?”
He stared blankly at David for a moment. It was as if he were seeing something of his own future, and it scared him. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he said, “Still got the paper?”
“Yes, sir,” David said as he held up the folded page that had never left his hand.
“Well, then,” the president said with a smile, “go ahead and read it.” He walked to the door, opened it, and was about to walk through when he paused, turned, and said, “David?”
“Sir?” David answered.
“Good luck, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” David said.
Truman turned to leave, but again reached back in to shake David’s hand. “And one more thing,” he said as he raised an eyebrow, “just because I use the expression ‘good luck’ doesn’t mean that luck actually has anything to do with where you end up.” With that, the president of the United States closed the door.
All alone, David glanced around the room. He walked slowly to the desk and sat down behind it in the big leather chair where Truman had been only moments before. Carefully, he unfolded the paper and began to read.
THE FIRST DECISION FOR SUCCESS
The buck stops here.
From this moment forward, I will accept responsibility for my past. I understand that the beginning of wisdom is to accept the responsibility for my own problems and that by accepting responsibility for my past, I free myself to move into a bigger, brighter future of my own choosing.
Never again will I blame my parents, my spouse, my boss, or other employees for my present situation. Neither my education nor lack of one, my genetics, or the circumstantial ebb and flow of everyday life will affect my future in a negative way. If I allow myself to blame these uncontrollable forces for my lack of success, I will be forever caught in a web of the past. I will look forward. I will not let my history control my destiny.
The buck stops here. I accept responsibility for my past. I am responsible for my success.
I am where I am today—mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and financially—because of decisions I have made. My decisions have always been governed by my thinking. Therefore, I am where I am today—mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and financially—because of how I think. Today I will begin the process of changing where I am—mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and financially—by changing the way I think.
My thoughts will be constructive, never destructive. My mind will live in the solutions of the future. It will not dwell in the problems of the past. I will seek the association of those who are working and striving to bring about positive changes in the world. I will never seek comfort by associating with those who have decided to be comfortable.
When faced with the opportunity to make a decision, I will make one. I understand that God did not put in me the ability to always make right decisions. He did, however, put in me the ability to make a decision and then make it right. The rise and fall of my emotional tide will not deter me from my course. When I make a decision, I will stand behind it. My energy will go into making the decision. I will waste none on second thoughts. My life will not be an apology. It will be a statement.
The buck stops here. I control my thoughts. I control my emotions.
In the future when I am tempted to ask the question “Why me?” I will immediately counter with the answer: “Why not me?” Challenges are gifts, opportunities to learn. Problems are the common thread running through the lives of great men and women. In times of adversity, I will not have a problem to deal with; I will have a choice to make. My thoughts will be clear. I will make the right choice. Adversity is preparation for greatness. I will accept this preparation. Why me? Why not me? I will be prepared for something great!
I accept responsibility for my past. I control my thoughts. I control my emotions. I am responsible for my success.
The buck stops here.
FOUR
AS DAVID READ THE FINAL WORDS ON THE PAGE, HE looked up. The office turned and seemed to shift, the edges of the room lower than its center. The desk, which had been right in front of him, appeared to stretch and curve. Standing, he pushed the chair away and stepped toward the window. He never made it. Suddenly dizzy, David felt his knees buckle, and his forward motion sent him face first to the floor. Reaching out to catch himself, David was somehow not surprised to see his hands continue through the Persian rug as if it were not there. His head, body, and legs followed into darkness.
Almost instantly, as if he had fallen through the floor into a room below, David was on his feet, alert and unharmed. He stood in a large room that was more than one hundred feet long, fifty feet wide, with a ceiling close to fifty feet high. He was caught in the middle of a group of people who were actively jostling for position in order to see a disturbance occurring somewhere to the front. The men, he could see, were bare-chested and tanned deeply from the sun. Women wore robes of brightly colored cloth, and their hair, rolled into ropes and twisted down their backs, was extremely long.
Moving with the crowd, David breathed deeply. The air smelled strongly of cedar. He noted with amazement that the walls and huge columns supporting the roof were crafted entirely from the pungent wood. The floor was fitted with massive slabs of gray, almost purple, marble.
Without warning, a gong was struck. The sound was ear shattering. Immediately, every man and woman around David ceased talking, fell to their knees, and lowered their heads. David, too stunned to do anything but stand there, suddenly had a clear view of the room.
Directly in front of him were six steps. On each side of the steps were statues of lions. Carved from dark marble, each was a masterpiece. They paled in comparison, however, to the sight at the top of the steps. Standing alone in the center of a granite pedestal was a throne made of ivory and detailed in pure gold. The back of the elaborate chair was rounded at the top and had armrests on each side. Two more lions, these made of gold, stood silent watch beside the throne.
The gong sounded again. This time, a man near the throne walked quickly to a curtain behind it and parted the cloth. Stepping through the open space was the most radiant human being David had ever seen. He wore a robe of brilliant turquoise. Rubies and gems of every sort were sewn into the hems and sleeves of the garment. Around his arms and neck were bands of solid gold. The crown on his head, also made of gold, was dusted with small diamonds. David was open-mouthed, the only person in the room still standing, staring openly at this awe-inspiring figure.
He was a large man. In his sandaled feet, he appeared to be slightly taller than David. His thick, dark hair was shoulder length, parted in the middle, and seemed to be held in place by the heavy crown. Circling to the front of the throne, he sat down and said simply, “Let us begin.”
Immediately, the crowd leaped to its feet, and the disturbance began again near the throne. As he maneuvered to a better vantage point in order to see, David could hear the angry voices of two women.
“He is mine!” one of them screamed.
“No, no!” cried the other. “You are a thief!”
David eased his way to the front as the crowd started to become unruly, taking sides with the two women and shouting insults.
“Silence,” the man on the throne said forcefully, and at once a hush passed over the people.
David moved to the edge of the steps. He was in plain view of the two women and the throne above them. As of yet, no one had acknowledged his presence. He felt utterly invisible. Seeing the women clearly for the first time, David noticed that one of them held a newborn baby.
The woman bowed and said, “Your Majesty, this woman and I live in the same house. Not long ago, my baby was born at home. Three days later, her baby was born. No one was with us. Last night, while we were all asleep, she rolled over on her baby, and he died. Then while I was still asleep, she got up and took my son out of my bed and put him in her own. Then she put her dead baby next to me.”
There was murmuring through the crowd as she continued, “In the morning, when I arose to feed my son, I saw that he was dead. Then I looked at him in the light, and I knew he was not my son.”
“No!” the other woman shouted. “He was your son. My child is alive!”
“The dead baby is yours,” yelled the woman who told the story. “You are holding my child. My baby is alive!”
David watched the women argue back and forth until the king raised his hand and silenced them all again. Carefully, the king looked into the eyes of each woman. In a measured tone, he commanded an attendant, “Bring me my sword.”
David stood transfixed as the sword was brought from behind the curtain. It was very nearly five feet long— gleaming silver with a golden handle. Emeralds decorated the lower part of the shaft. The king took it in his hand, stood up, and said, “Bring the baby to me. I will cut him in half. That way each of you can have a part of him.” He raised the sword as if to strike.
“Please don’t kill my son!” screamed the woman standing alone. “Your Majesty, give him to her, but don’t kill him!”
“Go ahead and cut him in half,” the other woman snarled as she pushed the child toward the king. “Then neither of us will have the baby.”
The king said softly, “I won’t harm the baby. I never intended to.” He pointed to the woman who was on her knees, weeping. “Give the child to her,” he said. “She is his real mother.”