"The conditions on the mountain were extremely unpredictable," said Todd. "Storms could blow in within hours. It's like a game of cat and mouse trying to make it to the top.
"The weather got to minus 30 degrees Fahrenheit at times," he said. "It took us 12 days to battle the weather, altitude sickness and the reality of the danger. I knew the mountain could be dangerous, but I didn't realize just how dangerous until two frozen bodies were being dragged down the mountain in front of me.
"It was one step at a time. The last thousand feet were the most difficult. I was taking three breaths for every step. I kept telling myself that my message would only be heard if I made it to the top. This realization propelled me to the summit."
The rest of the expedition was fast-paced and exciting. Hooked on Phonics came to Summit America's rescue by financing the rest of the climb. People took an interest in Todd, his determination to break the record, and his story. His message was being told in newspapers and on television and radio as he traveled around the country.
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Everything was right on track until it was time to climb the 47th highpoint, Mt. Hood in Oregon. One week earlier, two people lost their lives on that mountain. Everyone advised Todd and Whit not to make the climb. They said it wasn't worth the risk.
Full of uncertainty and apprehension, Todd contacted his old high-school friend and expert mountaineer, Fred Zalokar. When Fred heard his predicament, he said, "Todd, you've come too far to quit now. Fly me into town and I'm going take you up that mountainsafely."
After a number of discussions with mountain authorities and hours of careful planning, Todd, Whit and Fred successfully made it to the summit of Mt. Hood. Now only three more highpoints stood between Todd and the record.
Then on August 7, 1994, at 11:57 A.M., Todd stood victorious at the peak of Hawaii's Mauna Kea. He had climbed all 50 highpoints in just 66 days, 21 hours and 47 minutes, shattering the old climbing record by 35 days!
Even more remarkable, Todd was an amputee who shattered a record set by a man with two good legs.
Todd was elated, not only because he had set a new world climbing record, but because he now knew the answer to the question, "Why me?" that had haunted him ever since his accident at the lake.
At age 33, he saw how this triumph over his tragedy could be used to encourage people everywhere to believe that they could make it through their personal challenges.
Throughout the climb and to this day, Todd Huston is bringing his message to people everywhere. With a calm assurance he states, "Through faith in God and a belief in the abilities God gives you, you can overcome whatever challenges you face in life."
Lisa Manley
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An Undiscovered Masterpiece
Nothing in the world can take the place of perseverance. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.
Calvin Coolidge
A few years ago, my friend Sue had some fairly serious health problems. She had been an invalid as a child and still suffered from a birth defect that had left a hole in one of the chambers of her heart. The births of her five children, beginning with a difficult C-section, had also taken their toll. She had suffered surgery after surgery and had also put on weight for several years. Diets had not helped her. She suffered almost constantly from undiagnosed pain. Her husband, Dennis, had learned to accept her limitations. He constantly hoped her health would improve, but he did not really believe it ever would.
One day they sat down as a family and drew up a "wish list" of the things they wanted most out of life. One of Sue's items was to run in a marathon. Given her history and physical limitations, Dennis thought her goal was completely unrealistic, but Sue became committed to it.
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She began by running very slowly in the subdivision where they lived. Every day she ran just a little farther than she had the day beforejust one driveway more. "When will I ever be able to run a mile?" Sue asked one day. Soon she was running three. Then five. I'll let Dennis tell the rest of the story in his own words:
I remember Sue telling me something she had learned: "The subconscious and the nervous system cannot tell the difference between real and vividly imagined situations." We can change ourselves for the better and cause ourselves to subconsciously pursue our most precious desires with almost total success, if we crystallize the images clearly enough in our minds. I knew Sue believed itshe had registered to run in the St. George Marathon in southern Utah.
"Can the mind believe an image that will lead to self-destruction?" I asked myself as I drove the mountainous road from Cedar City to St. George, Utah. I parked our van near the finish line and waited for Sue to come in. The rain was steady and the wind was cold. The marathon had started over five hours ago. Several cold and injured runners had been transported past me, and I began to panic. The image of Sue alone and cold, off the road somewhere, made me sick with worry. The fast and strong competitors had finished long ago, and runners were becoming more and more sparse. Now I could not see anyone in either direction.
Almost all of the cars along the marathon route had left, and some normal traffic was beginning. I was able to drive directly up the race route. There were still no runners in view after driving almost two miles. Then I went around a bend in the road and spotted a small group running up ahead. As I approached, I could see Sue in the company of three others. They were smiling and talking as they ran. They were on the opposite
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side of the road as I pulled off and called between the now-steady traffic, ''Are you okay?"
"Oh, yes!" Sue said, panting only mildly. Her new friends smiled at me.
"How far to the finish line?" one of them asked.
"Only a couple of miles," I said.
A couple of miles? I thought. Am I crazy? I noticed that two of the runners were limping. I could hear their feet sloshing in wet sneakers. I wanted to say to them that they had run a good race and offer them a ride in, but I could see the resolve in their eyes. I turned the van around and followed from a distance, watching for one or all of them to fall. They had been running for over five and a half hours! I sped around them and up to within a mile of the finish and waited.
As Sue came into view again, I could see her begin to struggle. Her pace slowed and she grimaced. She looked at her legs in horror as if they did not want to work any longer. Somehow, she kept moving, almost staggering.
The small group was becoming more spread out. Only a woman in her twenties was near Sue. It was obvious that they had become friends during the race. I was caught up in the scene and began running along with them. After a hundred yards or so I tried to speak, to offer some great words of wisdom and motivation, but my words and my breath failed.
The finish line came into sight. I was grateful it had not been completely dismantled, because I felt that the real winners were just now coming in. One of the runners, a slim teenager, stopped running, sat down, and started to cry. I watched as some people, probably his family, came and carried him to their car. I could also see that Sue was in agonybut she had dreamed about this day for two years and she would not be denied. She knew she would finish, and this
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knowledge allowed her to confidentlyeven happilypick up her pace the last hundred yards to the finish line.
Few people were left to congratulate my wife and marathon runner extraordinaire. She had run a smart race, stopping to stretch regularly, drinking plenty of water at the various water stops, and pacing herself well. She had been the leader of a small group of less-experienced runners. She had inspired and encouraged most of them home with her words of confidence and assurance. They openly praised and embraced her as we rejoiced in the park.
"She made us believe we could do it," her new friend stated.
"She described so vividly how it would be to finish that I knew I could
do it," another said.
The rain had quit, and we walked and talked in the park. I looked at Sue. She was carrying herself differently. Her head was more erect. Her shoulders were squared. Her walk, even though she was limping, had a new confidence. Her voice held a new, quiet dignity. It was not as if she had become someone new; it was more as if she had discovered a real self she had not known before. The painting was not yet dry, but I knew she was an undiscovered masterpiece with a million things left to learn about herself. She truly liked her newly discovered self. So did I.
Charles A. Coonradt
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If I Could Do It, You Can Too!
I began life, literally, with nothing. Given up as an infant by my biological mother, an unmarried young woman from the small town of Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan, Canada, I was adopted by a poor, middle-aged couple, John and Mary Linkletter.
My adoptive father was one of the warmest men I've ever known, but he had absolutely no ability as a businessman. A part-time evangelical preacher, he also tried selling insurance, running a small general store and making shoes, all rather unsuccessfully. Eventually we found ourselves living in a charity home run by a local church in San Diego. Then Dad Linkletter felt called by God to become a full-time preacher, and we had even less money. And what we did have was usually shared with whatever neighborhood derelict happened to be looking for a meal.
I graduated from high school early and hit the road as a hobo at the tender age of 16 with the idea of finding my fortune. One of the first things I found, however, was the wrong end of a pistol: my traveling companion and I were held up by a couple of toughs who found us sleeping in a boxcar.
"Put your hands straight out and lie flat!" one of the men ordered. "If this match goes out and I hear anything more I'll shoot." As they searched our pockets
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and felt around our middles, I wondered if money was all they wanted. I was frightened because I had heard stories of older hobos sexually attacking young boys. Just then, the match went out . . . and was hastily relit. We did not move! The thieves found $1.30 on me but missed $10.00 I had sewn into my coat lining. They also took two dollars from my friend, Denver Fox.
The match went out again and I could tell by their hesitation that they were undecided about something. As Denver and I lay there, inches apart in the darkness, I heard the hammer of the pistol click back and a cold chill ran down my back. I knew they were considering killing us. There was little risk for them. The rain hammering down on the outside of the boxcar would drown out any noise. Frozen with terror, I thought of my father and how he would have prayed for me had he known. Suddenly fear left me, and peace and calm returned. As if in response to my own restored self-assurance, they moved back toward us. Then I could feel one of the men push something against my arm.
"Here's your thirty cents," he said. "Breakfast money."
Today I can look back on 45 years as a star of two of the longest-running shows in broadcasting history; I can reflect on the success I've had as a businessman, author, and lecturer; and I can be proud of my wonderful family life58 years with the same wife, five children, seven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren. I mention this not to be boastful but to encourage others who are at the lower rung of the economic ladder. Keep in mind where I started and remember, if I could do it, you can, too! Yesyou can!
Art Linkletter
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What Happened?
A young man played, or I should say practiced, football at an Ivy League university. "Jerry" wasn't skilled enough to play more than occasionally in the regular season games, but in four years this dedicated, loyal young man never missed a practice.
The coach, deeply impressed with Jerry's loyalty and dedication to the team, also marveled at his evident devotion to his father. Several times the coach had seen Jerry and his visiting father laughing and talking as they walked arm-in-arm around the campus. But the coach had never met the father or talked with Jerry about him.
During Jerry's senior year and a few nights before the most important game of the seasona traditional rivalry that matched Army-Navy, Georgia-Georgia Tech or Michigan-Ohio State in intensitythe coach heard a knock on his door. Opening it, he saw the young man, his face full of sadness.
"Coach, my father just died," Jerry murmured. "Is it all right if I miss practice for a few days and go home?"
The coach said he was very sorry to hear the news and, of course, it was all right for him to go home. As Jerry murmured a "thank you" and turned to leave, the coach added, "Please don't feel you have to return
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in time for next Saturday's game. You certainly are excused from that, too." The youth nodded and left.
But on Friday night, just hours before the big game, Jerry again stood in the coach's doorway. "Coach, I'm back," he said, "and I have a request. May I please start the game tomorrow?"
The coach tried to dissuade the youth from his plea in light of the importance of the game to the team. But finally he consented.
That night the coach tossed and turned. Why had he said yes to the youth? The opposing team was favored to win by three touchdowns. He needed his best players in for the entire game. Suppose the opening kickoff came to Jerry and he fumbled. Suppose he started the game and they lost by five or six touchdowns.
Obviously he could not let the youth play. It was out of the question. But he had promised.
So, as the bands played and the crowd roared, Jerry stood at the goal line awaiting the opening kickoff. The ball probably won't go to him anyway, the coach thought to himself. Then the coach would run one series of plays, making sure the other halfback and the fullback carried the ball, and take the youth out of the game. That way he wouldn't have to worry about a crucial fumble, and he would have kept his promise.
"Oh no!" the coach groaned as the opening kickoff floated end over end right into Jerry's arms. But instead of fumbling, as the coach expected, Jerry hugged the ball tightly, dodged three onrushing defenders and raced to midfield before he was finally tackled.
The coach had never seen Jerry run with such agility and power, and perhaps sensing something, he had the quarterback call Jerry's signal. The quarterback handed off, and Jerry responded by breaking tackles
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for a 20-yard gain. A few plays later he carried the ball over the goal line.
The favored opponents were stunned. Who was this kid? He wasn't even in their scouting reports, for until then he had played a total of three minutes all year.
The coach left Jerry in, and he played the entire first half on both offense and defense. Tackling, intercepting and knocking down passes, blocking, runninghe did it all.
At halftime the underdogs led by two touchdowns. During the second half Jerry continued to inspire the team. When the final gun sounded, his team had won.
In the locker-room bedlam reserved only for teams that have fought the impossible fight and triumphed, the coach sought out Jerry and found him sitting quietly, head in hands, in a far corner.
"Son, what happened out there?" the coach asked as he put his arm around him. "You can't play as well as you did. You're just not that fast, not that strong nor that skilled. What happened?"
Jerry looked up at the coach and said softly, "You see, Coach, my father was blind. This is the first game he ever saw me play."
Author Unknown
Submitted by Chuck Dodge
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Let There Be Peace
A wise old gentleman retired and purchased a modest home near a junior high school. He spent the first few weeks of his retirement in peace and contentment . . . then a new school year began. The very next afternoon three young boys, full of youthful, after-school enthusiasm, came down his street, beating merrily on every trash can they encountered. The crashing percussion continued day after day, until finally the wise old man decided it was time to take some action.