By George Matthew Adams

"Next to winning yourself, is to lose to a delightful companion."

This was the remark I overheard on coming into the clubhouse after a wonderful day at golf. And much as I had enjoyed the day, that remark was worth more to me than all the rest put together. And it has come back to me time and again. Now I give it to you.

Next to -

I wonder if there is not packed into these little words some of the finest suggestive possibilities for happiness in all this life.

Let's see:

Next to - winning yourself, to see somebody else win.

Next to - breathing life and spirit and wonder and imagination and inspiration into the heart of some instrument of music yourself, to drink in the art of a master.

Next to - being a great leader, to be a worthy follower.

Next to - writing some great book or painting some great masterpiece, to interpret rightly what the writer or artist has felt; and thus, in living, to make his work a thing of satisfaction and permanence.

Next to - being helped, for you to help.

Next to - being loved, for you to love.

Next to - grandly succeeding, for you to help

bring success to someone else!

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By George Matthew Adams

One strong point about Coming Back is that you are acquainted with that part over which you have to travel again to the point where you began to slip. And nearly always the impetus thus gained on the Coming Back sends one further on than before.

The great thing about age is that it teaches us something every day. And the wiser we get, the more happy we are able to be. For happiness is intelligence.

I always feel just a little sorry for the man who has never slipped - who has, therefore, never had a chance to Come Back. I think of how much he misses in feeling for the fellow who has slipped - and who has gloriously Come Back — only to face ahead.

Fail a dozen times. Be defeated on a score of counts. Lose out on the things that your heart is most set upon winning if Fate dictates that way with you.

But then Come Back - with fire in your eyes, with courage burning red hot in your veins and with a jaw set for "game."

One drawback to the one who has gone back is the fear to face those who watched him as he went by.

But don't let that trouble you. Just tell yourself that you are made of sterner stuff — and that you know how to Come Back.

And think of the many great things that you are able to do that nobody has yet done.

Oh yes, it's great to keep Coming Back - I mean,

going forward!

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By George Matthew Adams

If you were completely understood you would not be worth understanding. In this fact alone lies your greatest latent power, your largest fascination, your surest attraction.

No one ever understood Napoleon, Washington, Lincoln, Emerson, Carlyle. They were too great to be understood.

The essence of littleness is to be understood.

If you were thoroughly understood, no longer would you seek solution to those mysterious forces that drive you on and on. If you were thoroughly understood, no longer would you retain your ability to be a compelling personality. Your life would at once become as a shell at whose tapping would resound hardly more than a hollow murmur.

There is waste in the morbid plaint against being misunderstood. Be happy over what you are - and what you may be.

Glory in your ability to take the scattered and uncollected items of life and character and happily shape them into the understandable and serviceful.

Then you will surely be understood sufficiently to enable you to forget that it is of any value whatsoever to be understood, excepting in a very few things — your desire to be helpful, for instance, and to be some-body.

Nobody fully understands you! Don't you mind,

for no one else was ever fully understood.

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By George Matthew Adams

This is a true story. It was told to me by a big publisher who was a close friend of the man who "wears the clothes of the incident."

Many years ago, a boy came to New York as an immigrant. He was very poor. All he had was a good back, a willing head, and useful hands and feet. He had to work hard. But he never complained. One day, he and his "pal" were doing some hard work in the bitter cold. And the boy that this story is about, froze his feet.

The years went on. The boy became the important attorney for James J. Hill, the "Empire" builder. One evening he was being dined in the Northwest as the "guest of honor." But his mind seemed far from the table and his associates.

Turning to my friend, he said: "There is a place that I want to go." "Where is it?" asked my friend. And the guest told him. It was in a rough neighborhood, and my friend advised him against it.

"By the way, who is it you want to see?" said my friend.

"I want to see 'Bill Blank' who is in the barber supply business — do you know him?"

"Oh, yes," said my friend, "but you'd better put it off."

"Oh, I cannot," said the great attorney. "For, you see, it is like this — that fellow was with me when I froze my feet!"

The big man is always a human man.

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By George Matthew Adams

I am tired tonight, God. Not discouraged, not overwhelmed with heavy weight of work or worry — nothing like that, God, but just tired - tired, tired.

Sometimes I think that You were made for tired people, God, because tired people are always yearning for love and the kind comfort of a great Mother-Father, as You always seem to be to everyone, God.

I worked hard today, God. I tried to do my work faithfully and well. I know that I did not do it perfectly, but because I am tired tonight, I am very sure that I gave of what I had, with a sincere desire back of my efforts to make all that I did do worth while. So You will overlook where I failed, won't You, God?

I am tired. But since I tried to do my best, I feel happily tired. Grant unto me, then, God, that I be given sleep and rest — and that the dreams I have, if they come, may be beautiful and full of pleasant pictures.

Lift me into the tomorrows, as I sleep, and lay Your plans for my usefulness, so that when I awake, I may go forth in newness and strength, glad of life and living.

Help me to weave and interweave every thought and effort and desire of my own heart into that happy scheme of work and service which, as it is pursued, knits all human effort into one grand and noble plan.

I am very tired, God. But there are others who are much more tired than I. Remember them, God. Rest them, too. Lift them from their discouraged and frightened states and grant unto them the ease and help of Your strong arms.

Thank You, God.

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By George Matthew Adams

I have been thinking about the great unrest in the world. And I have been believing that a lot of it would be cured - if only a great crowd of new mothers might be imported into the world! For, you see, a mother is able to cure almost everything.

From the little tot who bumps his head and gets a great big fat "tiss" that immediately heals it, to the strong man who goes to his work in life after the benediction of a mother's last kiss - does this marvelous influence mold and make worth while every effort that a human being is able to perform.

It's the "Mother o' Mine" thought the embodies the noblest impulses of which we are capable. I have in mind a wonderful mother, who sent her boy out into the world with these words: "My boy — come back SOMEBODY!"

Through the winding paths and ways of strife and pain and sorrow, as well as of joy, does the spirit of a mother follow and lead. A mother never runs out of love or forgiveness — or anything that is helpful.

Long years ago my Mother went away. But she comes back with the opening of every day — to tell me what to do. And all that I am of wisdom or of good, I feel that I owe most to her.

"Mother o' Mine," you look so beautiful to me, where you are! The stars keep telling me about you.

It's the mothers who are going to bring this world out all right in the end!

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By George Matthew Adams

Life is like a running stream — with its source far from its destination, its heart hidden from the crowd of men and traffic, among the mountains getting ready!

But, like life, the full fervor and power and influence for usefulness of the little far-away mountain stream, is to be found finally in its spreading rivers of commerce — in its oceans of world-knitting help and great works.

Coming down the mountain sides from its source, the little river doesn't seem much. But when it gets to its river-bigness and broadness and, later, to the very ocean itself, then we get it in its mightiness. For then it is that commerce comes in and knowledge is carried to the furthermost parts of the earth.

The little stream, however, even at its start, is serious. As flowers are, and stones, and trees. And the world. Thus is Life serious. But to be serious is not to be long-faced - but thought-faced!

The little stream is serious - but dead in earn-est. But the greatest thing about the little river is that it always — smiles!

Did you ever see a river that didn't smile? Why, there are billions and billions of smiles — rivers and rivers of smiles. And they cheer everything and everybody that they pass — stones, sticks, mud, fishes, boats, branches of trees. And they toss out their kisses of smiles (do the Rivers of Smiles) to every passing thing whether man or child or beast or bird or insect or - just the atoms of the air!

Like a stream you may be — in walks and talks and works. Just ripple on! Keep moving. Keep doing. Keep cleansing. Keep giving.

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By George Matthew Adams

In the Bible there is a story of a young man who thought that his home was not good enough for him. So he went away.

He sought thrills, veneered pleasures, and "easy money" — without working for it. It is said that he fed upon the husks of the swine-herd.

But the young man soon tired - as all such do. He wanted to hear again the voices of home, and to eat home cooking, and to have a happy bed to sleep in. And so he decided to go back. "I will arise and go to my father," he said.

His pride had been broken. He was ragged and discouraged. But he was not so far gone that he was unable to decide to face things definitely anew.

As he neared his home, a thrill that he had never known before came over him. His father ran to meet him with outstretched arms. And so glad was the father to see him that he ordered the finest dinner and celebration that he could think up. "For," said he, "my boy, whom I thought was dead, is alive!"

Some of the other members of the family didn't seem to like the idea of taking him back. But not the father. Which goes to prove that there is great father love as well as mother love, in the big world.

But the lesson in the story, to me, is this: Here was a young man who had made a great mistake - but who still retained the courage to face life anew.

Daily must we mend and re-construct. Regrets are vain, indeed. But the holy desire to be right within our hearts is what counts.

Each of us must decide for himself - to arise!

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