"Let me stand on your feet,"� I implored. "Please, dad."� He leaned his shovel against a post, sat down on the grass and took his shoes and socks off. He lay on his back and extended his arms above his head. I stepped onto the palms of his hands. He lifted his feet and I stepped up with one foot and then with the other onto the bottoms of his bare feet. Then he straightened his legs.

I was brave. The skillful trick didn't frighten me. We had done it many times. I stood there for several minutes wearing a contented smile. Mama took a picture of us. Dad lowered his legs slowly and I jumped. I was uninhibited and I trusted my dad.

One day, after going through the same routine with my dad, I lost my balance and fell to the ground landing on my right hand. My wrist was injured. Dad felt bad, but I didn't blame him. I wasn't sure I wanted to get up there again. I sat on the grass holding my wrist and sobbing.

"Get back up Jelean and do it again,"� dad said in kindness, "so you won't be afraid."�

I cried, "No dad, I don't want to. It hurts."�

"You can do it Jelean, do it again."� I couldn't stop the flowing tears or the pain but I did what my dad had asked me to do. I climbed back up. I stood straight up momentarily. He lowered his legs slowly and I jumped. I didn't fall. I gained back my confidence. I had trusted my dad. And I had learned to get up when I fell down. There were many times in my life in which that philosophy became useful to me.

I was alone. I sat on a bench in the locker room next to the loud speaker. I was a 7th grader and anxious to make the school spelling team. I was a good speller. I felt confident my name would be announced but after listening to one name after another until the last name was finally called, I hadn't made it. Others were chosen over me. I cried a little hoping no one would notice. I felt like giving up.

I reflected on teachings of my father, "Never give up."� I continued spelling and found success. I may not have ever made the spelling team but I made the tumbling team, the yearbook staff, and an officer in my sorority in college.

As a child, learning to swim was difficult. I stayed with it, over and over even though I struggled. I worked at it by myself with no instructions from others. I was determined to succeed. My swimming skills improved. I became a swimming instructor and was awarded a blue ribbon, a red one and several others when I participated in an intramural competition in college.

As I became a wife and mother, my challenges and burdens became so cumbersome, I thought it was impossible to achieve any type of success. There were times Iwanted to give up. I was stricken with a debilitating painful illness when I was 30, and along with my husband, I was raising four young children. The doctors were baffled with my illness but they tried one medication after another. When I failed at one, I accepted another trial of a different medication.

When one doctor couldn't help, I sought the help of another. The evaluations, procedures, tests and specialists were too innumerable to count. I failed over and over but I knew the answer was out there. I struggled in agony while trying to bring up my children with a strong faith. My husband was my strength. He didn't give up. I didn't give up.

We raised five successful children and became grandparents to 18 grandchildren. While ill, I found accomplishment in other areas: writing, scrapbooking, woodcarving, crocheting and teaching. After 40 years, the answers finally came. And so did relief. Do I believe in getting up each time I fall down? Most assuredly.

• Failing in one area doesn't have to mean failure in another.

• After a repeated attempt to succeed at a desired skill, letdown often leads to attainment in the future and in reaching other goals.

• Patience finds its rewards when success happens after a period of time and after trying over and over again. Sometimes it takes a while.

Attaining a long-sought-after goal feeds our capacity to accomplish other goals bringing to a realization that getting up each time we fall results in a lifetime of fulfillment.