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A Story of Sorrow
The mall was over-crowded, shoppers rushed from store to store Nobody paid attention as she crouched there on the floor. She didn't look in trouble and she didn't seem afraid Apparently she stopped to rest, she did not need my aid. A little girl of 8 or 9 and cute as she could be I wondered, should I stop and ask if she needs help from me? I wondered if her mother had just left her there alone I thought, as I walked by her, in my haste to get back home. As I left the mall I could not get her off my mind Did that little girl need help? Was I just acting blind? It bothered me so much, I had to go back in the mall I have to get this settled in my mind once and for all. The mall began to close, I heard some chain doors coming down But as I looked the little girl was no where to be found. Is it my imagination that again is running wild Thinking I had lost my chance to help this poor lost child. I guess she must be fine or she would still be sitting here I get way too emotional at Christmas time each year. I had to leave and get back home where it is safe and warm The weather forecast for that night -- a chilling winter storm. Late that night it happened as the weather station said Frigid cold and heavy snow while I was snug in bed. In the morning I awoke to winter's nasty caper The only place I'd go that day was out to get the paper. Cozy in my kitchen with my news and cup of tea But as I saw the front page, it just devasted me. On the front page down below, a little headline read "At the local shopping mall a little girl found dead". It was 4 A.M. this morning when police received the call The caller said "A little girl was dead behind the mall". It was the chilling elements that brought her close to death As she lay down she fell asleep and breathed her final breath. I could not read the rest of it as I began to weep While I slept safe a little girl had frozen in her sleep. Many years have passed me now, but it still haunts my dreams Was the little girl they found the same one I had seen? I can't forget that little girl no matter how I try But now when someone seems in need I never pass them by. The lesson I have learned from this was difficult but true. The last chance that someone may have could very well be you. |
The Trouble Tree
The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier. "Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied." I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again." He paused. "Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there ain't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before." |
Struggle
A man found a cocoon of a butterfly. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through the little hole at the end. Eventually, the butterfly stopped making progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no farther. The man decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily, but it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly. What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were nature's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If nature allowed us to go through our life without any obstacles, it would cripple us. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. And we could never fly... |
Not A One
Little Chad was a shy, quiet young man. One day he came home and told his mother that he'd like to make a valentine for everyone in his class. Her heart sank. She thought, "I wish he wouldn't do that!" because she had watched the children when they walked home from school. Her Chad was always behind them. They laughed and hung on to each other and talked to each other. But Chad was never included. Nevertheless, she decided she would go along with her son. So she purchased the paper and glue and crayons. For three weeks, night after night, Chad painstakingly made 35 valentines. Valentine's Day dawned, and Chad was beside himself with excitement. He carefully stacked them up, put them in a bag, and bolted out the door. His mother decided to bake him his favorite cookies and serve them nice and warm with a cool glass of milk when he came home from school. She just knew he would be disappointed and maybe that would ease the pain a little. It hurt her to think that he wouldn't get many valentines--maybe none at all. That afternoon she had the cookies and milk on the table. When she heard the children outside, she looked out the window. Sure enough, there they came, laughing and having the best time. And, as always, there was Chad in the rear. He walked a little faster than usual. She fully expected him to burst into tears as soon as he got inside. His arms were empty, she noticed, and when the door opened she choked back the tears. "Mommy has some cookies and milk for you," she said. But he hardly heard her words. He just marched right on by, his face aglow, and all he could say was: "Not a one, Not a one." Her heart sank. And then he added, "I didn't forget a one, not a single one!" |
The Wallet
As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years. The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924. The letter had been written almost sixty years ago. It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him any more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him. It was signed, Hannah. It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope. "Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?" She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me. I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. "I have a party who will speak with you." I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!" "Would you know where that family could be located now?" I asked. "I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter." She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the daughter might be living. I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home. This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old? Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us. " Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television." I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah. She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael." She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said Softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor." "Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..." I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?" I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet." I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times." "Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to shake. "He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks." I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up. On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man." We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!" "This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?" I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward." "No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet." The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?" "Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is." He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me," he begged. "She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her." I said softly. The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, mister, I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved her." "Mr. Goldstein," I said, "Come with me." We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse walked over to her. "Hannah," she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?" She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word. Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, "Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?" She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's you! My Michael!" He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces. "See," I said. "See how the Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will be." About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the nursing home... "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!" It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made me their best man. The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple. A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years. |
The Battle Within
An old Cherokee describes an experience going on inside himself.... "It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too." The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf will win?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed." |
What It Means To Be Adopted
Teacher Debbie Moon's first-graders were discussing a picture of a family. One little boy in the picture had different color hair than the other family members. One child suggested that he was adopted, and a little girl named Jocelynn Jay said, "I know all about adoptions because I'm adopted." "What does it mean to be adopted?" asked another child. "It means," said Jocelynn, "that you grew in your mother's heart instead of her tummy." |
A Man And His Dog
A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them. After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of the long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at the desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, �Excuse me, where are we?� �This is Heaven, sir,� the man answered. �Wow! Would you happen to have some water?� the man asked. �Of course, sir. Come right in and I�ll have some ice water brought right up.�The man gestured, and the gate began to open. �Can my friend,� gesturing toward his dog, �come in too?� the traveler asked. �I�m sorry sir, but we don�t accept pets.� The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog. After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book. �Excuse me!� he called to the reader. �Do you have any water?� �Yeah, sure. There�s a pump over there.� The man pointed to a place that couldn�t be seen from outside the gate. �Come on in.� �How about my friend here?� the traveler gestured to the dog. �There should be a bowl by the pump.� They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink himself. Then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them. �What do you call this place?� the traveler asked. �This is Heaven,� was the answer. �Well, that�s confusing,� the traveler said. �The man down the road said that was Heaven too.� �Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That�s Hell.� �Doesn�t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?� �No. I can see how you might think so, but we�re just happy that they screen out the folks who�ll leave their best friends behind. |
Whose life would you like to be living
A spiritual leader got very tired of her flock arguing about whose sufferings was worst. Week after week, not only did they proclaim the supremacy of their own suffering, but they demeaned their neighbors as not being justified in their personal suffering. They each thought, "If my pain was as little as theirs, I could laugh and be joyous, rather than be forced to go about with this pained look in my eye." The leader called her flock together around a gnarly little tree one winter day and handed each person a pencil and an envelope with a string through a hole in the corner, and a blank piece of paper inside. "I have been very troubled that many of you feel that Spirit has given you a more severe burden to carry than your neighbors. I took this heartfelt concern to prayer with me, and Spirit has offered a solution.It took quite a long time of walking around the tree before anyone took any suffering to be their own. But eventually, the first envelope was claimed. Little by little, every envelope came off the tree, each person claiming the suffering of their choice. And each person claimed the very same suffering they had hung on the tree... but Spirit was correct. Each one was more content with what was theirs to bear. This story was contributed by C.G. Walters. |
Dream
An old story tells of a woman who dreams every night that she is being chased, throughout a big haunted house, by a hulking monster. Night after night, the hideous thing runs after her, its breath like acid on the back of her neck... It all seems so real... Finally one night, the dream begins again, but this time the beast corners the poor terrified woman, and just as it's about to tear her apart, the woman finds her voice and shrieks: "What are you! Why are you chasing me! What will you do to me!" At that, the monster stops, straightens up, and with a puzzled expression, puts its hands on its hips and says, "How should I know? It's your dream." |
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