Stories
and Inspirational Messages:
The
Paradox of our Time - by comedian George Carlin
Submitted by Jay Berkshire
The paradox of our time in history is that we
have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower
viewpoints.
We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but
enjoy it less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families;
more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more
knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine,
but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too
recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up
too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too
seldom.
We have multiplied our possessions, but
reduced our values.
We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate
too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a
life; we've added years to life, not life to years.
We've been all the way to the moon and back,
but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.
We've conquered outer space, but not inner
space.
We've done larger things, but not better
things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the
soul.
We've split the atom, but not our prejudice.
We write more, but learn less.
We plan more, but accomplish less.
We've learned to rush, but not to wait.
We build more computers to hold more
information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication.
These are the times of fast foods and slow
digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow
relationships.
These are the times of world peace, but
domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less
nutrition.
These are days of two incomes, but more
divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.
These are days of quick trips, disposable
diapers, throw-away morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies, and pills
that do everything from cheer to quiet, to kill.
It is a time when there is much in the show
window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology can bring this
letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or
to just hit delete.
by George Carlin -
(TOP)
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Reflection
Submitted by Stacey White
One day an expert in time management
was speaking to a group of business students and, to drive home a point,
used an illustration those students will never forget. As he stood
in front of the group of high powered overachievers he said, "Okay, time
for a quiz." Then he pulled out a one gallon, wide-mouthed Mason
jar and set it on the table in front of him. Then he produced about a dozen
fist-sized rocks and carefully placed them, one at a time, into the
jar. When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit
inside, he asked, "Is this jar full?"
By this time the class was on to him.
"Probably not," one of them answered. "Good!" he replied. He
reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started
dumping the sand in the jar and it went into all of the spaces left between
the rocks and the gravel. Once more he asked the questions, "Is this
jar full?" No! the class shouted. Once again he said "Good."
Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in until the jar
was filled to the brim. then he looked at the class and asked, "What is
the point of this illustration?" One eager beaver raised his hand
and said, "The point is, no matter how full your schedule is, if you try
really hard you can always fit some more things in it." "No," the
speaker replied, "that's not the point. The truth this illustration
teaches us is: "If you don't put the big rocks in first, you'll never get
them in at all."
What are the big rocks in your life?
Your children; your loved ones; your education; your dreams; a worthy cause;
teaching or mentoring others; doing things that you love; time for yourself;
your health; your significant other. Remember to put these BIG ROCKS
in first or you'll never get them in at all. If you sweat the little
stuff (the gravel, the sand) then you'll fill your life with little things
you worry about that don't really matter, and you'll never have the real
quality time you need to spend on the big, important stuff (the big rocks).
So, tonight, or in the morning, when
you are reflecting on this short story, ask yourself this question:
What are the 'big rocks' in my life? Then put them in your jar first.
(TOP)
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HUGS:
Submitted by Linda Powell
IF I COULD CATCH A RAINBOW
I WOULD DO IT JUST FOR YOU
AND SHARE WITH YOU ITS BEAUTY
ON THE DAYS YOU'RE FEELING BLUE
IF I COULD BUILD A MOUNTAIN
YOU COULD CALL YOUR VERY OWN
A PLACE TO FIND SERENITY
A PLACE TO BE ALONE
IF I COULD TAKE YOUR TROUBLES
I WOULD TOSS THEM INTO THE SEA
BUT ALL THESE THINGS I'M FINDING
ARE IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME
I CANNOT BUILD A MOUNTAIN
OR CATCH A RAINBOW FAIR
BUT LET ME BE WHAT I KNOW BEST
A FRIEND THAT'S ALWAYS THERE.
- Unknown (TOP)
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THE LETTER:
submitted by Linda Powell
Ruth went to her mail box and there
was only one letter. She picked it up and
looked at it before opening, but then she looked at the envelope again.
There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address. She read the
letter:
Dear Ruth,
I'm going to be in your neighborhood
Saturday afternoon I would like to stop by for a visit.
Love Always, Jesus
Her hands were shaking as she placed
the letter on the table. "Why would the Lord want to visit me?
I'm nobody special. I don't have anything to offer."
With that thought, Ruth remembered
her empty kitchen cabinets. "Oh my goodness, I really don't have anything
to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner."
She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars
and forty cents. "Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least."
She threw on her coat and hurried out the door. A loaf of French
bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk...leaving Ruth
with grand total of twelve cents to last her until Monday. Nonetheless,
she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her
arm.
"Hey lady, can you help us, lady?"
Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed
two figures huddled in the alleyway. A man and a woman, both of them dressed
in little more than rags. "Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know, and my
wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it's
getting cold and we're getting kinda hungry and, well, if you could help
us, lady, we'd really appreciate it." Ruth looked at them both.
They were dirty, they smelled bad and, frankly, she was certain that they
could get some kind of work if they really wanted to. "Sir, I'd like to
help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts
and some bread, and I'm having
an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning on serving that
to Him."
"Yeah, well, okay lady, I understand.
Thanks anyway." The man put his arm around the woman's shoulders,
turned and headed back into the alley. As she watched them leave, Ruth
felt a familiar twinge in her heart. "Sir, wait!"
The couple stopped and turned as
she ran down the alley after them. "Look, why don't you take this
food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest." She
handed the man her grocery bag.
"Thank you lady. Thank you very
much! Yes, thank you!" It was the man's wife, and Ruth could see
now that she was shivering. "You know, I've got another coat at home. Here,
why don't you take this one." Ruth unbuttoned her jacket and slipped
it over the woman's shoulders. Then smiling, she turned and walked
back to the street...without her coat and with nothing to serve her guest.
"Thank you lady! Thank you very
much!" the stranger called out. Ruth was chilled by the time she
reached her front door, and worried too. The Lord was coming to visit and
she didn't have anything to offer Him. She fumbled through her purse for
the door key. But as she did, she noticed another
envelope in her mailbox.
"That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day.
She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.
Dear Ruth,
It was so good to see you again.
Thank you for the lovely meal and thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.
Love Always, Jesus
The air was still cold, but even
without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed. (TOP)
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Hymns
-- The way we'd sing them if we were honest:
Submitted by Marvin Baker
Hymns -- The way we'd sing them
if we were honest:
(1) I Surrender,
Some
(2) There
Shall Be Sprinkles of Blessings
(3) Fill
My Spoon, Lord
(4) Oh,
How I Like Jesus
(5) He's
Quite a Bit to Me
(7) I Love
to Talk About Telling the Story
(8) Take
My Life and Let Me Be
(9) It
Is My Secret What God Can Do
(10) There Is Scattered Cloudiness
in My Soul Today
(11) Where He Leads Me, I
Will Consider Following
(12) Just As I Pretend to
Be
(13) When the Saints Go Sneaking
In
(14) Sit Up, Sit Up for Jesus
(15) A Comfy Mattress Is
Our God
(16) Self-Esteem to the World,
The Lord Is Come
(17) Oh, for a Couple of
Tongues to Sing
(18) Amazing Grace, How Interesting
the Sound
(19) Go Tell It on the Speed
Bump
(20) Special, Special, Special
(21) Lord, Keep Us Loosely
Connected to Your Word
(22) Praise God From Whom
All Affirmations Flow
(23) My Hope Is Built on
Nothing Much
(24) O, God, Our Enabler
in Ages Past
(25) I Lay My Inappropriate
Behavior on Jesus
(26) Pillow of Ages, Fluffed
for Me
(27) All Hail the Influence
of Jesus' Name!
(28) When Peace, Like a Trickle
(29) I'm Fairly Certain that
My Redeemer Lives
(30) We Give Thee but Still
Think We Own
(31) What an Acquaintance
We Have in Jesus
(32) My Faith Looks Around
for Thee
(33) Joyful, Joyful We Think
Thee Pretty Good
(34) Blessed Hunch
(35) We Are Milling Around
in the Light of God
(36) Spirit of the Living
God, Fall Somewhere Near Me
(37) Blest Be the Tie that
Doesn't Cramp My Style (TOP)
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For the Record:
Less than a year after my wife's funeral I was
confronted with the most terrible realities of being a widower with five
children.
Notes from school.
Field trip permission slips, PTA election ballots,
Troll Book order forms, sports sign-ups, medical forms, and innumerable
academic progress reports-an onslaught of paperwork courtesy of the educational
bureaucracy.
This "literature" has to be read and signed, or
placed at the bottom of the birdcage. Regardless of its destination it
must be dealt with on a daily basis.
One day, eight-year-old Rachel was helping me
complete five (count 'em, five) emergency treatment forms for school. She
would fill in the generic information (name, address, phone number), and
I would add the rest (insurance numbers, doctor's name, date, and signature).
After signing the forms, I checked them for accuracy. It was then that
I noticed on each card, in the slot beside Mother's Business Phone, Rachel
had written "1-800-HEAVEN."
Rob Loughran from Chicken Soup for the Single's
Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and
Marci Shimoff copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen (TOP)
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Rudy's Angel:
I walked into the grocery store
not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain
of losing my husband of 37 years was still too raw. And this grocery story
held so many sweet memories.
Rudy often came with me and most
every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew
what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the
three yellow roses in his hands. Rudy knew I loved yellow roses.
With a heart filled with grief,
I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping
was different since Rudy had passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little
more thought than it had for two.
Standing by the meat, I searched
for the perfect small steak and remembered how Rudy had loved his steak.
Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blond, slim and lovely in a soft
green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack of T-bones, dropped
them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go
and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her
and she smiled.
"My husband loves T-bones, but honestly,
at these prices, I don't know."
I swallowed the emotion down my
throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago,"
I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the
tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you
have together."
She shook her head and I saw the
emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled
away.
I turned and pushed my cart across
the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to
decide which size milk I should buy. A quart, I finally decided and moved
on to the ice cream section near the front of the store. If nothing else,
I could always fix myself an ice cream cone.
I placed the ice cream in my cart
and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit,
then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried
a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would
swear a soft halo encircled her blond hair as she kept walking toward me,
her eyes holding mine.
As she came closer, I saw what she
held and tears began misting in my eyes.
"These are for you," she said and
placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you
go through the line, they will know these are paid for." She leaned over
and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again.
I wanted to tell her what she'd
done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she
walked away as tears clouded my vision. I looked down at the beautiful
roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal.
How did she know?
Suddenly the answer seemed so clear.
I wasn't alone. "Oh, Rudy, you haven't forgotten me, have you?" I whispered,
with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.
Wilma Hankins Hlawiczka from Chicken
Soup for the Single's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer
Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen
(TOP)
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The Right
One:
My grandma and grandpa celebrated their
55th anniversary surrounded by their children, grandchildren, and a lifetime
collection of friends. I thought that Grandma had forgotten anything she
may have known about being single. I was wrong.
As she was getting ready for the party,
arranging her long white hair in a French twist, my grandma commented,
"I'm always surprised when I look in the mirror and see all these wrinkles."
Holding her hand over her heart, she added, "In here, I'm still a young
woman." She applied bright red lipstick.
I sat on the bed watching her primp.
"So, what is the secret of a long happy marriage?"
She sprayed floral cologne on her wrists.
"Don't settle."
I must have looked puzzled.
"Don't settle. That is all you need
to know." She tucked a stray wisp of hair in place.
I twisted my own hair around my fingers
hoping to coax it into curl. Turning the page of Grandma's photo album,
I saw an out-of-focus photo of nondescript steps.
"Where's this?"
"That is where your grandpa proposed
to me; we had known each other six weeks. When he first saw me, he told
his cousin that he had seen the girl he was going to marry. That was before
we had even spoken one word to each other."
"Six weeks?" My images of Edwardian
modesty shattered. My grandma was born in 1890. Opposite the picture of
the steps was a sepia studio portrait of a ringleted young woman with limpid
eyes. That was Grandma, in the high-collared lace blouse, her mouth primly
shut, her huge eyes staring off into the unknown future. "I thought people
used to have a long courtship."
"I had a long courtship, it just wasn't
with your grandfather." She giggled. Grandma's eyes had not changed since
that young girl held her rigid pose for the photographer.
My grandma was one of 13 children. Her
parents had a large house which Grandma described as a mansion. They were
an unusual family for the turn-of-the century. One of Grandma's sisters
was a bookkeeper. Her sister Ceil was an attorney; a plaque on a building
in McKeesport, Pennsylvania marks the site of her office.
Grandma always wanted to be a wife and
mother. She was 25 when she married my grandfather.
"Grandma, I always thought things were
different back then. I thought maybe Grandpa came over and sat around the
den or parlor or whatever for years before he proposed."
Grandma smiled and moved closer, just
like one of my friends settling in for a good gossip. "I kept company with
another man for six years. He kept pushing me to marry him. I kept saying
`I don't want to leave my mother,' or `I'm not ready.' I said this, I said
that. The truth was, there was no spark, he was nice but.he just wasn't
the one."
I leaned forward. The years had fallen
off Grandma's voice. Her speech sounded young, expectant.
"Everyone kept saying, `Annie, so when
are we dancing at your wedding?' People talked-people have always liked
to talk-there was talk I'd end up an old maid. We took that kind of thing
seriously. I didn't say anything. I kept going out with him, but something
stopped me from getting engaged. He wasn't the one. My mother was worried
about me. I wasn't worried. I knew that there was someone, somewhere. I
wasn't ready to settle."
She looked at our faces in the ornately
framed mirror. In my face she saw the young woman she had been, in her
face I saw my future. She squeezed my hand.
"So, then I met your grandfather. He
saw me out walking with my friends and found-who knows how-that he knew
my cousin. In a few days, he managed to come calling with my cousin. I
never saw the other man again."
"Six weeks later your grandpa proposed."
She started laughing until tears gathered in her eyes, tiny droplets glinting
like the diamond stud earrings in her ears. "He said he needed a wife to
manage his money. He didn't have two dimes to rub together."
"Did you know thatbefore you married
him?" I asked, thinking of the tales I had heard about her well-off parents.
"Of course I knew that. I also knew
he was the one I had waited for," she said. She looked at our faces in
the ornately framed mirror. In my face she saw the young woman she had
been; in her face I saw my future. I kissed Grandma's cheek, knowing I
would never settle. I would wait for the right one, and now I was certain
I would know him when I saw him.
Diane Goldberg from Chicken Soup for
the Single's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne
and Marci Shimoff copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen (TOP)
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A
Scoutmaster Saves the Day:
For weeks the troop has been engaged
in expectant preparation for its Parents' Night program. Everything was
in order. The walls were filled with displays, the scouts with enthusiasm
and the tables with good things to eat.
The toastmaster was well under way.
The crowd sang with that respectably restrained enthusiasm that typified
a Parents' Night program.
Then Jimmie Davis arose to give
his oration. This was the moment he had looked forward to for many weeks.
As he arose, he caught a glimpse of his mother's beaming face and his father's
stolid assured countenance. He started with a great burst of enthusiasm.
He waxed more eloquent, conscious that his listeners were paying a high
tribute to him by their careful attention.
Then something happened. The world
seemed to swim before him. He slowed down - faltered - stopped. His face
flushed, his hands sought each other frantically and in desperation he
looked helplessly toward his scoutmaster.
And ever prepared, having heard
that boyish masterpiece rehearsed again and again, the boy's leader supplied
the missing words and the lad went on. But somehow it was different now.
The masterpiece had been marred.
Jimmie paused again - and the scoutmaster
prompted him again. For the remaining two minutes, the oration seemed more
the scoutmaster's than the boy's.
But Jimmie finished it. In the heart
of the lad who sat down, knowing that he had failed, there was a heavy
load. Chagrin was plainly written on the face of the boy's mother, and
a twitch of the father's face indicated a pained consciousness of shame.
The audience applauded in a perfunctory
way, sorry for and pitying the boy who they thought had failed.
But the scoutmaster was on his feet.
His quiet eyes twinkled. All listened tensely, for he did not talk loudly.
What was he saying?
"I am more happy than any of you
can possibly understand because of what has just happened. You have seen
a boy make a glorious victory out of what might have been a miserable failure.
"Jimmie had his chance to quit.
To have quit would have been easy. But to finish the job even in the face
of 200 people required the highest kind of bravery and courage I know.
"You may someday hear a better oratorical
effect, but I am confident that you will never see a finer demonstration
of the spirit of our troop than Jimmie has just given you - to play the
game even under difficulties!"
The people thundered their applause
now. Jimmie's mother sat straight and proud. The old look of assurance
was back on the face of the boy's father. The entire group was enthusiastic
again and Jimmie, with a lump in his throat, said something to the friend
beside him that sounded like, "Gee, if I can be that kind of scoutmaster
someday."
By Walter MacPeek Submitted by Martin
Louw from A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1995 by Jack Canfield
and Mark Victor Hansen (TOP)
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It’s
Not the End of the World:
I’ll never forget one cold night
in Michigan while I was on tour with Alan Jackson. A security man handed
me a note passed along from a lady in the audience:
I am here tonight to hear one song,
"It’s Not the End of the World." My son bought two tickets for this show,
and he loved this song. He also bought these tickets a long way ahead of
time before we knew he was sick with advanced cancer. He passed away last
month after a very short illness. This song made him happy until the end,
and that made me very, very happy. Tonight, I sit here alone with an extra
ticket - so please make us happy and sing our song.
Before I received this note I was
so pumped up and excited for the show. But the note just floored me. I
gave the note to my manager and asked him to arrange for the lady to come
backstage to my preshow meet-and-greet area. Soon, I spotted her walking
up the hall toward me. She was so happy, her face was lit up with a thousand-watt
smile. It was wonderful! I sang the song to her before I went on. The lady
was so happy, and I thought perhaps I understood what she was feeling.
In her heart, she knew her son was living a better life and that made me
feel good in my heart.
Because of the emotion of that song,
none of us will ever be the same again. I believe that song completely
changed three lives that night. To the boy who had left and was looking
down on us, it helped him find his way to the next life. To the mother,
it allowed her to feel a certain acceptance and gladness for his leaving
and eased the pain of her loss. And it taught me that it’s okay to be excited
and high about being an entertainer privileged to bring happiness and gladness
into people’s lives. It also taught me never to forget to keep my feet
on the ground. . . and to always remember the things that come from the
heart.
By Emilio from Chicken Soup for
the Country Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and
Ron Camacho (TOP)
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Information
Please 2:
I used to have a job as a telephone
operator. All you had to do was dial 411 and you got me. 411 provides telephone
numbers; however, many people think, "Gee! Information, they know everything
about everything." I would get calls for, "Ya know dat girl? She live in
a brown house on dat one roa? She my frien in ma class. She got brown hair."
I would also get calls like, "Can you tell me how to make egg salad?"
Well, one day I got a call and it
was around Christmastime. I said, "Directory assistance, may I help you?"
There was a man on the phone and in a very lonely voice he said, "Ma'am,
I need...my cat needs some food." He sounded so helpless but I had to disconnect
him. It was against the rules to give out anything other than phone numbers,
so I disconnected him. He called back and by some miracle I got him again.
And again, in his frail voice, he said, "Ma'am, please don't hang up on
me. My poor cat...she's so hungry. All I want for Christmas is for her
to have some food. Please, miss...please help me." What could I do? The
poor man sounded so sincere. I had to do something! I quickly asked him
for his address and took it down on a piece of paper. I told him I would
see what I could do. I just knew I had to do something for this poor old
man and his cat. I went to my supervisor and asked if I could take the
rest of the evening off. It was getting dark out and it was starting to
snow.
I left the building and went to
the store. I bought a big bag of cat food, tied a big red ribbon on it
and attached a card from Santa. I got the old man's address out of my pocket
and went in search of his house. It was in a bad section of the city and
when I got there it was dark and snowing. I walked up to the porch and
crept up the musty, creaky stairs. I set down the bag of cat food, rang
the door bell and ran to my car and hid. I watched from my car as a wrinkly
old man opened the door. The smile on his face when he saw the food and
read the card was the best Christmas present I ever received!
By Molly Melville from A Cup of
Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Barry Spilchuk (TOP)
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The
11th Box:
What is your most memorable Thanksgiving?
For me, it was on the eve of the day. The church had the names of 10 families
scheduled to receive food baskets. A local merchant donated hams, and groceries
were purchased from the food bank. As we packed the boxes in the fellowship
hall, these families were excited over the food they were taking home.
It would be the best meal many had enjoyed in months. As they were picking
up their boxes, another family arrived. Father, mother and three children
piled out of an old pickup truck and came inside the hall. This was a new
family, not on our list. They had just heard there was food being distributed
by a church.
I explained that we did not have
enough for an extra family. And as I tried to assure them that I would
do what I could, an amazing thing happened. With no prompting a woman put
down the box she was carrying and quickly found an empty box to place beside
it. She began removing items from her box to share. Soon others followed
her lead, and these poor people created an 11th box for the new family.
By Pastor Bill Simpson Submitted
by M’Shel Bowen from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright
1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee
McCarty (TOP)
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The
Right Thoughts Riding in My Mind:
When I started riding a bike a couple
of years ago, I didn't think my involvement would ever be more serious
than the occasional short ride. But as I built strength, my friends encouraged
me to step up my training and try some longer trips, The first one to come
along was a 150-mile trek, the MS-150, an annual event that raises money
to fight multiple sclerosis.
When I registered, the idea seemed
terrific - support a worthy cause while going for the distance - and I
trained with enthusiasm. But as the time for the ride approached, my self-doubts
gained ground over my endurance. I still wanted to raise money for the
charity, but I didn't really want to bike all those miles for two days
straight.
The ride began on a beautiful Sunday
morning in the tranquil Georgia countryside, and for the first few hours
I felt wonderful. This was just the experience I had imagined, and my spirits
were high. But by the end of the day, I felt tired and irritable.
If the body is connected to the
mind, here was proof in action. Every excuse my brain pushed out seemed
to travel right down to my legs. "I can't handle this," became a leg cramp,
and "everyone else is a better rider" translated into shortness of breath.
I was sure I'd have to quit.
As I topped the crest of a hill,
the magnificent sunset kept me going for a few minutes more. Then in the
distance, silhouetted against the bright red sun, I saw a lone rider pedaling
very slowly. I noticed that the person looked different in some way, but
I couldn't tell why. So I pushed myself to catch up. There she was, peddling
along slowly but steadily, with a slight and determined smile on her face
- and she had only one leg.
My focus changed in that instant.
For a whole day I'd been doubting my body. But now I knew - it wasn't the
body, but the will that would help me reach my goal.
It rained all the second day. I
never saw the one-legged biker again, but I pushed on without complaining,
knowing she was out there with me somewhere. And at the end of the day,
still feeling strong, I completed the 150th mile.
By Kathy Higgins from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup
for the Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield,
Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee McCarty
(TOP)
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to Stories Index)
The
Christmas Veteran:
submitted by Phil Sheldon
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH
PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME
DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT
I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN
A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS
FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR
DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS
OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY
MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, IT
WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT,
ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS
ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM
IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES
SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST
READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR
FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT
I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN
WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A
BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH
OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE
ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW
MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND
FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR
TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED
TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I
HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS
MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T
ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY,
MY CORPS."
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED
TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED
TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO
SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED FROM THE COLD
NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT
COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO
WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER, WITH
A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S
CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW
HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND
TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
This poem was written by a Marine
stationed in Okinawa Japan. (TOP)
(Back
to Stories Index)
Prime
Time:
Alex was heading out of town on
an assignment for the newspaper he worked for. Actually, he was looking
forward to being away from the office and from his hectic family schedule.
The family farewell had not gone
very well before he left. Alex's wife, Deanne, was worrying about handling
all the family responsibilities while he was away, and Alex was too busy
to notice her distress.
In the midst of all the chaos, eight-year-old
Matthew asked his father if he would be back to hear his class concert
on Thursday evening. Alex replied, "Sorry, I'll be out of town."
He said good-bye quickly and walked
out the door. The out-of-town assignment would take Alex and the newspaper
photographer to the Columbia Gorge on the Columbia River. As they approached
the canyon, Alex noticed all the wind surfers and the sail boarders. It
looked like the ideal life. Carefree. Worry-free. Responsibility-free.
Alex wondered where he had gone wrong - how had he missed this good life?
As he sat in his motel room the
last night of the assignment, Alex had a sense of emptiness, of not belonging.
Not at home, not here, not anywhere. Things that had seemed important to
him - God, marriage, children, work - were now slipping away from him.
Then, Alex noticed in his suitcase
a greeting card tucked beneath some clothes. The card was from Deanne.
It said, "I'll love you `til the cows come home." He looked at the card
and Deanne's familiar handwriting and melted inside. In that instant, Alex
knew exactly where he belonged.
The next day after a long news-feature
interview and a rushed trip home, Alex raced to Matthew's concert, arriving
just in time. As he rushed into the school auditorium to sit down, Deanne
jumped up to greet him in elated surprise, then led him to their seats.
She had reserved two seats in the second row, "just in case." When Daniel
saw them together as the band marched on stage, he grinned from ear to
ear and waved wildly to say hello. Alex acknowledged him, stood up and
waved back. Then he turned to Deanne and said, "It sure is good to be home."
By From This Little Light of Mine
from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield,
Mark Victor Hansen & Barry Spilchuk (TOP)
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to Stories Index)
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