Stories
and Inspirational Messages:
Rufus:
We had a basset hound named Rufus. We called him the
"ding dong boy" but I don’t know why. He was a very, very sweet
soul. He never bit man nor beast. When the vet would cut his toenails too short,
making them bleed, he would cry and lick the vet. Mean dogs befriended Rufus and
turned nice in his presence.
Rufus died yesterday. He was fourteen.
I went for a walk in the park today. The world felt
different. Changed. There was one less sweet soul. There was a missing piece of
the puzzle. It wasn’t just "my" world that was different. It was the
whole world. . . everyone’s world. People I passed were unaware of the change.
They looked so. . .centered, so normal. They didn’t know the world was
different. I felt so small and alone in the knowing.
I know that when I tell clients that I wasn’t in
yesterday because my dog died that it will sound small; insignificant. Everyone
has a dog die at some point. But somehow it feels like no one has ever. . .or
will ever. . . feel like I do today.
Someone said once that love feels like that same kind
of . . .exclusivity. Maybe it’s the same. Maybe what I’m feeling is love.
It feels as if I have an aura. And, if that aura is
radiating shades of blue there’s a red lightning bolt running through the
light blue part. . .clear to the center of my being.
Hoping, it is filled with fields of green grass, chew
bones, all the treats you can eat and strong legs without arthritis to run in
the green fields.
- By Carmen Rutlen from A 5th Portion of Chicken
Soup for the Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor
Hansen (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
My Hero:
It is Thursday. I hate Thursday. Today, multitudes
of parents and children make long trips in order to arrive at this
destination ... hell. It is a crowded and noisy place. It is a place where
people do not smile, a place where pain and fear lurk around every corner. I
exit the elevator on the fourth floor, turn the far-too-familiar corner, and
sit in the uncomfortable chair. People are all around me, yet I am alone.
Although my journey has just begun for today, it is not an unfamiliar one. I
have been here many times before. Twenty-one grooves in each tile. I have
counted them often. I settle myself in my chair because I know it may be
some time before my name is called. Suddenly, I hear a strange sound. It is
a laugh. I can hardly believe it, for no one laughs on Thursday. Thursday is
chemo day on 4B.
I scan the crowded reception area, looking for the
source of the laughter. I note child after child, parent after parent. They
all look the same - tired and frightened. I am certain each is thinking the
same thought: Why is the treatment worse than the disease? My eyes lock on
one particular mother who is holding her baby, a boy of about eight months.
The laugh is his. He is bouncing on his mother’s knee. It is obvious this
is the child’s favorite game. The mother’s face is one big smile. She
relishes the brief moments of happiness in her son’s short life. She
realizes it may be a while before he has the strength to smile again. He,
too, has been chosen to suffer an unfair and uncertain fate. My eyes fill
with tears.
I shift in my seat to get a better view of the
baby. I stare at his small, bald head. Baldness is not unusual in an infant,
but I know why he is hairless. Suddenly I become angry with myself. I
despise it when people stare at me; however, here I am sharing the stares I
abhor.
I shift my weight once again and sink more deeply
into the groove of my chair. A rush of emotions - anger, fear, sadness, pity
- surge through me. I remain deeply engrossed in my thoughts for a long
time. A booming voice interrupts my reverie. It is the nurse summoning
mother and baby into hell. Simultaneously the bouncing and laughing cease.
The mother picks up her son. As they walk past me, I look at the baby once
more. He is completely calm. His eyes are bright and there is an expression
of complete trust on his tiny face. I know that I will never forget that
expression.
This is but one of many Thursdays. However, on this
particular Thursday, many months into a seemingly endless series of
treatments, I learned a lesson from a little baby. He changed my life. He
taught me that anger, tears and sadness are only for those who have given
up. He also taught me to trust. This I will carry with me always. Today, my
little hero is doing fine. His last treatment is in sight and his future
looks bright. I can honestly say that I am a little surprised. That
bright-eyed baby appeared so pale and sick that day. However, that was
before I learned to trust.
Everyone, some sooner than others, must endure his
or her own personal "hell on earth." It is important to keep
searching for the small joys, although they are sometimes the most elusive.
Trust that these joys will appear, sometimes unexpectedly, and often in
life’s darkest moments ... for instance, in the smile on a baby’s face.
By Katie Gill from Chicken Soup for
the Surviving Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,
Patty Aubery & Nancy Mitchell, R.N. (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
As
a Man Soweth:
When I was in junior high, the eighth-grade bully
punched me in the stomach. Not only did it hurt and make me angry, but the
embarrassment and humiliation were almost intolerable. I wanted desperately to
even the score! I planned to meet him by the bike racks the next day and let him
have it.
For some reason, I told my plan to Nana, my grandmother
- big mistake. She gave me one of her hour-long lectures (that woman could
really talk). The lecture was a total drag, but among other things, I vaguely
remember her telling me that I didn’t need to worry about him. She said,
"Good deeds beget good results, and evil deeds beget bad results." I
told her, in a nice way, of course, that I thought she was full of it. I told
her that I did good things all the time, and all I got in return was
"baloney!" (I didn’t use that word.) She stuck to her guns, though.
She said, "Every good deed will come back to you someday, and every bad
thing you do will also come back to you."
It took me 30 years to understand the wisdom of her
words. Nana was living in a board-and-care home in Laguna Hills, California.
Each Tuesday, I came by and took her out to dinner. I would always find her
neatly dressed and sitting in a chair right by the front door. I vividly
remember our very last dinner together before she went into the convalescent
hospital. We drove to a nearby simple little family-owned restaurant. I ordered
pot roast for Nana and a hamburger for myself. The food arrived and as I dug in,
I noticed that Nana wasn’t eating. She was just staring at the food on her
plate. Moving my plate aside, I took Nana’s plate, placed it in front of me,
and cut her meat into small pieces. I then placed the plate back in front of
her. As she very weakly, and with great difficulty, forked the meat into her
mouth, I was struck with a memory that brought instant tears to my eyes. Forty
years previously, as a little boy sitting at the table. Nana had always taken
the meat on my plate and cut it into small pieces so I could eat it.
It had taken 40 years, but the good deed had been
repaid. Nana was right. We reap exactly what we sow. "Every good deed you
do will someday come back to you."
What about the eighth-grade bully?
He ran into the ninth-grade bully.
By Mike Buetelle from
A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1995 by Jack
Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Rites of
Passage:
Some of the most poignant moments I spend as a
veterinarian are those spent with my clients assisting the transition of my
animal patients from this world to the next. When living becomes a burden,
whether from pain or loss of normal functions, I can help a family by ensuring
that their beloved pet has an easy passing. Making this final decision is
painful, and I have often felt powerless to comfort the grieving owners.
That was before I met Shane.
I had been called to examine a ten-year-old blue heeler
named Belker who had developed a serious health problem. The dog’s owners -
Ron, his wife, Lisa, and their little boy, Shane - were all very attached to
Belker and they were hoping for a miracle. I examined Belker and found he was
dying of cancer.
I told the family there were no miracles left for
Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their
home. As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be
good for the four-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt Shane could
learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as
Belker’s family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for
the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on.
Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker’s transition without any difficulty or
confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker’s death, wondering aloud
about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.
Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up,
"I know why."
Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his
mouth next stunned me - I’d never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, "Everybody is born so that they can learn
how to live a good life - like loving everybody and being nice, right?" The
four-year-old continued, "Well, animals already know how to do that, so
they don’t have to stay as long."
- By Robin Downing, D.V.M. from Chicken Soup for
the Pet Lover’s Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen, Marty Becker and Carol Kline (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
On Ambition:
A friend's grandfather came to America from Europe, and
after being processed at Ellis Island, he went into a cafeteria in New York City
to get something to eat. He sat down at an empty table and waited for someone to
take his order. Of course, nobody did. Finally, a man with a tray full of food
sat down opposite him and told him how things worked.
"Start at that end," he said, "and just
go along and pick out what you want. At the other end they'll tell you how much
you have to pay for it."
"I soon learned that's how everything works in
America," Grandpa told our friend. "Life is a cafeteria here. You can
get anything you want as long as you're willing to pay the price. You can even
get success. But you'll never get it if you wait for someone to bring it to you.
You have to get up and get it yourself." (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Rich Beyond
Measure:
Today I feel rich beyond measure. What began as a new
idea for my department’s celebration of the holiday season has become a very
moving and enriching experience.
I was tired of the usual "draw names and buy a
joke gift for under $15" way of holiday celebration, so I proposed that we
try something different. "How about giving each other the gift of
acknowledgment?" I asked. Everyone agreed; they were even enthusiastic. A
few days before Christmas, six of us gathered in my office. To start, I asked
that we all observe a few ground rules. The person whose turn it was to be
acknowledged could only say "thank you." I also pointed out that it
might be natural to feel uncomfortable giving and receiving acknowledgment, but
if some people were truly uncomfortable, they could ask for their acknowledgment
in private. Silence and pauses were deemed to be all right. They were probably
just opportunities to let the good stuff sink in.
As we began our process, it struck me that the tribes
and communities that pass their cultures along through storytelling are very
wise people. Invariably, whoever was speaking would tell a story that
illustrated the acknowledgment he or she wanted to make.
Each of us started our communication by saying to our
colleague, "(Name), the gift you give me is ..." As each group member
spoke to the person being acknowledged, I began to see sides of my colleagues of
which I wasn’t aware. One male staffer acknowledged another male for his state
of grace that shone through. Another said, "I rest easy knowing you are the
one in your position." Other comments included: "You give me the gift
of your patience," "You listen to me," "I knew the moment I
met you that I belonged here," and so on. It was a privilege to be there.
The spirit and connectedness we shared for those 60
minutes became bigger than we were. When we finished, no one wanted to speak; we
didn’t want to break the spell. It had been woven with heartfelt, authentic,
simple truths that we had shared with each other. We were all humbled and
enriched by it. I believe we will always treasure the gifts we gave each other
that day. I know how priceless my own acknowledgments were for me. It cost each
of us nothing but our willingness to see the gifts in others and to speak it out
loud.
By Christine Barnes from
Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark
Victor Hansen, Maida Rogerson, Martin Rutte & Tim Clauss
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
The Gift of
the Gods
It was a warm summer day when the gods placed it in her
hands. She trembled with emotion as she saw how fragile it appeared. This was a
very special gift the gods were entrusting to her. A gift that would one day
belong to the world. Until then, they instructed her, she was to be its guardian
and protector. The woman said she understood and reverently took it home,
determined to live up to the faith the gods had placed in her.
At first she barely let it out of her sight, protecting
it from anything she perceived to be harmful to its well-being; watching with
fear in her heart when it was exposed to the environment outside of the
sheltered cocoon she had formed around it. But the woman began to realize that
she could not shelter it forever. It needed to learn to survive the harsh
elements in order to grow strong. So with gentle care she gave it more space to
grow...enough to allow it to grow wild and untamed.
One day she became aware of how much the gift had
changed. It no longer had a look of vulnerability about it. Now it seemed to
glow with strength and steadiness, almost as if it were developing a power
within. Month after month she watched as it became stronger and more powerful,
and the woman remembered her promise. She knew deep within her heart that her
time with the gift was nearing an end.
The inevitable day arrived when the gods came to take
the gift and present it to the world. The woman felt a deep sadness, for she
would miss its constant presence in her life. With heartfelt gratitude she
thanked the gods for allowing her the privilege of watching over the precious
gift for so many years. Straightening her shoulders, she stood proud, knowing
that it was, indeed, a very special gift. One that would add to the beauty and
essence of the world around it. And the mother let her child go.
By Renee R. Vroman from Condensed
Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Patty Hansen (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Do It Today!
When I was superintendent of schools in Palo Alto,
California, Polly Tyner, the president of our board of trustees, wrote a letter
that was printed in the Palo Alto Times. Polly’s son, Jim, had great
difficulty in school. He was classified as educationally handicapped and
required a great deal of patience on the part of his parents and teachers. But
Jim was a happy kid with a great smile that lit up the room. His parents
acknowledged his academic difficulties, but always tried to help him see his
strengths so that he could walk with pride. Shortly after Jim finished high
school, he was killed in a motorcycle accident. After his death, his mother
submitted this letter to the newspaper.
- Today we buried our 20-year-old son. He was killed
instantly in a motorcycle accident on Friday night. How I wish I had known
when I talked to him last that it would be the last time. If I had only
known I would have said, "Jim, I love you and I’m so very proud of
you."
I would have taken the time to count the many
blessings he brought to the lives of the many who loved him. I would have
taken time to appreciate his beautiful smile, the sound of his laughter, his
genuine love of people.
When you put all the good attributes on the scale
and you try to balance all the irritating traits such as the radio which was
always too loud, the haircut that wasn’t to our liking, the dirty socks
under the bed, etc., the irritations don’t amount to much.
I won’t get another chance to tell my son all I
would have wanted him to hear, but, other parents, you do have a chance.
Tell your young people what you would want them to hear if you knew it would
be your last conversation. The last time I talked to Jim was the day he
died. He called me to say, "Hi, Mom! I just called to say I love you.
Got to go to work. Bye." He gave me something to treasure forever.
If there is any purpose at all to Jim’s death,
maybe it is to make others appreciate more of life and to have people,
especially families, take the time to let each other know just how much we
care.
You may never have another chance. Do it today!
- By Robert Reasoner from
A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1995 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor
Hansen (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
- Submitted by Jay Berkshire
-
- One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I
saw a kid from my class walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It
looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself,
"Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must
really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a
football game with my friend tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my
shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running
toward him. They Ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and
tripping him so He landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw
them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw
this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged
over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a
tear in his eye. As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are
jerks. They really should get lives." He looked at me and said,
"Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of
those smiles that showed real gratitude. I helped him pick up his books,
and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I
asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private
school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid
before. We talked all the way home, and I carried his books. He turned out
to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play football on
Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes. We hung all weekend and the
more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him. And
my friends thought the same of him. Monday morning came, and there was
Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said,
"Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile
of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.
Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we Were
seniors, began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I
was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles
would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for
business on a football scholarship. Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I
teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for
graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak.
Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that
really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked
good in glasses. He had more dates than me and all the girls loved him!
Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days. I could see
that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and
said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one
of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks,"
he said. As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began.
"Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through
those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a
coach... but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being
a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell
you a story." I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told
the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the
weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom
wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked
hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was
saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable." I heard the
gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about
his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that
same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth. Never
underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can
change a person's life. For better or for worse. God puts us all in each
other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in
others. (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Sparky:
The late Earle Nightingale, writer and publisher of
inspirational and motivational newsletters, once told a story about a boy named
Sparky. For Sparky, school was all but impossible. He failed every subject in
the eighth grade. He flunked physics in high school, getting a grade of zero.
Sparky also flunked Latin, algebra, and English. He didn't do much better in
sports. Although he did manage to make the school's golf team, he promptly lost
the only important match of the season. There was a consolation match; he lost
that too.
Throughout his youth Sparky was awkward socially. He
was not actually disliked by the other students; no one cared that much. He was
astonished if a classmate ever said hello to him outside of school hours.
There's no way to tell how he might have done at dating. Sparky never once asked
a girl to go out in high school. He was too afraid of being turned down.
Sparky was a loser. He, his classmates...everyone knew
it. So he rolled with it. Sparky had made up his mind early in life that if
things were meant to work out, they would. Otherwise he would content himself
with what appeared to be his inevitable mediocrity.
However, one thing was important to Sparky – drawing.
He was proud of his artwork. Of course, no one else appreciated it. In his
senior year of high school, he submitted some cartoons to the editors of the
yearbook. The cartoons were turned down. Despite this particular rejection,
Sparky was so convinced of his ability that he decided to become a professional
artist.
After completing high school, he wrote a letter to Walt
Disney Studios. He was told to send some samples of his artwork, and the subject
for a cartoon was suggested. Sparky drew the proposed cartoon. He spent a great
deal of time on it and on all the other drawings he submitted. Finally, the
reply came from Disney Studios. He had been rejected once again. Another loss
for the loser.
So Sparky decided to write his own autobiography in
cartoons. He described his childhood self – a little boy loser and chronic
underachiever. The cartoon character would soon become famous worldwide. For
Sparky, the boy who had such lack of success in school and whose work was
rejected again and again was Charles Schulz. He created the "Peanuts"
comic strip and the little cartoon character whose kite would never fly and who
never succeeded in kicking a football – Charlie Brown.
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
Total Support!:
Our friend H. Stephen Glenn is one of the most
affirming, empowering individuals we have ever met. He instantly inspires us to
always look for the positive.
Stephen was at his grandson’s tee-ball game a while
back. A little boy came up to bat. He swatted the ball off the tee and ran as
fast as he could to third base. The coach went up to the little boy and said
"Boy, you sure hit that ball a long way."
The little boy said, "I did?"
"Yeah, and you ran really fast to third base and
surprised the heck out of everybody!"
"I did?" he asked.
"Yes, you did. I have one question to ask you
before you come to the dugout to watch the rest of the inning," the coach
said to the boy. "When you made the decision to run to third base instead
of first, what were you thinking of?"
The boy replied, "Well, everybody that was running
to first was getting put out."
The coach took the boy to the dugout to talk to him.
"Last time you made the choice of running to third base instead of first,
surprised everybody, and made it, but you didn’t get a chance to score. Now
you’ve got the same choice again. You can choose to run to third and probably
make it okay but you won’t get to score, or you can take the risk of running
to first base. You may get put out, but if you make it you get a chance to
score. But, whatever you decide, I want you to know we’re right there behind
you."
- By Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen from A
Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark
Victor Hansen & Barry Spilchuk (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Let me be a little kinder,
Let me be a little blinder
To the faults of those about me.
Let me praise a little more.
Let me be, when I am weary,
Just a little bit more cheery;
Let me serve a little better
Those whom I am working for.
Let me be a little braver
When temptation makes me waver;
Let me strive a little harder
To be all that I should be.
Let me be a little meeker
With the person who is weaker;
Let me think more of my neighbor
And a little less of me.
author unknown: (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
The Scar:
A little boy invited his mother to attend his
elementary school’s first teacher-parent conference. To the little boy’s
dismay, she said she would go. This would be the first time that his classmates
and teacher met his mother and he was embarrassed by her appearance. Although
she was a beautiful woman, there was a severe scar that covered nearly the
entire right side of her face. The boy never wanted to talk about why or how she
got the scar.
At the conference, the people were impressed by the
kindness and natural beauty of his mother despite the scar, but the little boy
was still embarrassed and hid himself from everyone. He did, however, get within
earshot of a conversation between his mother and his teacher, and heard them
speaking.
"How did you get the scar on your face?" the
teacher asked.
The mother replied, "When my son was a baby, he
was in a room that caught on fire. Everyone was too afraid to go in because the
fire was out of control, so I went in. As I was running toward his crib, I saw a
beam coming down and I placed myself over him trying to shield him. I was
knocked unconscious but fortunately, a fireman came in and saved both of
us." She touched the burned side of her face. "This scar will be
permanent, but to this day, I have never regretted doing what I did."
At this point, the little boy came out running towards
his mother with tears in his eyes. He hugged her and felt an overwhelming sense
of the sacrifice that his mother had made for him. He held her hand tightly for
the rest of the day.
- By Lih Yuh Kuo from A 4th Course of Chicken
Soup for the Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee McCarty (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
The
Two-Hundredth Hug:
My father’s skin was jaundiced as he lay hooked up to
monitors and intravenous tubes in the intensive care unit of the hospital.
Normally a well-built man, he had lost more than 30 pounds.
My father’s illness had been diagnosed as cancer of
the pancreas, one of the most malignant forms of the disease. The doctors were
doing what they could but told us that he had only three to six months to live.
Cancer of the pancreas does not lend itself to radiation therapy or
chemotherapy, so they could offer little hope.
A few days later, when my father was sitting up in bed,
I approached him and said, "Dad, I feel deeply for what’s happened to
you. It’s helped me to look at the ways I’ve kept my distance and to feel
how much I really love you." I leaned over to give him a hug, but his
shoulders and arms became tense.
"C’mon, Dad, I really want to give you a
hug."
For a moment he looked shocked. Showing affection was
not our usual way of relating. I asked him to sit up some more so I could get my
arms around him. Then I tried again. This time, however, he was even more tense.
I could feel the old resentment starting to build up, and I began to think
"I don’t need this. If you want to die and leave me with the same
coldness as always, go right ahead."
For years I had used every instance of my father’s
resistance and rigidness to blame him, to resent him and to say to myself,
"See, he doesn’t care." This time, however, I thought again and
realized the hug was for my benefit as well as my father’s. I wanted to
express how much I cared for him no matter how hard it was for him to let me in.
My father had always been very Germanic and duty-oriented; in his childhood, his
parents must have taught him how to shut off his feelings in order to be a man.
Letting go of my long-held desire to blame him for our
distance, I was actually looking forward to the challenge of giving him more
love. I said, "C’mon, Dad, put your arms around me."
I leaned up close to him at the edge of the bed with
his arms around me. "Now squeeze. That’s it. Now again, squeeze. Very
good!"
In a sense I was showing my father how to hug, and as
he squeezed, something happened. For an instant, a feeling of "I love
you" bubbled through. For years our greeting had been a cold and formal
handshake that said, "Hello, how are you?" Now, both he and I waited
for that momentary closeness to happen again. Yet, just at the moment when he
would begin to enjoy the feelings of love, something would tighten in his upper
torso and our hug would become awkward and strange. It took months before his
rigidness gave way and he was able to let the emotions inside him pass through
his arms to encircle me.
It was up to me to be the source of many hugs before my
father initiated a hug on his own. I was not blaming him, but supporting him;
after all, he was changing the habits of an entire lifetime - and that takes
time. I knew we were succeeding because more and more we were relating out of
care and affection. Around the two-hundredth hug, he spontaneously said out
loud, for the first time I could ever recall, "I love you."
By Harold H. Bloomfield, M.D. from A
2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1995 by Jack Canfield and
Mark Victor Hansen (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Things
Are Not Always Black or White:
When I was in elementary school, I got into a major
argument with a boy in my class. I have forgotten what the argument was about,
but I have never forgotten the lesson I learned that day.
I was convinced that "I" was right and
"he" was wrong - and he was just as convinced that "I" was
wrong and "he" was right. The teacher decided to teach us a very
important lesson. She brought us up to the front of the class and placed him on
one side of her desk and me on the other. In the middle of her desk was a large,
round object. I could clearly see that it was black. She asked the boy what
color the object was. "White," he answered.
I couldn’t believe he said the object was white, when
it was obviously black! Another argument started between my classmate and me,
this time about the color of the object.
The teacher told me to go stand where the boy was
standing and told him to come stand where I had been. We changed places, and now
she asked me what the color of the object was. I had to answer,
"White." It was an object with two differently colored sides, and from
his viewpoint it was white. Only from my side was it black.
My teacher taught me a very important lesson that day:
You must stand in the other person’s shoes and look at the situation through
their eyes in order to truly understand their perspective.
- by Judie Paxton from Chicken Soup for the
Kid’s Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,
Patty Hansen and Irene Dunlap
(TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Say a Prayer:
I was taking my usual morning walk when a garbage truck
pulled up beside me. I thought the driver was going to ask for directions.
Instead, he showed me a picture of a cute little five-year-old boy. "This
is my grandson, Jeremiah," he said. "He’s on a life-support system
at a Phoenix hospital." Thinking he would next ask for a contribution to
his hospital bills, I reached for my wallet. But he wanted something more than
money. He said, "I’m asking everybody I can to say a prayer for him.
Would you say one for him, please?" I did. And my problems didn’t seem
like much that day.
By Bob Westenberg from
Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark
Victor Hansen, Patty Aubrey & Nancy Mitchell, R.N. (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Rescue at Sea:
Years ago, in a small fishing village in Holland, a
young boy taught the world about the rewards of unselfish service. Because the
entire village revolved around the fishing industry, a volunteer rescue team was
needed in cases of emergency. One night the winds raged, the clouds burst and a
gale force storm capsized a fishing boat at sea. Stranded and in trouble, the
crew sent out the S.O.S. The captain of the rescue rowboat team sounded the
alarm and the villagers assembled in the town square overlooking the bay. While
the team launched their rowboat and fought their way through the wild waves, the
villagers waited restlessly on the beach, holding lanterns to light the way
back.
An hour later, the rescue boat reappeared through the
fog and the cheering villagers ran to greet them. Falling exhausted on the sand,
the volunteers reported that the rescue boat could not hold any more passengers
and they had to leave one man behind. Even one more passenger would have surely
capsized the rescue boat and all would have been lost.
Frantically, the captain called for another volunteer
team to go after the lone survivor. Sixteen-year-old Hans stepped forward. His
mother grabbed his arm, pleading, "Please don’t go. Your father died in a
shipwreck 10 years ago and your older brother, Paul, has been lost at sea for
three weeks. Hans, you are all I have left."
Hans replied, "Mother, I have to go. What if
everyone said, ‘I can’t go, let someone else do it?’ Mother, this time I
have to do my duty. When the call for service comes, we all need to take our
turn and do our part." Hans kissed his mother, joined the team and
disappeared into the night.
Another hour passed, which seemed to Hans’ mother
like an eternity. Finally, the rescue boat darted through the fog with Hans
standing up in the bow. Cupping his hands, the captain called, "Did you
find the lost man?" Barely able to contain himself, Hans excitedly yelled
back, "Yes, we found him. Tell my mother it’s my older brother,
Paul!"
- By Dan Clark from
A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1995 by Jack
Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
I was cleaning out the pockets of my six-year-old’s
winter coat, when I found a pair of mittens in each pocket. Thinking that one
pair must not be enough to keep her hands warm, I asked her why she was carrying
two pairs of mittens in her coat. She replied, "I’ve been doing that for
a long time, Mom. You see, some kids come to school without mittens and if I
carry another pair, I can share with them and then their hands won’t get
cold."
- By Joyce Andresen from
A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack
Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee
McCarty (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
All
Those Years:
My friend Debbie’s two daughters were in
high school when she experienced severe flu-like symptoms. Debbie visited her
family doctor, who told her the flu bug had passed her by. Instead, she had
been touched by the "love bug" and was now pregnant.
The birth of Tommy, a healthy, beautiful
son, was an event for celebration, and as time went by, it seemed as though
every day brought another reason to celebrate the gift of Tommy’s life. He
was sweet, thoughtful, fun-loving and a joy to be around.
One day when Tommy was about five years old,
he and Debbie were driving to the neighborhood mall. As is the way with
children, out of nowhere, Tommy asked, "Mom, how old were you when I was
born?"
"Thirty-six, Tommy. Why?" Debbie
asked, wondering what his little mind was contemplating.
"What a shame!" Tommy responded.
"What do you mean?" Debbie
inquired, more than a little puzzled. Looking at her with love-filled eyes,
Tommy said, "Just think of all those years we didn’t know each
other."
- by Alice Collins from Chicken Soup
for the Mother’s Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff
(TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
-
This is our
purpose:
to make as meaningful as possible this
life that has been bestowed upon us;
to live in such a way that we may be
proud of ourselves;
to act in such a way that some part
of us lives on.
Oswald Spengler
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
Business
@ The Speed of Thought:
In Bill Gates' new book Business @ The Speed
of Thought, he lays out 11 rules that students do not learn in high school or
college, but should. He argues that our feel-good, politically-correct
teachings have created a generation of kids with no concept of reality who are
set up for failure in the real world.
RULE 1 - Life is not fair; get used to it.
RULE 2 - The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will
expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.
RULE 3 - You will NOT make 40 thousand dollars a year right out of high
school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone, until you earn both.
RULE 4 - If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.
He doesn't have tenure.
RULE 5 - Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your grand-parents had
a different word for burger flipping, they called it opportunity.
RULE 6 - If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine
about your mistakes, learn from them.
RULE 7 - Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now.
They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening
to you talk about how cool you are. So before you save the rain forest from
the parasites of your parents' generation, try "delousing"
the clothes in your own room.
RULE 8 - Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life has
not. In some schools they have abolished failing grades; they will let you try
as many times as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the
slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.
RULE 9 - Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and
very few employers are interested in helping you find yourself. Do that on
your own time.
RULE 10 - Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have
to leave the coffee shop and go to their jobs.
RULE 11 - Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.
-Bill Gates
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
A
Very Belated Thank You:
When my son, Mark, was in the third grade he
saved all his allowance for over two months to buy holiday presents for those
he loved. He had saved twenty dollars. The third Saturday in December Mark
announced that he had made a list and had his money in his pocket.
I drove him to a local drug store, the
modern version of what we used to call the "Five and Dime." Mark
picked up a hand basket and went off on his own while I waited patiently
reading a book at the front of the store. It took Mark over 45 minutes to pick
out his presents. The smile on his face as he approached the checkout counter
was truly joyful. The clerk rang up his purchases as I politely looked the
other way. Mark kept within his budget and reached into his pocket for his
money. It was not there. There was a hole in his pocket, but no money. Mark
stood in the middle of the store holding his basket, tears rolling down his
cheeks. His whole body was shaking with his sobs. Then an amazing thing
happened. A customer in the store came up to Mark. She knelt down to his level
and took him in her arms and said, "You would do me the greatest favor if
you let me replace your money. It would be the most wonderful present you
could ever give me. I only ask that one day, you pass it on. One day, when you
are grown, I would like you to find someone you can help. When you do help
this other person, I know you will feel as good about it as I do now."
Mark took the money, tried to dry his tears and ran to the checkout counter as
fast as he could go. I think we all enjoyed our gifts that year almost as much
as Mark enjoyed giving them to us.
I would like to say "thank you" to
that incredible woman. I would like to tell her that four years later Mark
went house to house collecting blankets and coats for the people in the
Oakland fire - and he thought of her. I would like to tell her every time I
give food to a homeless family, I think of her. And I want to promise her that
Mark will never forget to keep passing it on.
- By Laurie Pines from A Cup of
Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark
Victor Hansen & Barry Spilchuk (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
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