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Stories and
Inspirational Messages:
Song is "Solitude Concerto"
by Ernesto Cortazar and can be found at
mp3.com
To play this song please stop the media player above first
and then start this one.
The Legacy:
When my husband, Bob, died very
suddenly in January 1994, I received condolences from people I hadn't heard
from in years: letters, cards, flowers, calls, visits. I was overwhelmed
with grief, yet uplifted by this outpouring of love from family, friends
and even mere acquaintances.
One message touched me profoundly.
I received a letter from my best friend from sixth grade through high school.
We had drifted somewhat since graduation in 1949, as she stayed in our
home town and I had not. But it was the kind of friendship that could quickly
resume even if we lost touch for five or ten years.
Her husband, Pete, had died perhaps
20 years ago at a young age, leaving her with deep sorrow and heavy responsibilities:
finding a job and raising three young children. She and Pete, like Bob
and I, had shared one of those rare, close, "love-of-your-life-you-can-never-forget"
relationships.
In her letter she shared an anecdote
about my mother (now long deceased). She wrote, "When Pete died, your dear
mother hugged me and said, 'Trudy, I don't know what to say . . so I'll
just say I love you.'"
She closed her letter to me repeating
my mother's words of so long ago, "Bonnie, I don't know what to say . .
. so I'll just say I love you."
I felt I could almost hear my mother
speaking to me now. What a powerful message of sympathy! How dear of my
friend to cherish it all those years and then pass it on to me. I love
you. Perfect words. A gift. A legacy.
By Bonnie J. Thomas from A Cup of
Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Barry Spilchuk (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Winners:
As a high school coach, I did all
I could to help my boys win their games. I rooted as hard for victory as
they did.
A dramatic incident, however, following
a game in which I officiated as a referee, changed my perspective on victories
and defeats. I was refereeing a league championship basketball game in
New Rochelle, New York, between New Rochelle and Yonkers High. New Rochelle
was coached by Dan O'Brien, Yonkers by Les Beck.
The gym was crowded to capacity,
and the volume of noise made it impossible to hear. The game was well played
and closely contested. Yonkers was leading by one point as I glanced at
the clock and discovered there were but 30 seconds left to play. Yonkers,
in possession of the ball, passed off - shot - missed. New Rochelle recovered
- pushed the ball up court - shot. The ball rolled tantalizingly around
the rim and off. The fans shrieked.
New Rochelle, the home team, recovered
the ball, and tapped it in for what looked like victory. The tumult was
deafening. I glanced at the clock and saw that the game was over. I hadn't
heard the final buzzer because of the noise. I checked with the other official,
but he could not help me.
Still seeking help in this bedlam,
I approached the timekeeper, a young man of 17 or so. He said, "Mr. Covino,
the buzzer went off as the ball rolled off the rim, before the final tap-in
was made."
I was in the unenviable position
of having to tell Coach O'Brien the sad news. "Dan," I said, "time ran
out before the final basket was tapped in. Yonkers won the game."
His face clouded over. The young
timekeeper came up. He said, "I'm sorry, Dad. The time ran out before the
final basket."
Suddenly, like the sun coming out
from behind a cloud, Coach O'Brien's face lit up. He said, "That's okay,
Joe. You did what you had to do. I'm proud of you."
Turning to me, he said, "Al, I want
you to meet my son, Joe."
The two of them then walked off
the court together, the coach's arm around his son's shoulder.
By Al Covino Submitted by Rob Nelson
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
Annual Letters:
Shortly after my daughter Juli-Ann
was born, I started a loving tradition that I know others (with whom I
have subsequently shared this special plan) have also started. I tell you
the idea here both to open your heart with the warmth of my story and also
to encourage you to start this tradition within your own family.
Every year, on her birthday, I write
an Annual Letter to my daughter. I fill it with funny anecdotes that happened
to her that year, hardships or joys, issues that are important in my life
or hers, world events, my predictions for the future, miscellaneous thoughts,
etc. I add to the letter photographs, presents, report cards and many other
types of mementos that would certainly have otherwise disappeared as the
years passed.
I keep a folder in my desk drawer
in which, all year long, I place things that I want to include in the envelope
containing her next Annual Letter. Every week, I make short notes of what
I can think of from the week's events that I will want to recall later
in the year to write in her Annual Letter. When her birthday approaches,
I take out that folder and find it overflowing with ideas, thoughts, poems,
cards, treasures, stories, incidents and memories of all sorts - many of
which I had already forgotten – and which I then eagerly transcribe into
that year's Annual Letter.
Once the letter is written and all
the treasures are inserted into the envelope, I seal it. It then becomes
that year's Annual Letter. On the envelope I always write "Annual Letter
to Juli-Ann from her Daddy on the occasion of her nth Birthday – to be
opened when she is 21 years old."
It is a time capsule of love from
every different year of her life, to her as an adult. It is a gift of loving
memories from one generation to the next. It is a permanent record of her
life written as she was actually living it.
Our tradition is that I show her
the sealed envelope, with the proclamation written on it that she may read
it when she is 21. Then I take her to the bank, open the safe deposit box
and tenderly place that year's Annual Letter on top of the growing pile
of its predecessors. She sometimes takes them all out to look at them and
feel them. She sometimes asks me about their contents and I always refuse
to tell her what is inside.
In recent years, Juli-Ann has given
me some of her special childhood treasures, which she is growing too old
for but which she does not want to lose. And she asks me to include them
in her Annual Letter so that she will always have them.
That tradition of writing her Annual
Letters is now one of my most sacred duties as a dad. And, as Juli-Ann
grows older, I can see that it is a growing and special part of her life,
too.
One day, we were sitting with friends
musing about what we will be doing in the future. I cannot recall the exact
words spoken, but it went something like this: I jokingly told Juli-Ann
that on her 61st birthday, she will be playing with her grandchildren.
Then I whimsically invented that on her 31st birthday she will be driving
her own kids to hockey practice. Getting into the groove of this funny
game and encouraged by Juli-Ann's evident enjoyment of my fantasies, I
continued. On your 21st birthday, you will be graduating from university.
"No," she interjected. "I will be too busy reading!"
One of my deepest desires is to
be alive and present to enjoy that wonderful time in the future when the
time capsules are opened and the accumulated mountains of love come tumbling
out of the past, back into my adult daughter's life.
By Raymond L. Aaron from A 2nd Helping
of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1995 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor
Hansen (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Great
Compassion (Love):
In the winter of 1990, I was asked
to appear on a television talk show in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. At the
end of our first day of taping I was on my way back to my plush, high-rise,
cable-TV, twenty-four-hour room service hotel, when I saw something I’d
never seen before.
Lying on the sidewalk against a
building in four inches of snow was a man sleeping with only a cardboard
blanket to keep him from being completely exposed to the freezing cold.
What really broke my heart was when I realized that he wore no shoes or
socks.
I thought to stop and help him but
was not quite sure what to do. As the traffic light turned green, it seemed
life was demanding that I move along. So I did. Back in the "anything I
wanted was mine" environment of my hotel, I promptly forgot about the man
on the street.
Several days later, prior to the
morning taping, I was having coffee and Danish in the green room at the
station. All of the "important" people had left the room and it was just
me and the janitor remaining.
I had seen him quietly go about
his business every day while I was there, and he never said a word except
"Good morning" or "Can I get anything for you, sir?" He always had a smile
to give to everyone. When I asked him how he was feeling today, he told
me that he’d been having to ride his bike to work in the snow and that
he’d been feeling rather sorry for himself. . .that is, until he saw a
man sleeping down on the corner of Yonge Street and Bloor with just a piece
of cardboard for covering from the cold and no shoes. I almost choked on
my Danish as I heard him go on to relate how he was so moved with compassion
for the man that he went around the corner to a store and bought the man
a pair of socks and shoes.
As I heard his story, I saw in my
mind a poster that used to be in an old friend’s bedroom when I was a teenager.
It was a picture of a child handing someone a flower and the caption read:
"The smallest deed always exceeds the grandest of intentions."
I stood there wishing it was me
who had bought the shoes and socks for the man, when they called my name
to come to the set.
As I got to the studio, they were
just concluding an interview with a social worker who specialized in benevolence
for eastern
Ontario. The social worker relayed a story about Mother Teresa,
who when asked once how she had accomplished such great things in her life
responded, "None of us can do anything great on our own, but we can all
do a small thing with great love."
When I went home that day, I looked
for the man on the street. He was gone, but I knew it wouldn’t be long
before someone took his place.
By Michael Peterson from Chicken
Soup for the Country Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen and Ron Camacho (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Rescued:
A little girl whose parents had
died lived with her grandmother and slept in an upstairs bedroom.
One night there was a fire in the
house and the grandmother perished while trying to rescue the child. The
fire spread quickly, and the first floor of the house was soon engulfed
in flames.
Neighbors called the fire department,
then stood helplessly by, unable to enter the house because flames blocked
all the entrances. The little girl appeared at an upstairs window, crying
for help, just as word spread among the crowd that firefighters would be
delayed a few minutes because they were all at another fire.
Suddenly, a man appeared with a
ladder, put it up against the side of the house and disappeared inside.
When he reappeared, he had the little girl in his arms. He delivered the
child to the waiting arms below, then disappeared into the night.
An investigation revealed that the
child had no living relatives, and weeks later a meeting was held in the
town hall to determine who would take the child into their home and bring
her up.
A teacher said she would like to
raise the child. She pointed out that she could ensure her a good education.
A farmer offered her an upbringing on his farm. He pointed out that living
on a farm was healthy and satisfying. Others spoke, giving their reasons
why it was to the child's advantage to live with them.
Finally, the town's richest resident
arose and said, "I can give this child all the advantages that you have
mentioned here, plus money and everything that money can buy."
Throughout all this, the child remained
silent, her eyes on the floor.
"Does anyone else want to speak?"
asked the meeting chairman. A man came forward from the back of the hall.
His gait was slow and he seemed in pain. When he got to the front of the
room, he stood directly before the little girl and held out his arms. The
crowd gasped. His hands and arms were terribly scarred.
The child cried out, "This is the
man who rescued me!" With a leap she threw her arms around the man's neck,
holding on for dear life, just as she had that fateful night. She buried
her face on his shoulder and sobbed for a few moments. Then she looked
up and smiled at him.
"This meeting is adjourned," said
the chairman.
From Leadership . . . with a human
touch from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield,
Mark Victor Hansen & Patty Hansen
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
A
Gift for Two:
It was a beautiful day for sightseeing
around downtown Portland. We were a bunch of counselors on our day off,
away from the campers, just out for some fun. The weather was perfect for
a picnic, so when lunch time came, we set our sights on a small park in
town. Since we all had different cravings, we decided to split up, get
what each of us wanted, and meet back on the grass in a few minutes.
When my friend Robby headed for
a hot dog stand, I decided to keep her company. We watched the vendor put
together the perfect hot dog, just the way Robby wanted it. But when she
took out her money to pay him, the man surprised us.
"It looks a little on the cool side,"
he said, "so never mind paying me. This will be my freebie of the day."
We said our thanks, joined our friends
in the park, and dug into our food. But as we talked and ate, I was distracted
by a man sitting alone nearby, looking at us. I could tell that he hadn’t
showered for days. Another homeless person, I thought, like all the others
you see in cities. I didn’t pay much more attention than that.
We finished eating and decided to
head off for more sightseeing. But when Robby and I went to the garbage
can to throw away my lunch bag, I heard a strong voice ask, "There isn’t
any food in the bag, is there?"
It was the man who had been watching
us. I didn’t know what to say. "No, I ate it already."
"Oh," was his only answer, with
no shame in his voice at all. He was obviously hungry, couldn’t bear to
see anything thrown away, and was used to asking this question.
I felt bad for the man, but I didn’t
know what I could do. That’s when Robby said, "I’ll be right back. Please
wait for me for a minute," and ran off. I watched curiously as she went
across to the hot dog stand. Then I realized what she was doing. She bought
a hot dog, crossed back to the trash can, and gave the hungry man the food.
When she came back to us, Robby
said simply, "I was just passing on the kindness that someone gave to me."
That day I learned how generosity
can go farther than the person you give to. By giving, you teach others
how to give also.
By Andrea Hensley from Chicken Soup
for the Teenage Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen
and Kimberly Kirberger (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Nothing
Could Stop This Man
After suffering severe burns on
his legs at the age of five, Glenn Cunningham was given up on by doctors
who believed he would be a hopeless cripple destined to spend the rest
of his life in a wheelchair. "He will never be able to walk again," they
said. "No chance."
The doctors examined his legs, but
they had no way of looking into Glenn Cunningham's heart. He didn't listen
to the doctors and set out to walk again. Lying in bed, his skinny, red
legs covered with scar tissue, Glenn vowed, "Next week, I'm going to get
out of bed. I'm going to walk." And he did just that.
His mother tells of how she used
to push back the curtain and look out the window to watch Glenn reach up
and take hold of an old plow in the yard. With a hand on each handle, he
began to make his gnarled and twisted legs function. And with every step
a step of pain, he came closer to walking. Soon he began to trot; before
long he was running. When he started to run, he became even more determined.
"I always believed that I could
walk, and I did. Now I'm going to run faster than anybody has ever run."
And did he ever.
He became a great miler who, in
1934, set the world's record of 4:06. He was honored as the outstanding
athlete of the century at Madison Square Garden.
By Jeff Yalden from A Cup of Chicken
Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen &
Barry Spilchuk (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Two Monks
Two monks on a pilgrimage came to
the ford of a river. There they saw a girl dressed in all her finery, obviously
not knowing what to do since the river was high and she did not want to
spoil her clothes. Without more ado, one of the monks took her on his back,
carried her across and put her down on dry ground on the other side.
Then the monks continued on their
way. But the other monk after an hour started complaining, "Surely it is
not right to touch a woman; it is against the commandments to have close
contact with women. How could you go against the rules for monks?"
The monk who had carried the girl
walked along silently, but finally he remarked, "I set her down by the
river an hour ago, why are you still carrying her?"
By Irmgard Schloegl The Wisdom of
Zen Masters from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by
Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Patty Hansen
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
The Gift
Bennet Cerf relates this touching
story about a bus that was bumping along a back road in the South.
In one seat a wispy old man sat
holding a bunch of fresh flowers. Across the aisle was a young girl whose
eyes came back again and again to the man’s flowers. The time came for
the old man to get off. Impulsively he thrust the flowers into the girl’s
lap. "I can see you love the flowers," he explained, "and I think my wife
would like for you to have them. I’ll tell her I gave them to you." The
girl accepted the flowers, then watched the old man get off the bus and
walk through the gate of a small cemetery.
By Bennet Cerf from Condensed Chicken
Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen &
Patty Hansen (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Abraham
Lincoln Didn’t Quit
Probably the greatest example of
persistence is Abraham Lincoln. If you want to learn about somebody who
didn’t quit, look no further.
Born into poverty, Lincoln was faced
with defeat throughout his life. He lost eight elections, twice failed
in business and suffered a nervous breakdown.
He could have quit many times -
but he didn’t and because he didn’t quit, he became one of the greatest
presidents in the history of our country.
Lincoln was a champion and he never
gave up. Here is a sketch of Lincoln’s road to the White House:
1816 His family was forced out of
their home. He had to work to support them. 1818 His mother died. 1831 Failed in business. 1832 Ran for state legislature
- lost. l832 Also lost his job - wanted
to go to law school but couldn’t get in. 1833 Borrowed some money from a
friend to begin a business and by the end of the year he was bankrupt.
He spent the next 17 years of his life paying off this debt. 1834 Ran for state legislature
again - won. 1835 Was engaged to be married,
sweetheart died and his heart was broken. 1836 Had a total nervous breakdown
and was in bed for six months. 1838 Sought to become speaker of
the state legislature - defeated. 1840 Sought to become elector -
defeated. 1843 Ran for Congress - lost. 1846 Ran for Congress again - this
time he won - went to Washington and did a good job. 1848 Ran for re-election to Congress
- lost. 1849 Sought the job of land officer
in his home state - rejected. 1854 Ran for Senate of the United
States - lost. 1856 Sought the Vice-Presidential
nomination at his party’s national convention - get less than 100 votes. 1858 Ran for U.S. Senate again
- again he lost. 1860 Elected president of the United
States.
By Source Unknown from Chicken Soup
for the Soul Copyright 1993 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
Paint
Brush
I keep my paint brush with me Wherever
I may go, In case I need to cover up So the real me doesn’t show. I’m so
afraid to show you me, Afraid of what you’ll do – that You might laugh
or say mean things. I’m afraid I might lose you. I’d like to remove all
my paint coats To show you the real, true me, But I want you to try and
understand, I need you to accept what you see. So if you’ll be patient
and close your eyes, I’ll strip off all my coats real slow. Please understand
how much it hurts To let the real me show. Now my coats are all stripped
off. I feel naked, bare and cold, And if you still love me with all that
you see, You are my friend, pure as gold. I need to save my paint brush,
though, And hold it in my hand, I want to keep it handy In case someone
doesn’t understand. So please protect me, my dear friend And thanks for
loving me true, But please let me keep my paint brush with me Until I love
me, too.
By Bettie B. Youngs from Chicken
Soup for the Teenage Soul Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen and Kimberly Kirberger (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Dare
to Dream
Life! What a precious gift from
God. What a blessing to be alive in a wonderful, vibrant world of unlimited
possibilities. Then, adversity strikes, and this "gift" feels more like
a curse. "Why? Why me?" we ask. Yet we never get an answer, or do we? After
contracting Hodgkin's disease at age seven and being given six months to
live, I triumphed over the odds. Call it luck, hope, faith or courage,
there are thousands of survivors! Winners like us know the answer - "Why
not us? We can handle it!" I'm not dying of cancer. I'm living with cancer.
God doesn't make junk, regardless of what comes our way, and I don't have
to be afraid anymore.
In my sophomore year of high school,
the class was scheduled to run the mile. I will always remember that day
because due to the swelling and scars from surgery on my leg, for two solid
years I had not worn shorts. I was afraid of the teasing. So, for two years
I lived in fear. Yet that day, it didn't matter. I was ready - shorts,
heart and mind. I no sooner got to the starting line before I heard the
loud whispers. "Gross!" "How fat!" "How ugly!" I blocked it out.
Then the coach yelled, "Ready. Set.
Go!" I jetted out of there like an airplane, faster than anyone for the
first 20 feet. I didn't know much about pacing then, but it was okay because
I was determined to finish first. As we came around the first of four laps,
there were students all over the track. By the end of the second lap, many
of the students had already quit. They had given up and were on the ground
gasping for air. As I started the third lap, only a few of my classmates
were left on the track, and I began limping. By the time I hit the fourth
lap, I was alone. Then it hit me. I realized that nobody had given up.
Instead, everyone had already finished. As I ran that last lap, I cried.
I realized that every boy and girl in my class had beat me, and 12 minutes,
42 seconds after starting, I crossed the finish line. I fell to the ground
and shed oceans. I was so embarrassed.
Suddenly my coach ran up to me and
picked me up, yelling, "You did it. Manuel! Manuel, you finished, son.
You finished!" He looked me straight in the eye waving a piece of paper
in his hand. It was my goal for the day, which I had forgotten. I had given
it to him before class. He read it aloud to everyone. It simply said, "I
Manuel Diotte, will finish the mile run tomorrow, come what may. No pain
or frustration will stop me. For I am more than capable of finishing, and
with God as my strength, I will finish." Signed, Manuel Diotte - with a
little smiling face inside the D, as I always sign my name. My heart lifted.
My tears went away, and I had a smile on my face as if I had eaten a banana
sideways. My classmates applauded and gave me my first standing ovation.
It was then I realized winning isn't always finishing first. Sometimes
winning is just finishing.
By Manuel Diotte 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)
What
You Are Is As Important As What You Do
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon
in Oklahoma City. My friend and proud father Bobby Lewis was taking his
two little boys to play miniature golf. He walked up to the fellow at the
ticket counter and said, "How much is it to get in?"
The young man replied, "$3.00 for
you and $3.00 for any kid who is older than six. We let them in free if
they are six or younger. How old are they?"
Bobby replied, "The lawyer’s three
and the doctor is seven, so I guess I owe you $6.00."
The man at the ticket counter said,
"Hey, Mister, did you just win the lottery or something? You could have
saved yourself three bucks. You could have told me that the older one was
six; I wouldn’t have known the difference." Bobby replied, "Yes, that may
be true, but the kids would have known the difference."
As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Who
you are speaks so loudly I can’t hear what you’re saying." In challenging
times when ethics are more important than ever before, make sure you set
a good example for everyone you work and live with.
By Patricia Fripp from Chicken Soup
for the Soul Copyright 1993 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
The Smile:
Many Americans are familiar with
The Little Prince, a wonderful book by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. This is
a whimsical and fabulous book and works as a children's story as well as
a thought-provoking adult fable. Far fewer are aware of Saint-Exupery's
other writings, novels and short stories.
Saint-Exupery was a fighter pilot
who fought against the Nazis and was killed in action. Before World War
II, he fought in the Spanish Civil War against the fascists. He wrote a
fascinating story based on that experience entitled The Smile (Le Sourire).
It is this story which I'd like to share with you now. It isn't clear whether
or not he meant this to be autobiographical or fiction. I choose to believe
it to be the former.
He said that he was captured by
the enemy and thrown into a jail cell. He was sure that from the contemptuous
looks and rough treatment he received from his jailers he would be executed
the next day. From here, I'll tell the story as I remember it in my own
words.
"I was sure that I was to be killed.
I became terribly nervous and distraught. I fumbled in my pockets to see
if there were any cigarettes which had escaped their search. I found one
and because of my shaking hands, I could barely get it to my lips. But
I had no matches, they had taken those.
"I looked through the bars at my
jailer. He did not make eye contact with me. After all, one does not make
eye contact with a thing, a corpse. I called out to him 'Have you got a
light, por favor?' He looked at me, shrugged and came over to light my
cigarette.
"As he came close and lit the match,
his eyes inadvertently locked with mine. At that moment, I smiled. I don't
know why I did that. Perhaps it was nervousness, perhaps it was because,
when you get very close, one to another, it is very hard not to smile.
In any case, I smiled. In that instant, it was as though a spark jumped
across the gap between our two hearts, our two human souls. I know he didn't
want to, but my smile leaped through the bars and generated a smile on
his lips, too. He lit my cigarette but stayed near, looking at me directly
in the eyes and continuing to smile.
"I kept smiling at him, now aware
of him as a person and not just a jailer. And his looking at me seemed
to have a new dimension, too. 'Do you have kids?' he asked.
" 'Yes, here, here.' I took out
my wallet and nervously fumbled for the pictures of my family. He, too,
took out the pictures of his ninos and began to talk about his plans and
hopes for them. My eyes filled with tears. I said that I feared that I'd
never see my family again, never have the chance to see them grow up. Tears
came to his eyes, too.
"Suddenly, without another word,
he unlocked my cell and silently led me out. Out of the jail, quietly and
by back routes, out of the town. There, at the edge of town, he released
me. And without another word, he turned back toward the town.
"My life was saved by a smile."
Yes, the smile - the unaffected,
unplanned natural connection between people. I tell this story in my work
because I'd like people to consider that underneath all the layers we construct
to protect ourselves, our dignity, our titles, our degrees, our status
and our need to be seen in certain ways - underneath all that, remains
the authentic, essential self. I'm not afraid to call it the soul. I really
believe that if that part of you and that part of me could recognize each
other, we wouldn't be enemies. We couldn't have hate or envy or fear. I
sadly conclude that all those other layers, which we so carefully construct
through our lives, distance and insulate us from truly contacting others.
Saint-Exupery's story speaks of that magic moment when two souls recognize
each other.
I've had just a few moments like
that. Falling in love is one example. And looking at a baby. Why do we
smile when we see a baby? Perhaps it's because we see someone without all
the defensive layers, someone whose smile for us we know to be fully genuine
and without guile. And that baby-soul inside us smiles wistfully in recognition.
By Hanoch McCarty from Chicken Soup
for the Soul Copyright 1993 by Jack Canfield & Mark Victor Hansen
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
Darlene
& Pokey
For three years, my dog, Pokey,
and I worked side-by-side as volunteers in the Prescription Pet Program
at The Children’s Hospital in Denver. I often referred to Pokey as a "terror"
instead of a terrier because in those younger days, she was a perpetual
motion machine. The only time she was different was during our hospital
visits, and then she seemed to find some inner force that made her behave.
Every time that Pokey and I visited patients, we saw little miracles, but
one day something special happened that changed my perspective on how deeply
Pokey could give.
On this day the volunteer office
asked us to see a patient on the fourth floor - the oncology ward. So,
along the way on our rounds, we made a special point to stop in at Darlene’s
room.
Darlene was sixteen years old, with
shoulder-length blonde hair and a ready smile. I asked, "Would you like
to visit with Pokey?" and she accepted. I immediately knew that something
unusual was going on. You see, my ball-of-fire terrier-mix climbed onto
the bed and quickly went to the girl’s side to tuck in under her arm. Pokey
laid her head on the girl’s shoulder, with her little dog face pointed
up toward Darlene’s.
As Darlene looked down into those
liquid brown eyes, she whispered to Pokey. This was definitely a change
from the usual patient contact, where doggie tricks were the order of the
day. Still, these two were obviously doing some serious work here, so I
sat back and watched the television. After about thirty minutes, Darlene
spoke up. "Thanks so much for visiting. I know you have other patients
to see, so I’d better let you go. You’ll never know how much this meant
to me." And she flashed us a brilliant smile.
Three weeks later, I got a phone
call from Ann, our supervisor in the volunteer office, with whom I had
shared this story. She said "I just wanted to let you know that Pokey’s
friend, Darlene, is in heaven."
Darlene, that brave and beautiful
sixteen-year-old child, had received terrible news that day that we visited
her. Her cancer had relapsed for a third time. In her treatment protocol,
there were no more options. She was destined to die - very soon.
Darlene had to have been afraid.
Still, she couldn’t trust her family, friends, doctors or caregivers with
her fears. There wasn’t a human alive who she could talk to - but she could
share herself with this little dog! She knew that Pokey wouldn’t tell anyone
her secrets. . .wouldn’t ridicule her dreams that would never come true.
We’ll never truly know what Darlene
said that day or just how much good Pokey accomplished with her thirty
minutes of loving silence. But Darlene instinctively knew what all dog
lovers have known through the ages: No friend can be as trusting, loyal
and loving as a dog.
By Sara (Robinson) Mark, 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)
Two
Nickels and Five Pennies:
In the days when an ice cream sundae
cost much less, a 10-year old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at
a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is
an ice cream sundae?"
"Fifty cents," replied the waitress.
The little boy pulled his hand out
of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. "How much is a dish
of plain ice cream?" he inquired.
Some people were now waiting for
a table and the waitress was a bit impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she
said brusquely.
The little boy again counted the
coins. "I’ll have the plain ice cream," he said.
The waitress brought the ice cream,
put the bill on the table, and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream,
paid the cashier and departed. When the waitress came back, she began wiping
down the table and then swallowed hard at what she saw. There, placed neatly
beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies - her tip.
From The Best of Bits & Pieces
from A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack
Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
A
Final Goodbye:
“I am going home to Denmark, Son,
and I just wanted to tell you I love you.”
In my dad's last telephone call
to me, he repeated that line seven times in a half hour. I wasn't listening
at the right level. I heard the words, but not the message, and certainly
not their profound intent. I believed my dad would live to be over 100
years old, as my great uncle lived to be 107 years old. I had not felt
his remorse over Mom's death, understood his intense loneliness as an “empty
nester,” or realized most of his pals had long since light-beamed off the
planet. He relentlessly requested my brothers and I create grandchildren
so that he could be a devoted grandfather. I was too busy “entrepreneuring”
to really listen.
“Dad's dead,” sighed my brother
Brian on July 4, l982.
My little brother is a witty lawyer
and has a humorous, quick mind. I thought he was setting me up for a joke,
and I awaited the punchline - there wasn't one. “Dad died in the bed he
was born in - in Rozkeldj,” continued Brian. “The funeral directors are
putting him in a coffin, and shipping Dad and his belongings to us tomorrow.
We need to prepare for the funeral.”
I was speechless. This isn't the
way it's supposed to happen. If I knew these were to be Dad's final days,
I would have asked to go with him to Denmark. I believe in the hospice
movement, which says: “No one should die alone.” A loved one should hold
your hand and comfort you as you transition from one plane of reality to
another. I would have offered consolation during his final hour, if I'd
been really listening, thinking and in tune with the Infinite. Dad announced
his departure as best he could, and I had missed it. I felt grief, pain
and remorse, Why had I not been there for him? He'd always been there for
me.
In the mornings when I was nine
years old, he would come home from working 18 hours at his bakery and wake
me up at 5:00 A.M. by scratching my back with his strong powerful hands
and whispering, "Time to get up, Son.” By the time I was dressed
and ready to roll, he had my newspapers folded, banded and stuffed in my
bicycle basket. Recalling his generosity of spirit brings tears to my eyes.
When I was racing bicycles, he drove
me 50 miles each way to Kenosha, Wisconsin, every Tuesday night so I could
race and he could watch me. He was there to hold me if I lost and shared
the euphoria when I won.
Later, he accompanied me to all
my local talks in Chicago when I spoke to Century 21, Mary Kay, Equitable
and various churches. He always smiled, listened and proudly told whomever
he was sitting with, “That's my boy!”
After the fact, my heart was in
pain because Dad was there for me and I wasn't there for him. My humble
advice is to always, always share your love with your loved ones, and ask
to be invited to that sacred transitional period where physical life transforms
into spiritual life. Experiencing the process of death with one you love
will take you into a bigger, more expansive dimension of beingness.
By Mark Victor Hansen from “A 2nd
Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul” Copyright 1995 by Jack Canfield and
Mark Victor Hansen
(TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
All
I Remember:
One day, while I was lying on a
massage table in a dark, quiet room waiting for an appointment, a wave
of longing swept over me. I checked to make sure I was awake and not dreaming,
and I saw that I was as far removed from a dreamy state as one could possibly
be. Each thought I had was like a drop of water disturbing a still pond,
and I marveled at the peacefulness of each passing moment.
Suddenly my mother’s face appeared
- my mother, as she had been before Alzheimer’s disease had stripped her
of her mind, her humanity, and 50 pounds. Her magnificent silver hair crowned
her sweet face. She was so real and so close I felt I could reach out and
touch her. I even smelled the fragrance of Joy, her favorite perfume. She
seemed to be waiting and did not speak.
I said, “Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry
that you had to suffer with that horrible disease.”
She tipped her head slightly to
one side, as though to acknowledge what I had said about her suffering.
Then she smiled - a beautiful smile - and said very distinctly, “But all
I remember is love.” And she disappeared.
I began to shiver in a room gone
suddenly cold, and I knew in my bones that the love we give and receive
is all that matters and is all that is remembered. Suffering disappears;
love remains.
Her words are the most important
I have ever heard, and that moment is forever engraved on my heart.
By Bobbie Probstein from “Condensed
Chicken Soup for the Soul” Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Patty Hansen (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
Important
Work:
The last to board the plane from
Seattle to Dallas were a woman and three children. “Oh please don’t sit
next to me,” I thought. “I’ve got so much work to do.” But a moment later
an eleven-year-old girl and her nine-year-old brother were climbing over
me while the woman and a four-year-old boy sat behind. Almost immediately
the older children started bickering while the child behind intermittently
kicked my seat. Every few minutes the boy would ask his sister, “Where
are we now?” “Shut up!” she’d snap and a new round of squirming and whining
would ensue.
“Kids have no concept of important
work,” I thought, quietly resenting my predicament. Then in my mind a voice
as clear as a song simply said, Love them. “These kids are brats, and I’ve
got important work to do,” I countered to myself. My inner voice simply
replied, Love them as if they were your children.
Having heard the “Where-are-we-now?”
question repeatedly, I turned to the in-flight magazine map, in spite of
my important work.
I explained our flight path, dividing
it into quarter-hour flight increments and estimated when we would land
in Dallas.
Soon they were telling me about
their trip to Seattle to see their father who was in the hospital. As we
talked they asked about flying, navigation, science and grown-ups’ views
about life. The time passed quickly and my “important” work was left undone.
As we were preparing to land, I
asked how their father was doing now. They grew quiet and the boy simply
said, “He died.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. But it’s my little
brother I’m most worried about. He’s taking it real hard.”
I suddenly realized what we’d really
been talking about was the most important work we ever face: living, loving
and growing in spite of heartbreak. When we said good-bye in Dallas the
boy shook my hand and thanked me for being his “airline teacher.” And I
thanked him for being mine.
By Dan S. Bagley from “A Cup of
Chicken Soup for the Soul” Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Barry Spilchuk (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
1) Toothpick -- to remind
you to pick out the good qualities in others -- Matt. 7:1 2) Rubber Band -- to remind
you to be flexible, things might not always go the way you want,
but it will work out -- Romans 8:28 3) Band Aid -- to remind
you to heal hurt feelings, yours or someone else's -- Col. 3:12-14 4) Pencil -- to remind you
to list your blessings everyday -- Eph. 1:3 5) Eraser --To remind you
that everyone makes mistakes, and it's ok -- Gen. 50:15-21 6) Chewing gum -- to remind
you to stick with it and you can accomplish anything with Jesus
-- Phil 4:13 7) Mint -- to remind you
that you are worth a mint to your heavenly father --
John 3:16-17 8) Candy Kiss -- to remind
you that everyone needs a kiss or a hug everyday -- 1 John
4:7 9) Tea Bag -- to remind you
to relax daily and go over that list of God's blessings --
1 Thess. 5:18 (TOP)(Back to Stories Index)
What If?:
Courtesy Of Dave Singer:
What if, GOD couldn't take the time
to bless us today because we couldn't take the time to thank Him yesterday? What if, GOD decided to stop leading
us tomorrow because we didn't follow Him today? What if, we never saw another flower
bloom because we grumbled when GOD sent the rain? What if, GOD didn't walk with us
today because we failed to recognize it as His day? What if, GOD took away the Bible
tomorrow because we would not read it today? What if, GOD took away His message
because we failed to listen to the messenger? What if, GOD didn't send His only
begotten Son because He wanted us to be prepared to pay the price for sin. What if, the door of the church
was closed because we did not open the door of our heart? What if, GOD stopped loving and
caring for us because we failed to love and care for others? What if, GOD would not hear us
today because we would not listen to Him yesterday? What if, GOD answered our prayers
the way we answer His call to service? What if, GOD met our needs
the way we give Him our lives???
What if, We failed to send this
message on??? THIS IS A SIMPLE TEST.......
If you love God send this on to friends and loved ones, immediately!!!!!!!!
(TOP)(Back
to Stories Index)
Last Revised July 22, 2006
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