Closed Collection of INSPIRATIONAL STORIES

[whipppler]

Derek Redmond’s Olympic Spirit (1992)

Derek Redmond was prepared for the 400m semifinal race at the Olympics in Barcelona in 1992. He felt he was in the best shape of his life. Despite 8 operations on his Achilles tendons over the past 4 years, he felt very confident. His father Jim, sitting in the stands, also had high hopes. Jim and his son were very close and he made it to all of the championship races.
Derek gets off to a good start. Coming around the first bend in the track, tragedy struck as Derek’s hamstring went. Initially he thought he had been shot because the pain was so great. His leg would not function. London’s The Guardian newspaper quoted him, “Everything I had worked for was finished. I hated everybody. I hated the world. I hated hamstrings. I hated it all. I felt so bitter that I was injured again. I told myself I had to finish. I kept hopping round. Then, with 100 metres to go, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was my old man.”
Derek hopped on one leg for half a lap before his father came to his aid. Together they finished the race arm-in-arm to a standing ovation. Now, some 17 years after the race, not many people remember who won that semi-final race or who even won the final. But, many still remember Derek Redmond.


-eto yung video sa YøùTùbé
http://www.YøùTùbé.com/watch?v=EDgVs...eature=related

 

[whipppler]

Mother and Son

My mom only had one eye. I hated her, she was such an embarrassment. My mom ran a small shop at a flea market.She collected little weeds and such to sell, anything for the money we needed she was such an embarrassment.There was this one day during elementary school. I remember that it was field day, and my mom came. I was so embarrassed. How could she do this to me? I threw her a hateful look and ran out. The next day at school..."Your mom only has one eye?!" and they taunted me.
I wished that my mom would just disappear from this world so I said to my mom, "Mom, why don't you have the other eye?! You're only going to make me a laughingstock. Why don't you just die?" My mom did not respond. I guess I felt a little bad, but at the same time, it felt good to think that I had said what I'd wanted to say all this time.
Maybe it was because my mom hadn't punished me, but I didn't think that I had hurt her feelings very badly.
That night...I woke up, and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. My mom was crying there, so quietly, as if she was afraid that she might wake me. I took a look at her, and then turned away. Because of the thing I had said to her earlier, there was something pinching at me in the corner of my heart. Even so, I hated my mother who was crying out of her one eye. So I told myself that I would grow up and become successful, because I hated my one-eyed mom and our desperate poverty.
Then I studied really hard. I left my mother and came to Seoul and studied, and got accepted in the Seoul University with all the confidence I had. Then, I got married. I bought a house of my own. Then I had kids, too. Now I'm living happily as a successful man. I like it here because it's a place that doesn't remind me of my mom.
This happiness was getting bigger and bigger, when someone unexpected came to see me "What?! Who's this?!"... It was my mother...Still with her one eye. It felt as if the whole sky was falling apart on me. My little girl ran away, scared of my mom's eye.
And I asked her, "Who are you? I don't know you!!!" as if I tried to make that real. I screamed at her "How dare you come to my house and scare my daughter! Get out here now!" And to this, my mother quietly answered, "oh, I'm so sorry. I may have gotten the wrong address," and she disappeared. Thank good ness... she doesn't recognize me. I was quite relieved. I told myself that I wasn't going to care, or think about this for the rest of my life.
Then a wave of relief came upon me... one day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house. I lied to my wife saying that I was going on a business trip. After the reunion, I went down to the old shäçk, that I used to call a house...just out of curiosity there, I found my mother fallen on the cold ground. But I did not shed a single tear. She had a piece of paper in her hand.... it was a letter to me.
My Son,
I think my life has been long enough now. And... I won't visit Seoul anymore... but would it be too much to ask if I wanted you to come visit me once in a while? I miss you so much. And I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion. But I decided not to go to the school.... For you... I'm sorry that I only have one eye, and I was an embarrassment for you.
You see, when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost your eye. As a mother, I couldn't stand watching you having to grow up with only one eye... so I gave you mine... I was so proud of my son that was seeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye. I was never upset at you for anything you did. The couple times that you were angry with me. I thought to myself, 'it's because he loves me.' I miss the times when you were still young around me.
I miss you so much. I love you. You mean the world to me. My world shattered! Then I cried for the person who lived for me. My Mother.

 

[whipppler]

The old fisherman

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face ... lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."
He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. No one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face ... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me. "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him for a few minutes. It didn't take long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast. But just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."
He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."
I told him he was welcome to come again.
On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
During the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery ... fish and oysters packed in a box with fresh young spinach or kale ... every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness' would have been easier to bear. I know our family will always be grateful to have known him. From him, we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all ... a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind.
"I ran short of pots," she explained," and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden."
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago ... and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

 

[whipppler]

Passing Along A Little Spark

Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.

Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing. "Miss Hondorf... I've just got to play!" he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right.

The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer."

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?"

Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on pianissimo to fortissimo...from allegro to virtuoso.
His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by a person his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause. Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf...remember I told you my mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well....she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special." There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No, I've never had a protigi but that night I became a protigi... of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.

(A footnote to this story) After serving in Desert Storm, Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly....playing the piano. And now, a footnote to the story.

This story has been passed around by e-mail. It has not yet been proven to be a true story as no mention has been made of the exact name of the music teacher nor of the boy. The story proves that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities a day to help realize God's plan. So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: "Do we pass along a spark of the Divine?"

 

[whipppler]

The Power of Your Actions

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 the following 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, I saw a tear in his eye.
I handed him his glasses and 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. 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 coming to this school.

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, "Damn 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, we 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 arrived - I saw Kyle and 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 stared at my friend in 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 its 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.

"Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly."

 

[whipppler]

Something for Stevie

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react. Stevie was short, a little dumpy, with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers. Truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the food is good and the pies are homemade.
The ones who concerned me were the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truckstop germ;" and the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truckstop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie, so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger. Within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truckstop mascot. After that I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought.
He was a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was convincing him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus the dishes and glasses onto the cart and meticulously wipe the table with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met. Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truckstop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the *****s.
Money was tight, and what I ρáíd him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home.That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Down syndrome often have heart problems at an early age, so this wasn't unexpected. There was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months. A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine. Frannie, my head waitress, let out a war whoop and did a little dance the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, grinned. "Okay, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked. "We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay,” she responded. “I was wondering where he was," said Belle.
Frannie quickly told him and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed. "Yeah, I m glad he is going to be okay," she said, "but I don't know how he and his mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on her face. "What's up?" I asked. "That table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting," she said, "this was folded and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it.
On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed “Something For Stevie.”"Pony Pete also asked me what that dance was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply, "Truckers."That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.
I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. We met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting. "Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast, "I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you two is on me. I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession.We stopped in front of the big table; its surface covered with a mess of coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said, trying to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at dozens of napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it.
I turned to his mother. "There's over $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. Happy Thanksgiving!" Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, too. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table... best worker I ever hired.

 

[whipppler]

Special Delivery

Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the Surgeon come out of the operating room, saying: "How is my little boy? Is he going to be O.K.? When can I see him?"
The surgeon responded, "I'm sorry, we did all we could." Sally said, "Why do little children get cancer, doesn't GOD care any more? GOD, where were you when my son needed you?"
The surgeon softly told her, "One of the nurses will be out in a few minutes to let you spend time with your son's remains before it's transported to the university".
Sally asked that the nurse stay with her while she said good-bye to her son. As she ran her fingers through his thick red curly hair, the nurse said, "Would you like a lock of his hair?"
Sally nodded yes. The nurse cut a lock of his hair and put it in a plastic bag and handed it to Sally.
She gazed at her son’s body as she spoke to the nurse.
"It was Jimmy's idea to give his body to the university for study. He said it might help somebody else, and that is what he wanted. I said, no at first, but Jimmy said, ‘Mom I won't be using it after I die, maybe it will help some other little boy to be able to spend one more day with his mother’. My Jimmy had a heart of gold, always thinking of someone else and always wanting to help others if he could".

Sally walked out of the Children's Hospital for the last time now after spending most of the last 6 months there. She sat the bag with Jimmy's things in it on the seat beside of her in the car. The drive home was hard and it was even harder to go into an empty house. She took the bag to Jimmy's room and started placing the model cars and things back in his room exactly where he always kept them. She lay down across his bed and cried herself to sleep holding his pillow. Sally woke up about midnight and lying beside her on the bed, was a letter folded up.
She opened the letter, it said:
Dear Mom,
I know you're going to miss me, but don't think that I will ever forget you or stop loving you because I'm not around to say I LOVE YOU. I'll think of you every day mom and I'll love you even more each day. Some day we will see each other again. If you want to adopt a little boy so you won't be so lonely, he can have my room and my old stuff to play with. If you decide to get a girl instead, she probably wouldn't like the same things as us boys do, so you will have to buy her dolls and stuff girls like.
Don't be sad when you think about me, this is really a great place. Grandma and Grandpa met me as soon as I got here and showed me around some, but it will take a long time to see everything here.
The Angels are so friendly, and I love to watch them fly. Jesus doesn't look like any of the pictures I saw of Him, but I knew it was Him as soon as I saw Him. Jesus took me to see GOD! And guess what mom? I got to sit on GOD'S knee and talk to Him like I was somebody important. I told GOD that I wanted to write you a letter and tell you good-bye and everything, but I knew that wasn't allowed. God handed me some paper and His own personal pen to write you this letter with. I think Gabriel is the name of the angel that is going to drop this letter off to you. God said for me to give you the answer to one of the questions you asked Him about... “Where was He when I needed him?”
God said, "The same place He was when Jesus was on the cross. He was right there, as He always is with all His children.” Oh, by the way Mom, nobody else can see what is written on this paper but you. To everyone else, it looks like a blank piece of paper.
I have to give God His pen back now, He has some more names to write in the Book Of Life. Tonight I get to sit at the table with Jesus for supper. I'm sure the food will be great. I almost forgot to let you know - now I don't hurt anymore, the cancer is all gone. I'm glad because I couldn't stand that pain anymore and God couldn't stand to see me suffer the pain either, so He sent The Angel of Mercy to get me. The Angel said I was Special Delivery!

 

[whipppler]

Sarah

We moved to a small town where my husband was assigned as aminister to a local congregation. I was unpacking one day when thephone rang. A voice on the other end said, "Your name was given tome as a possibility for a mentor in our school." Knowing very few peoplein town, I tried to imagine who might have volunteered me for this.Realizing the lady was waiting for an answer, I replied, "Let me thinkabout it and call you back."I returned to my unpacking, but my mind was busy going over all thereasons I couldn't be a mentor. I wasn't even a parent, so how couldI work with kids. I wouldn't know what to do. I don't really have thetime. What if the child didn't like me? My list of excuses (uh, I meanreasons) was growing by the minute and I did a pretty good job oftalking myself out of it.

Suddenly a thought entered my mind. Connie, do you remember all thepeople that have taken time for you over the years? I knew this hadcome from God, certainly not from me, as I was too busy being selfishat the time.

Faces of family, friends, teachers, and coworkers crossed my mindand all that they'd sacrificed to help me. I was a shy child and Godplaced many loving, patient people along my life's journey. He knewwho I would need at various points to help me through that particularperiod of my life. Could I do any less for someone else?

I was still hesitant, but placed a call to the school and agreed to bea mentor. The lady in the office said, "I have a fourth grade girl whoreally needs some help. Just sign in at the school office and we askthat you come one hour each week." The only other things I knew wereher name, Sarah, and that she came from a poor home situation.

I was nervous as I arrived for our first mentoring session. I was shownto Sarah's classroom and introduced to her. A room down the hall wasavailable for us to meet in and off we went. I sensed this was going tobe a "long" hour. Nothing prepared me for what happened that day.

Wanting to put Sarah at ease, I said, "Let me tell you a little aboutmyself and then you can tell me about yourself." So, I rattled offsome facts and then waited for her to talk. Total silence greeted me.Her long hair hung across her face and she didn't even look at me whenI was talking. We sat in silence for a few minutes and it soon becameobvious she wasn't going to share any information about herself. I hadto think of something quick.

Questions---wasn't that how you got information from others? "Tell meabout your family." When that didn't get any response, I tried, "Whatare your favorite subjects in school?" Then I ventured, "Do you haveany favorite foods?" Nothing. Not even a faint shrug of her shoulders.All my fears that I would fail at this came rushing in at once. Howcould I help a child when she wouldn't even speak to me?

Not knowing what else to do I said, "Why don't we go back to youclassroom?" She almost bolted from the room and was down thehall and back in her class before I could even say good-by to her.I prayed about this over the next week and decided to give it alittle more time.

I went back over the next several weeks and the scene wasrepeated over and over. I asked questions; she sat in silence.Her teacher assured me Sarah was benefiting from these sessions,but I failed to see what good I was doing. Then one week,something different happened.

I had just asked Sarah another question when she looked at meand said, "You ask too many questions." After I recovered fromthe shock of hearing her speak, I told her that one way to get meto stop asking questions was for her talk. From that time on, webegan to make progress in our relationship.

Bit by bit, she began to share about herself. I want to be a beauticianwhen I graduate from high school," she would often tell me. Sincemost of her family never went beyond ninth or tenth grade, this wassurprising to hear from her. We celebrated such things as improvedgrades and the fact that she was becoming more assertive in expressingherself. On the rare occasion when I'd see her parents, they would tellme that Sarah talked about me all the time. I was thrilled to watch herblossom and I hoped that one day we might even be able to talk aboutChristianity.

Sarah knew that I was a pastor's wife, but I did bring up matters offaith with her as I didn't feel that was my role with her in that setting.As we grew more comfortable with each other, she would occasionallymention church, but nothing deeper.

Sarah surprised me one day by greeting me with, "Can I call you onthe phone sometime?" I was pleased she felt that safe with me andagreed she could call once a week. When she did call, there wouldbe a period of silence and then I'd hear, "Hi," followed by more silence.After some discussion about how to have a telephone conversation,she began to be more at ease on the phone and would sometimeschat with me as if we were girlfriends. The staff at school couldn'tbelieve she was calling me and sharing herself so freely.

Sarah and I began our relationship when she was in the fourth gradeand continued till she was in high school. We moved at that time,but I still got the occasional phone call from her to fill me in on whatwas happening. One day I received a very special call from Sarah.

In numerous phone calls Sarah had mentioned that she was goingto a church near where she lived. I had encouraged her to keepdoing so, but really hadn't pushed her to make any kind of commitment.In one of her last phone calls to me she stated, "I went forward atchurch and accepted Christ last Sunday and was baptized." Whata joyous announcement that was to hear!
I haven't heard from Sarah in quite some time, but she is always inmy heart and my prayers. Sometimes I reflect on the fact thatI almost didn't take the time to be a mentor to Sarah, it grievesme to think that I thought there was no time in my life to help her.

I pray that Sarah's life will continue to move in positive directionsbecause of our relationship. She certainly blessed my life.

I hope you will consider giving of your time and talents to a childin need. Please let a child know that someone believes in them.I think of it as an investment in our future. Be a mentor!

I wonder where would I be today without the support of somany wonderful people. And, where would this child be if I hadn't taken. . .

 

[whipppler]

The Elephant Rope

As a man was passing the elephants, he suddenly stopped, confused by the fact that these huge creatures were being held by only a small rope tied to their front leg. No chains, no cages. It was obvious that the elephants could, at anytime, break away from their bonds but for some reason, they did not.

He saw a trainer nearby and asked why these animals just stood there and made no attempt to get away. “Well,” trainer said, “when they are very young and much smaller we use the same size rope to tie them and, at that age, it’s enough to hold them. As they grow up, they are conditioned to believe they cannot break away. They believe the rope can still hold them, so they never try to break free.”

The man was amazed. These animals could at any time break free from their bonds but because they believed they couldn’t, they were stuck right where they were.

Like the elephants, how many of us go through life hanging onto a belief that we cannot do something, simply because we failed at it once before?

Failure is part of learning; we should never give up the struggle in life.

 

[whipppler]

The Marine’s Father
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.
“Your son is here,” she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the patient’s eyes opened.
Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man’s limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man’s hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.
He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital – the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.
Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.
“Who was that man?” he asked.
The nurse was startled, “He was your father,” she answered.
“No, he wasn’t,” the Marine replied. “I never saw him before in my life.”
“Then why didn’t you say something when I took you to him?”
“I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn’t here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed.”

 

[whipppler]

Socrates’ Triple-Filter Test

In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said, “Do you know what I just heard about your friend?”

“Hold on a minute,” Socrates replied. “Before you talk to me about my friend, it might be good idea to take a moment and filter what you’re going to say. That’s why I call it the triple filter test. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?”

“Well, no,” the man said, “actually I just heard about it and…”

“All right,” said Socrates. “So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now, let’s try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my friend something good?”

“Umm, no, on the contrary…”

“So,” Socrates continued, “you want to tell me something bad about my friend, but you’re not certain it’s true. You may still pass the test though, because there’s one filter left—the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me?”

“No, not really.”

“Well,” concluded Socrates, “if what you want to tell me is neither true, nor good, nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?”

 

[whipppler]

Goose

Next Autumn, when you see geese heading south for the winter, flying in a “V” formation, you might consider what science has discovered as to why they fly that way. As each bird flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for the bird immediately following. By flying in a “V” formation, the whole flock adds at least 71 percent greater flying range than if each bird flew on its own.
People who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going more quickly and easily, because they are travelling on the thrust of one another.
When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to go it alone and quickly gets back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird in front.
If we have the sense of a goose, we will stay in formation with those people who are heading the same way we are.
When the head goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing and another goose flies point.
It is sensible to take turns doing demanding jobs, whether with people or with geese flying south.
Geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep up their speed.
What message do we give when we honk from behind?
Finally – and this is important – when a goose gets sick or is wounded by gunshot, and falls out of the formation, two other geese fall out with that goose and follow it down to lend help and protection. They stay with the fallen goose until it is able to fly or until it dies; and only then do they launch out on their own, or with another formation to catch up with their own group.
If we have the sense of a goose, we will stand by each other like that.

 

[whipppler]

The International Food Shortage

Recently, a worldwide survey was conducted and the only question asked was: “Would you please give your honest opinion about the solution to the food shortage in the rest of the world?”

The survey was, not surprisingly, a huge failure. Because:

In Africa they didn’t know what “food” meant.

In Eastern Europe they didn’t know what “honest” meant.

In Western Europe they didn’t know what “shortage” meant.

In China they didn’t know what “opinion” meant.

In the Middle East they didn’t know what “solution” meant.

In South America they didn’t know what “please” meant.

And, in the USA they didn’t know what “the rest of the world” meant. You do not have permission to view the full content of this post. Log in or register now.

 

[whipppler]

Secret of Success

“Sir, What is the secret of your success?” a reporter asked a bank president.

“Two words”

“And, Sir,what are they?”

“Right decisions.”

“And how do you make right decisions?”

“One word.”

“And,sir, What is that?”

“Experience.”

“And how do you get Experience?”

“Two words.”

“And, Sir, what are they?”

“Wrong decisions.”

 

[whipppler]

The House With the Golden Windows

The little girl lived in a small, very simple, poor house on a hill and as she grew she would play in the small garden and as she grew she was able to see over the garden fence and across the valley to a wonderful house high on the hill – and this house had golden windows, so golden and shining that the little girl would dream of how magic it would be to grow up and live in a house with golden windows instead of an ordinary house like hers.

And although she loved her parents and her family, she yearned to live in such a golden house and dreamed all day about how wonderful and exciting it must feel to live there.

When she got to an age where she gained enough skill and sensibility to go outside her garden fence, she asked her mother is she could go for a bike ride outside the gate and down the lane. After pleading with her, her mother finally allowed her to go, insisting that she kept close to the house and didn’t wander too far. The day was beautiful and the little girl knew exactly where she was heading! Down the lane and across the valley, she rode her bike until she got to the gate of the golden house across on the other hill.

As she dismounted her bike and lent it against the gate post, she focused on the path that lead to the house and then on the house itself…and was so disappointed as she realized all the windows were plain and rather dirty, reflecting nothing other than the sad neglect of the house that stood derelict.

So sad she didn’t go any further and turned, heart broken as she remounted her bike … As she glanced up she saw a sight to amaze her…there across the way on her side of the valley was a little house and its windows glistened golden …as the sun shone on her little home.

She realized that she had been living in her golden house and all the love and care she found there was what made her home the ‘golden house’. Everything she dreamed was right there in front of her nose!

 

[whipppler]

The House With the Golden Windows

The little girl lived in a small, very simple, poor house on a hill and as she grew she would play in the small garden and as she grew she was able to see over the garden fence and across the valley to a wonderful house high on the hill – and this house had golden windows, so golden and shining that the little girl would dream of how magic it would be to grow up and live in a house with golden windows instead of an ordinary house like hers.

And although she loved her parents and her family, she yearned to live in such a golden house and dreamed all day about how wonderful and exciting it must feel to live there.

When she got to an age where she gained enough skill and sensibility to go outside her garden fence, she asked her mother is she could go for a bike ride outside the gate and down the lane. After pleading with her, her mother finally allowed her to go, insisting that she kept close to the house and didn’t wander too far. The day was beautiful and the little girl knew exactly where she was heading! Down the lane and across the valley, she rode her bike until she got to the gate of the golden house across on the other hill.

As she dismounted her bike and lent it against the gate post, she focused on the path that lead to the house and then on the house itself…and was so disappointed as she realized all the windows were plain and rather dirty, reflecting nothing other than the sad neglect of the house that stood derelict.

So sad she didn’t go any further and turned, heart broken as she remounted her bike … As she glanced up she saw a sight to amaze her…there across the way on her side of the valley was a little house and its windows glistened golden …as the sun shone on her little home.

She realized that she had been living in her golden house and all the love and care she found there was what made her home the ‘golden house’. Everything she dreamed was right there in front of her nose!

 

[whipppler]

Flying
by: Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was raised in a orphanage.

The little boy had always wished that he could fly like a bird. It was very difficult for him to understand why he could not fly. There were birds at the zoo that were much bigger than he, and they could fly.

"Why can't I?" he thought. "Is there something wrong with me?" he wondered.

There was another little boy who was crippled. He had always wished that he could walk and run like other little boys and girls.

"Why can't I be like them?" he thought.

One day the little orphan boy who had wanted to fly like a bird ran away from the orphanage. He came upon a park where he saw the little boy who could not walk or run playing in the sandbox.

He ran over to the little boy and asked him if he had ever wanted to fly like a bird.

"No," said the little boy who could not walk or run. "But I have wondered what it would be like to walk and run like other boys and girls."

"That is very sad." said the little boy who wanted to fly. "Do you think we could be friends?" he said to the little boy in the sandbox.

"Sure." said the little boy.

The two little boys played for hours. They made sand castles and made really funny sounds with their mouths. Sounds which made them laugh real hard. Then the little boy's father came with a wheelchair to pick up his son. The little boy who had always wanted to fly ran over to the boy's father and whispered something into his ear.

"That would be OK," said the man.

The little boy who had always wanted to fly like a bird ran over to his new friend and said, "You are my only friend and I wish that there was something that I could do to make you walk and run like other little boys and girls. But I can't. But there is something that I can do for you."

The little orphan boy turned around and told his new friend to slide up onto his back. He then began to run across the grass. Faster and faster he ran, carrying the little crippled boy on his back. Faster and harder he ran across the park. Harder and harder he made his legs travel. Soon the wind just whistled across the two little boys' faces.

The little boy's father began to cry as he watched his beautiful little crippled son flapping his arms up and down in the wind, all the while yelling at the top of his voice,

"I'M FLYING, DADDY. I'M FLYING!"

 

[whipppler]

Grow Great by Dreams

The question was once asked of a highly successful businessman: “How have you done so much in your lifetime?”

He replied, “I have dreamed. I have turned my mind loose to imagine what I wanted to do. Then I have gone to bed and thought about my dreams. In the night I dreamt about my dreams. And when I awoke in the morning, I saw the way to make my dreams real. While other people were saying, ‘You can’t do that, it isn’t possible,’ I was well on my way to achieving what I wanted.”

As Woodrow Wilson, 28th President of the U.S., said: “We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in the soft haze of a spring day, or in the red fire on a long winter’s evening. Some of us let these great dreams die, but others nourish and protect them; nourish them through bad days until they bring them to the sunshine and light which comes always to those who sincerely hope that their dreams will come true.”

 

[whipppler]

THE GIFT

Somewhere in Milaor, Camarines Sur, there lived a fourth grader boy who would follow this route to school everyday: He has to cross the rugged plains and cross the dangerous highway where vehicles are recklessly driving to and from.
Once past this highway, the boy would take a short cut, passing by the Church every morning just to say Hi to God, and faithfully say his, "Magandang umaga po" in Bicol dialect. He was faithfully being watched by a Priest who was happy to find innocence so uplifting in the morning,
"Kamusta, Andoy? Papasok ka na?"
"Opo padre ... "he would flash his innocent grin, the priest would be touched. He was so concerned that one day he talked to Andoy.
"From school...", he advised "Do not cross the highway, you can pass through the Church and I can accompany you to the other side of the road...that way I can see that you are home safe...."
"Thank you father ... "
"Why don't you go home ... why do you stay in this church right after school?"
"I just want to say 'Hi' to my friend, God," and the priest would leave the boy to spend time beside the altar, talking to himself, but the priest was hiding behind the altar to listen to what this boy has to say to his heavenly FATHER.
"You know my math exam was pretty bad today, but I did not cheat although my seatmate is bullying me for notes... I ate one *****er and drank my water, Itay had a bad season and all I can eat is this *****er.
Thank you for this! I saw a poor kitten who was hungry and I know how he feels so I gave my last *****er to him ... funny but I am not that hungry.
Look, this is my last pair of slippers ...I may have to walk barefoot next week, you see this is about to be broken... but it is okay....at least I am still going to school.... Some say we will have a hard season this month, some of my classmates have already stopped going to school .... please help them get to school again, please God?
....Oh, you know, Inay hit me again, it is painful, but I know this pain will pass away, at least I still have a mother.... God, you want to see my bruises? I know you can heal them.... Here... here and .... oh ...blood ....I guess you knew about this one huh? Please don't be mad at Inay, she is just tired and she worries for the food in our table and my schooling that is why she hits us....Oh, I think I am in love ... there's this pretty girl in my class, her name is Anita ... do you think she will like me? Anyway, at least I know you will always like me, I don't have to be anybody just to please you, you are my very best friend! Hey your birthday is two days from now!!! Aren't you excited? I am! Wait till you see, I have a gift for you . but it is a surprise! I hope you will like it! Oooops, I have to go ..." then he stood up and calls out, "Padre, padre, I am finished talking to my friend ....
youcan accompany me to the other side of the road now"
This routine happens everyday. Andoy never fails. Father Agaton shares this every Sunday to the people in his church because he has not seen a very pure faith and trust in God, a very positive look at negative situations.
One Christmas day, Father Agaton was sick so he could not make it in the Church, he was sent to the hospital. The Church was left to 4 manangs who would chant the rosary in 1000 miles per hour, would not smile and would always find fault in what you do, they were also very well versed in cursing if you irritate them! They were kneeling, saying their kilometric rosary when Andoy, coming from his Christmas party,playfully dashed in.
"Hello God! I ......"
"P----!! (a curse) bata ka!! Alam mo nang may nagdadasal!! Alis!!"

Poor Andoy was so terrified, "Where's Father Agaton? He is supposed to help me cross the street ... and to be able to cross the street I will have to pass by the back door of this church .not only that, I have to greet Jesus. It is His birthday, I have a gift right here....

" Just as he was about to get the gift out of his shirt, the manang pulled his shirt and threw him out of the church. "Susmaryosep!!! (does the sign of the cross fervently) Alis kang bata ka, kung hindi matatamaan ka!!!
So the boy had no choice but to cross the dangerous side of the road in front of the church. He crossed. A fast moving bus came in.
There was a blind curve. The boy was protecting his gift inside his shirt, so he was not looking. There was so little time. Andoy died on the spot. A lot of people crowded the poor boy, the body of a lifeless young boy ...
Suddenly, out of nowhere a tall man in a pure white shirt and pants, a face so mild and gentle, but with eyes full of tears... He came and carried the boy in His arms. He was crying. Curious bystanders nudged the man in white, and asked,
"Excuse me sir, are you related to this child?
Do you know this child?"
The man in white, His face mourning and in agony, looked up and answered,
"He was my best friend . " was all he said. He took the badly wrapped gift in the bloody chest of the lifeless boy, and placed it near His heart.
He stood up and carried the boy away and they both disappeared in sight.
The crowd was curious ...
On Christmas Eve, Father Agaton learned of the shocking news. He visited the house, and wanted to verify about the man in white. He consulted the parents of Andoy.
"How did you know that your son died?"
"A man in white brought him here." sobbed the mother. "What did he say?"
The father answered, "He did not say anything. He was mourning. We do not know him and yet he was very lonely about our son's death, as if he knew our son very well. But there was something peaceful and unexplainable about him.
He gave me my son, and then he smiled peacefully. He brushed my son's hair away from his face and kissed him on his forehead, then he whispered something..."
"What did he say?"
"He said to my boy..." the father began, "Thank you for the gift .... I will see you soon ... you will be with me..." and the father of the boy continued, "and you know for a while, it felt so
wonderful ... I cried, but I do not know why....all I know is I cried tears of joy .... I could not explain it, Father, but when that man left, something peaceful came over me, I felt a deep sense
of love inside ... I could not explain the joy in my heart, I knew my boy is in heaven now but...tell me, Father, who is this man that my son talks to everyday in your church, you should know because you are always there ... except at the time of his death ......"Father Agaton suddenly felt the tears welling in his eyes, with
trembling knees, he murmurred, " ... He was talking to no one ......
but .. GOD...."

 

[whipppler]

Nobunaga’s Destiny

A great Japanese warrior named Nobunaga decided to attack the enemy although he had only one-tenth the number of men the opposition commanded. He knew that he would win, but his soldiers were in doubt.



On the way he stopped at a Shinto shrine and told his men: “After I visit the shrine I will toss a coin. If heads comes, we will win; if tails, we will lose. Destiny holds us in her hand.”


Nobunaga entered the shrine and offered a silent prayer. He came forth and tossed a coin. Heads appeared. His soldiers were so eager to fight that they won their battle easily.



“No one can change the hand of destiny,” his attendant told him after the battle.



“Indeed not,” said Nobunaga, showing a coin which had been doubled, with heads facing either way.