Inspirational stories

[FineLinen]

Hebrews 12:1-3

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider him that endured such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds.

Anyone that has run a marathon can attest to how difficult the race is. Well, at the 1968 Olympic Games which took place in Mexico City featured a true story of grit and determination.

Hours behind the runner in front of him, the last marathoner finally entered Olympic stadium. By that time, the drama of the day's event was almost over and most of the spectators had gone home. But the story of Tanzanian marathoner John Stephen Akwari was still being played out. Limping into the arena, Akwari grimaced with every step, his knee bleeding and bandaged from an earlier fall. His ragged appearance immediately caught the attention of the remaining crowd, who cheered him on to the finish line.

Why did he stay in the race? What made him endure his injuries to the end? When asked these questions later, he replied, "My country did not send me 7,000 miles away to start the race. They sent me 7,000 miles to finish it!"

 

[FineLinen]

Isaiah 26:3 You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on you: because he trusts in you.

The captain of a submarine was once asked, "How did the terrible storm last night affect you?" The officer looked at him in surprise and exclaimed, "Storm? We didn't even know there was one!"

There is an area beneath the surface of the ocean known to sailors as the "cushion of the sea". In this place, although the ocean may be raging terribly above, the waters here are never stirred.

There is a place, a wonderful place, we can go to find refuge during the frightening storms raging above us -- a place where we don't feel a thing -- no fear, no worry for tomorrow.

 

[FineLinen]

Miracle Boy

Mom Plans Funeral While Pregnant For Baby With Virtually No Brain Function & Then Gets A Miracle

 

[Mark Quayle]

Miracle Boy

Mom Plans Funeral While Pregnant For Baby With Virtually No Brain Function & Then Gets A Miracle

Wow!

 

[Shrewd Manager]

Miracle Boy

Mom Plans Funeral While Pregnant For Baby With Virtually No Brain Function & Then Gets A Miracle

Those TV presenters are relieved that the young fellow is overqualified to take their jobs.

 

[FineLinen]

What love is all about

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman, in his 80s arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry and that he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs, and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redressed his wound. While taking care of him, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for awhile and was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.

As we talked and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, and hadn't recognized him in five years. I was surprised, and asked him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?"

He smiled and patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."

 

[FineLinen]

A Glass Of Milk

Once, there was a poor boy who made a living by selling various objects from door to door. This was the way he earned money to pay for his school. One day, as he was walking from house to house as usual, he felt very hungry and weak. He felt that he couldn’t walk even a few steps. He decided to ask for food at a house. He knocked on the door and was stunned to see a beautiful young girl open the door. With much hesitation, he asked the girl for a glass of water. The young girl understood his condition and offered him a huge glass of milk. With an astonished look, the boy drank the milk very slowly. “How much do I owe you for this milk?” he asked her. The girl replied, “I do not want any money for this.” The boy thanked the girl from the bottom of his heart and left the place. Years passed by. The young girl grew up. In her youth, unfortunately, she fell ill and was diagnosed with the rarest kind of nervous disorder. Many experienced doctors were baffled at her condition, and she was admitted in the city hospital with the most advanced facilities. Dr. Kevin, a renowned neuro specialist was called in by the hospital to examine her. Even with his extraordinary expertise, Dr. Kevin found the girl’s illness very hard to cure. However, with perseverance and hard work that lasted months, he was finally able to get the disease under control. With careful medication and monitoring, the girl was completely cured in the end. Everyone praised the doctor, but the girl was quite worried about how much the hospital bill would come to. Her family had just a little money kept away in the bank, which was by no means enough to pay for such a long treatment in that reputed hospital. The girl was given the hospital bill finally. With trembling hands, she opened it.

She was stunned to see that the bill had been crossed out and cancelled, and there was a note underneath signed by Dr. Kevin. “Bill paid years ago with a glass of milk!”

 

[FineLinen]

Covered By The Cloud

This the story as told by Spencer January.

It was a morning in early March, 1945, a clear and sunny day. I was 24 years old and a member of the U.S. Army's 35th Infantry Division, 137th Infantry Company I. Along with several other companies of American troops, we were making our way through dense woods, towards the Rhine River in the German Rhineland. Our objective was to reach and take the town of Ossenberg, where a factory was producing gunpowder and other products for use in the war. For hours we had pressed through an unrelenting thicket. Shortly after midday word was passed that there was a clearing ahead.

At last, we thought, the going would be easier.

But then we approached a large stone house, behind which huddled a handful of wounded, bleeding soldiers who had tried to cross the clearing and failed. Before us stretched at least 200 yards of open ground, bordered on the far side by more thick woods. As the first of us appeared on the edge of the clearing there was an angry rat-tat-tat and a ferocious volley of bullets sent soil spinning as far as we could see. Three nests of German machine guns, spaced 50 yards apart and protected by the crest of a small hill to the left, were firing across the field. As we got our bearings it was determined that the machine guns were so well placed that our weapons couldn't reach them. To cross that field meant suicide. Yet, we had no choice. The Germans had blockaded every other route into the town. In order to move on and secure a victory, we had to move forward. I slumped against a tree, appalled at the grim situation.

I thought of home, of my wife and my 5-month old son. I had kissed him good-bye just after he was born.

I thought that I might never see my family again, and the possibility was overwhelming. I dropped to my knees. "God," I pleaded desperately, "You've got to do something. Please do something." Moments later the order was given to advance. Grasping my M-1 rifle, I got to my feet and started forward. After reaching the edge of the clearing I took a deep breath. But just before I stepped out from cover, I glanced to the left. I stopped and stared in amazement. A white cloud -- a long fluffy white cloud -- had appeared out of nowhere. It dropped from over the trees and covered the area. The Germans' line of fire was obscured by the thick foggy mist. All of us bolted into the clearing and raced for our lives. The only sounds were of combat boots thudding against the soft earth as men dashed into the clearing, scrambling to reach the safety of the other side before the mist lifted. With each step the woods opposite came closer and closer. I was almost across! My pulse pounding in my ears, I lunged into the thicket and threw myself behind a tree. I turned and watched as other soldiers following me dove frantically into the woods, some carrying and dragging the wounded. This has to be God's doing, I thought. The instant the last man reached safety, the cloud vanished! The day was again bright and clear. The enemy, apparently thinking we were still pinned down behind the stone house on the other side, must have radioed their artillery. Minutes later the building was blown to bits but our company was safe and we quickly moved on. We reached Ossenberg and went on to secure more areas for the Allies. But the image of that cloud was never far from my mind. I had seen the sort of smoke screens that were sometimes set off to obscure troop activity in such situations.

That cloud had been different. It had appeared out of nowhere and saved our lives.

Two weeks later, as we bivouacked in eastern Germany, a letter arrived from my mother back in Dallas. I tore open the envelope eagerly. The letter contained words that sent a shiver down my spine. "You remember Mrs. Tankersly from our church?" my mother wrote. Who could forget her? I smiled. Everybody called Mrs. Tankersly the prayer warrior. "Well," continued Mom, "Mrs. Tankersly telephoned me one morning from the defense plant where she works. She said the Lord had awakened her the night before at one o' clock and told her, 'Spencer January is in terrible trouble. Get up now and pray for him!" My mother went on to explain that Mrs. Tankersly had interceded for me in prayer until six o' clock the next morning, when she had to go to her job. "She told me the last thing she prayed before getting off her knees was this" -- "Lord, whatever danger Spencer is in, just cover him with a cloud!"

I sat there for a long time holding the letter in my trembling hand. My mind raced, quickly calculating. Yes, the hours Mrs. Tankersly was praying would indeed have corresponded to the time we were approaching the clearing. With a seven-hour time difference, her prayer for a cloud would have been uttered at one o'clock, the exact time Company I was getting ready to cross the clearing. From that moment on, I intensified my prayer life. For the past 52 years I have gotten up early every morning to pray for others. I am convinced there is no substitute for the power of prayer and its ability to comfort and sustain others, even those facing the valley of the shadow of death.

 

[FineLinen]

God teaches us something even in scary circumstances.

The Christmas holiday season was drawing to a close and it was time for my brother John and his family to head home. He and his wife Tara packed up the little ones and prepared for the journey back to Kansas from Indiana. As is their custom, they pray for safety on the road as they prepare to leave. This time the oldest child, John Jr. asked to say the prayer. He asked that the family be kept safe as they made their way home. One by one, the six children were loaded into the family van and their journey westward began.

Gradually, evidence of winter began being seen on the roads and vehicles along the way.

We had so little snow in our part of Indiana one could almost forget the season. Nevertheless, their trip was going well. It was a typical winter drive home. Without warning a chunk of ice flew off a semi trailer up ahead! The massive piece crashed into van’s hood on the passenger side denting it, cracking the windshield and puncturing a small hole in it as well as leaving a dent in the roof. Pulling over as quickly and safely as possible, John looked over his family. They were shaken, but not injured. John Jr. was even more upset. “You should have said the prayer, Daddy. God didn’t hear me ask Him to keep us safe.” John hugged his son and replied, “No, He heard you. While the accident was scary, we were not hurt. He heard you. Your prayer was answered.” We may not always have such an immediate answer to prayer, but......

On that day a little boy learned the power of prayer and God’s amazing protective grace.

 

[FineLinen]

THE SMELL OF RAIN

A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. She was still groggy from surgery. Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news. That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver the couple's new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing. At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs. "I don't think she's going to make it," he said, as kindly as he could.

"There's only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one." Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Dana would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on. "No! No!" was all Diana could say. She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away. But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Dana's underdeveloped nervous system was essentially 'raw', the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn't even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Dana struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl. There was never a moment when Dana suddenly grew stronger. But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Dana turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Dana went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

Five years later, when Dana was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment.

Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story. One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Dana was sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin's baseball team was practicing. As always, Dana was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, little Dana asked, "Do you smell that? "Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, "Yes, it smells like rain." Dana closed her eyes and again asked, "Do you smell that?'' "Once again, her mother replied, "Yes, I think we're about to get wet. It smells like rain." Still caught in the moment, Dana shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, "No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest." Tears blurred Diana's eyes as Dana happily hopped down to play with the other children. Before the rains came, her daughter's words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along. During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Dana on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

 

[FineLinen]

A Child's Prayer

Dear God, are You still awake? Have You got a minute or two? You're pretty good at understanding, And I really need to talk to You.

You see, Mommy came to tuck me in, Like she does every night. I was trying to play a trick on her, Since she can't see without the light. I was going to close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. But when I heard her crying, I didn't dare let out a peep.

She started talking to you, God. Did You hear the things she said? Could You hear what she was saying as she stood beside my bed? Why would Mommy be so sad? I wondered just what I had done, And then I began to remember it all as she named them one by one.

This morning we worked in the garden, But, honest, I really didn't know that if I picked all those little yellow blooms The tomatoes wouldn't grow! Charlie and I were trying to be helpers, 'Cause I know that's what Mommy needs, But I don't think she was too happy with us when we pulled up carrots instead of weeds.

Mommy said we should stop for the day, she decided we had helped quite enough. I sure had worked up an appetite. I didn't know gardening was so tough! we had peanut-butter and jelly for lunch and I shared too much, I guess.

But I didn't realize until I was done that Charlie had made such a mess. Mommy said she needed a nap, she had one of her headaches today. She told me to keep an eye on my sister and find something quiet to play.

Well, God, do You remember all those curls you gave my little sister Jenny? We played barber shop...very quietly... and now, well, she doesn't have any. Boy, was Mommy mad at me.

I had to go sit on my bed. She said never to cut "people hair" again. I guess I'll practice on Charlie instead. We sat and watched poor old Albert, I just knew he must be so bored Going round and round in the same place all day, Wouldn't You think so, Lord? I didn't think it would hurt to let him out for a while.

I mean, mice need exercise, too. By the way, have You seen Albert lately? He's been sort of missing since two. Mommy sent us outside for the rest of the day. She said we needed fresh air.

But when daddy came home she told him he was trying to get something out of her hair. We thought mommy needed cheering up, so we decided to brighten her day.

But, God, did You see the look on her face When we gave her that pretty bouquet? We had gotten a little bit dirty, so Mommy said to get in the tub. "Use soap this time," she reminded, "and please don't forget to scrub."

Charlie didn't like the water too much, but I lathered up real good. I knew Mommy would be so proud of me for cleaning up like I should.

I went downstairs to the table, but during dinner it started to rain. I'd forgotten to turn off the water, it seems, and I hadn't unplugged the drain! I decided right then it was just about time to start getting ready for bed, When mommy said, "It's sure been a long day, " And her face began turning all red.

I lay there listening to mommy as she told You about our day. I thought about all of the things I had done and I wondered what I should say. I was just about to tell her that I'd been awake all along, And ask her to please forgive me for all of those thing I'd done wrong.

When suddenly, I heard her whisper, "God, forgive me for today. For not being more understanding when those problems came my way... For not handling situations in the way You wanted me to...for getting angry and losing my temper, Things I know You don't want me to do.

And, God, please give me more patience, Help me make it through another day, I'll do better tomorrow, I promise.. . In Jesus' name I pray." Wiping her eyes, she kissed me and knelt here beside my bed. She stroked my hair for a little while..." I love you, precious," mommy said. She left the room without ever knowing that I'd been awake all the time.

God, could we make it our little secret? You know, just Yours and mine? I'm sorry I was so much trouble today, I really didn't mean to be... Daddy says it's tough being a kid sometimes, but I think it's harder on Mommy than me. Well, goodnight, God. Thanks for listening. It's sure nice to know You're there. I feel so much better when I talk to You 'cause You always hear my prayer. And I'll do better tomorrow, I promise... Just You wait and see! I'll try not to be so much trouble again, But, God, please give more patience to Mommy ......Just in case! Amen.

 

[FineLinen]

HOT WATER BOTTLE

One night, in Central Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying, two-year-old daughter.

We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity to run an incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.

A student-midwife went for the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in.

Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. “…and it is our last hot water bottle!” she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk; so, in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over a burst water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

All right,” I said, “Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm.”

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.

During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. “Please, God,” she prayed, “send us a water bottle. It’ll be no good tomorrow, God, the baby will be dead; so, please send it this afternoon.”

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, ” …And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love her?” As often with children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, “Amen?” I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything: The Bible says so, but there are limits, aren’t there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses’ training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time that I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel!

I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored.

Next, came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas – – that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. As I put my hand in again, I felt the…could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, “A brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!” I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!” Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone: She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, “Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?”

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday School class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God’s prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator.

One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child — five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it “That afternoon!” “And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.” Isaiah 65:24

Helen Roseveare a doctor missionary from England to Zaire, Africa, told this as it had happened to her in Africa.

 

[FineLinen]

Mark 10:44-45 And whoever of you desires to be first shall be servant of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.

A non-commissioned officer was directing the repairs of a military building during the American Revolution. He was barking orders to the soldiers under his command, trying to get them to raise a heavy wooden beam.

As the men struggled in vain to lift the beam into place, a man who was passing by stopped to ask the one in charge why he wasn't helping the men. With all the pomp of an emperor, the soldier responded, "Sir, I am a corporal!"

"You are, are you?" replied the passerby, "I was not aware of that." Then, taking off his hat and bowing, he said, "I ask your pardon, Corporal." Then the stranger walked over and strained with the soldiers to lift the heavy beam. After the job was finished, he turned and said, "Mr. Corporal, when you have another such job and have not enough men, send for your Commander in Chief, and I will come and help you a second time." The corporal was thunderstruck. The man’s name was General George Washington.

 

[FineLinen]

God's Elephants

From the unbelievable chaos of the tsunami disaster comes an incredible tale from Jim France of the Pavilion Hotel Group in Bangkok.

At a resort on Phuket, one of the most popular attractions is (was) elephant rides. As many as eight people on one elephant, first into the surrounding forest, then down to the beach, to lunch at a fresh water lagoon, then back to the hotel. The elephants (nine) were kept chained to in-ground posts, not because they needed to be, but because it made the mothers feel better because their children seemed safe from a tromping when feeding the beasts.

About twenty minutes before the first wave hit, the elephants became extremely agitated and unruly. Four had just returned from a trip and their handler's had not yet chained them. They helped the other five tear free from their chains. They all then climbed a hill and started bellowing. Many people followed them up the hill. Then the waves hit.

After the waves subsided, the elephants charged down from the hill and started picking up children with their trunks and running them back up the hill; when all the children were taken care of, they started helping the adults.

They rescued forty-two people. Then they returned to the beach and carried up four dead bodies, one of a child. Not until the task was done would they allow their handler's to mount them. Then with handlers atop, they began moving wreckage. Many
super human and super-sentient capacities were being exhibited through these wonderful elephant beings including divine love for one another and humans through the transitions they were going through.

 

[FineLinen]

The Tablecloth

At Christmas time men and women everywhere gather in their churches to wonder anew at the greatest miracle the world has ever known. But the story I like best to recall was not a miracle — not exactly. It happened to a pastor who was very young but his church was very old.

Once long ago it had flourished. Famous men had preached from its pulpit and prayed before its altar. Rich and poor alike had worshipped there and built it beautifully. Now the good days had passed from the section of town where it stood. But the pastor and his young wife believed in their run-down church. They felt that with paint, hammer, and faith they could get it in shape. Together they went to work.

However late in December a severe storm whipped through the river valley and the worst blow fell on the little church — a huge chunk of rain-soaked plaster fell out of the inside wall just behind the altar.

Sorrowfully the pastor and his wife swept away the mess but they couldn’t hide the ragged hole. The pastor looked at it and had to remind himself quickly, “Thy will be done!” But his wife wept, “Christmas is only two days away!”

That afternoon the dispirited couple attended an auction held for the benefit of a youth group. The auctioneer opened a box and shook out of its folds a handsome gold and ivory lace tablecloth. It was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long; but it, too, dated from a long vanished era. Who, today, had any use for such a thing?

There were a few halfhearted bids. Then the pastor was seized with what he thought was a great idea. He bid it in for $6.50. He carried the cloth back to the church and tacked it up on the wall behind the altar. It completely hid the hole! And the extraordinary beauty of its shimmering handwork cast a fine, holiday glow over the chancel. It was a great triumph. Happily he went back to preparing his Christmas sermon.

Just before noon on the day of Christmas Eve as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in the cold at the bus stop. “The bus won’t be here for 40 minutes!” he called and invited her into the church to get warm. She told him that she had come from the city that morning to be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the wealthy families in town but she had been turned down. A war refugee, her English was imperfect.

The woman sat down in a pew and clasped her hands and rested.

After a while she dropped her head and prayed. She looked up as the pastor began to adjust the great gold and ivory cloth across the hole. She rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the chancel. She looked at the tablecloth. The pastor smiled and started to tell her about the storm damage but she didn’t seem to listen. She took up a fold of the cloth and rubbed it between her fingers. “It is mine!” she said. “It is my banquet cloth!” She lifted up a corner and showed the surprised pastor that there were initials monogrammed on it. “My husband had the cloth made especially for me in Brussels! There could not be another like it.”

For the next few minutes the woman and the pastor talked excitedly together. She explained that she was Viennese and that she and her husband had opposed the Nazis and decided to leave the country. They were advised to go separately. Her husband put her on a train for Switzerland. They planned that he would join her as soon as he could arrange to ship their household goods across the border. She never saw him again. Later she heard that he had died in a concentration camp. “I have always felt that it was my fault — to leave without him,” she said. “Perhaps these years of wandering have been my punishment!” The pastor tried to comfort her and urged her to take the cloth with her. She refused. Then she went away.

As the church began to fill on Christmas Eve, it was clear that the cloth was going to be a great success. It had been skillfully designed to look its best by candlelight. After the service, the pastor stood at the doorway. Many people told him that the church looked beautiful. One gentle-faced middle-aged man — he was the local clock-and-watch repairman — looked rather puzzled. “It is strange,” he said in his soft accent. “Many years ago my wife — God rest her — and I owned such a cloth. In our home in Vienna, my wife put it on the table” — and here he smiled — “only when the bishop came to dinner.”

The pastor suddenly became very excited. He told the jeweler about the woman who had been in church earlier that day. The startled jeweler clutched the pastor’s arm. “Can it be? Does she live?”

Together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed her. Then in the pastor’s car they started for the city. And as Christmas Day was born, this man and his wife who had been separated through so many saddened Yule tides were reunited.

To all who hear this story, the joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear. Of course, people said it was a miracle; but I think you will agree it was the season for it!

 

[FineLinen]

Information Please

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighbourhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the wooden box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but would listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

I came to realize that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person with the name "Information please," and there was nothing she did not know. I overheard my father saying to my mother that "Information please" could supply anybody's number and even give you the correct time of the day.

My first personal experience with this "genie-in-the-bottle" came one day while dad was at work and my mother was visiting a neighbour. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason for crying because there was no one at home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger.

Finally, arriving at the stairway, I saw...the telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear. "Information please!" I spoke desperately into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two later, a small, clear voice spoke into my ear: "Information," she answered. "I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

The rest of the story

https://www.pitt.edu/~cjm6/f98info.html

 

[FineLinen]

The Empty Egg

Jeremy was born with a variety of disabilities. Attending a small church, at the age of twelve he was becoming more difficult to have in the Sunday school classroom, comprised of children much younger than him. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, and make inappropriate noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain.

Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher. One day she decided to meet with his parents after church. As they entered the empty classroom, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really has trouble being in the classroom. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five year gap between his age and that of the other children." Jeremy's mother cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke. "Doris," he said "there is no other class he would fit in. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of your class. We know he really likes it here." Doris sat for a long time after they had left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with them. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that family, trying to meet what were probably many medical bills due to his various issues," she thought. "Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy." From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day, he ran into the classroom. "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris' face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-why, that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now, please take your seat." Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back next week with something inside that shows new life."

The children responded enthusiastically - all except Jeremy. He listened intently; his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand to bring back the egg with something inside?

Perhaps she should call his parents and explain it to them. That evening Doris' kitchen sink stopped up. She called her landlord and waited for an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she had a crazy week at work. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.

following Sunday, the children entered her classroom, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on the table in the room. They eagerly waited to open all the eggs. In the first egg, they discovered a flower. "Oh yes, life!" she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that spring is here." The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that is new life, too."

Next, a rock with moss on it was discovered in an egg. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Then they opened the fourth egg. The egg was empty. Doris figured it was Jeremy's egg and he had not understood what he was supposed to do with it. Not wanting to embarrass him, Doris moved it to the side and was about to open another egg.

Jeremy spoke up, "Aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "But this egg is empty." He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty, too. Jesus was killed and put in there. Then God raised him up. So the egg should be empty on Easter."

 

[FineLinen]

The Cracked Pot

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and one half pots of water in his master's house.

The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you." "Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path." Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.

Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

 

[FineLinen]

A Little Boy's Selfless Love

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a lovely little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare life threatening disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year-old brother, who had somehow survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness.

The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes, I'll do it if it will save her."

As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"

Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her.

 

[FineLinen]