Chicken Soup for the Soul

[ant0n!]

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I will read this one later..

Keep posted guyz..

[biggie9385]

Family Picture
By Gary Rosberg

I was sitting in my favorite chair, studying for the final stages of my doctoral degree, when Sarah announced herself in my presence with a question: "Daddy, do you want to see my family picture?"

"Sarah, Daddy's busy. Come back in a little while, Honey."

Good move, right? I was busy. A week's worth of work to squeeze into a weekend. You've been there.

Ten minutes later she swept back into the living room. "Daddy, let me show you my picture."

The heat went up around my collar. "Sarah," I said, "come back later. This is important."

Three minutes later she stormed into the living room, got three inches from my nose and barked with all the power a five-year-old could muster: "Do you want to see it or don't you?" The assertive woman in training.

"No," I told her, "I don't."

With that, she zoomed out of the room and left me alone. And somehow, being alone at that moment wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. I felt like a jerk. (Don't agree so loudly.) I went to the front door.

"Sarah," I called, "could you come back inside a minute, please? Daddy would like to see your picture."

She obliged with no recriminations and popped up on my lap.

It was a great picture. She'd even given it a title. Across the top, in her best printing, she had inscribed: "OUR FAMILY BEST."

"Tell me about it," I said.

"Here is Mommy (a stick figure with long, yellow, curly hair), here is me standing by Mommy (with a smiley face), here is our dog Katie, and here is Missy (her little sister was a stick figure lying in the street in front of the house, about three times bigger than anyone else)." It was a pretty good insight into how she saw our family.

"I love your picture, Honey," I told her. "I'll hang it on the dining room wall, and each night when I come home from work and from class (which was usually around 10:00 P.M.), I'm going to look at it."

She took me at my word, beamed ear to ear and went outside to play. I went back to my books. But for some rea- son I kept reading the same paragraph over and over.

Something was making me uneasy.

Something about Sarah's picture.

Something was missing.

I went to the front door. "Sarah," I called, "could you come back inside a minute, please? I want to look at your picture again, Honey."

Sarah crawled back into my lap. I can close my eyes right now and see the way she looked. Cheeks rosy from playing outside. Pigtails, Strawberry Shortcake tennis shoes. A Cabbage Patch doll named Nellie tucked limply under her arm.

I asked my little girl a question, but I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"Honey...there's Mommy, and Sarah, and Missy. Katie the dog is in the picture, and the sun, and the house, and squirrels and birdies. But Sarah...where is your daddy?"

"You're at the library," she said.

With that simple statement, my little princess stopped time for me. Lifting her gently off my lap, I sent her back to play in the spring sunshine. I slumped back in my chair with a swirling head and blood pumping furiously through my heart. Even as I type these words into the computer, I can feel those sensations all over again. It was a frightening moment. The fog lifted from my preoccupied brain for a moment - and suddenly I could see. But what I saw scared me to death. It was like being in a ship and coming out of the fog in time to see a huge, sharp rock knifing through the surf just off the port bow.

Sarah's simple pronouncement - "You're at the library" - got my attention big-time.

I hung the drawing on the dining room wall, just as I promised my girl. And through those long, intense weeks preceding the oral defense of my dissertation, I stared at that revealing portrait. It happened every night in the silence of my sleeping home, as I consumed my late-night warmed-over dinners. I didn't have the guts to bring the issue up to Barbara. And she had the incredible insight to let it rest until I had the courage to deal with it. I finally finished my degree program. I was "Dr. Rosberg" now, and I guess it should have been a big deal for me. But frankly there wasn't much joy in my life.

One night after graduation, Barbara and I were lying in bed together and I found myself working up the nerve to ask her a few questions. It was late, it was dark, and as I murmured my first question, I was praying Barbara had already fallen asleep. "Barb, are you sleeping?"

"No," she said. Rats! I thought to myself. Now I'm committed.

"Barbara, you've obviously seen Sarah's picture taped on the dining room wall. Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because I know how much it wounded you, Gary." Words from a woman wise beyond her twenty-something years. At that point, I asked the toughest question I've ever asked anyone in my life.

"Barb...I want to come home. Can I do it?"

Twenty seconds of silence followed. It seemed like I held my breath for an hour. "Gary," Barb said carefully, "the girls and I love you very much. We want you home. But you haven't been here. I've felt like a single parent for years."

The words look cold in print, but she said them with restraint and tenderness. It was just plain, unvarnished truth. My little girl had drawn the picture, and now her mom was speaking the words. My life had been out of control, my family was on automatic pilot, and I had a long road ahead of me if I wanted to win them back.

But I had to win them back. Now that the fog had lifted, it suddenly became the most important thing in my life.

[biggie9385]

The Patient and Her Encourager
By Scot Thurman
Submitted by Kelley Smith

At the age of twenty-one, Susan was diagnosed with breast cancer. Of course, the news devastated this young, vibrant college student. To make matters worse, she had no money to cover the medical expenses. Her father had recently lost his job, and her disabled mother hadn't worked in nearly fifteen years.

With an empty bank account and a heart full of faith, Susan began six weeks of chemotherapy treatments. I accompanied her to her chemo appointment one day, and I was amazed at the strength radiating from her face before and after the grueling treatments. Despite her desperate circumstances, Susan's faith sustained her.

Before long, Susan became very ill, and the intense pain was growing unbearable. Though she received unrelenting prayer and support from her family, friends and professors, the pain persisted. Soon, she had lost all her hair. "If nothing else," she would tease, "I'll save money on hair care!" Despite her positive outlook and unyielding faith, her financial situation remained grim. She already owed more than ten thousand dollars in medical expenses, and she had no income or savings.

One cold February day while Susan was in the hospital, a visitor came to see her. The elderly gentleman with a sweet countenance asked, "Are you Susan?"

"Yes," she replied.

"My name is Mark White, and I live here in town. My wife was in the bed next to you on your first visit to the hospital, but you weren't here long, and while you were here, you were very sick. My wife and I prayed for you each night before going to bed, and we often wondered how you were." The man continued, "My wife died about two days after you left, and I'm here today to pick up some of her things."

Susan nodded, not sure how to respond.

The man proceeded, "The nurse informed me you were back in the hospital. My wife overheard you talking on the phone with your mom one night about your financial situation. My wife and I wanted to help you, and we knew of no better way than to give you this money. We don't know you well, but we want to help. You were always a joy for my wife to talk to and a great encouragement to her. Please take this check and use it for your hospital bills."

As the gentleman walked away, he turned back, "I know you're going to make it, kid. Just keep believing."

As Susan opened the envelope, she thought, 'How nice that this elderly couple gave me twenty or fifty dollars.' But what she found inside the envelope was not a twenty- dollar bill or a fifty-dollar bill; it was a check for ten thousand dollars! Weeping, she read the attached note, "Someone needs your encouragement today. Thanks for encouraging me for the few short days I knew you. Love, Marie White."

Susan did just as Mr. White had said - she kept believing. Susan's cancer was gone in a few months and has never returned. In her own special way, Susan reminded me to encourage someone every day; her story has remained with me, and its message becomes more valuable with time. When I asked Susan how to end her story, she said God had given her what she believed to be the greatest gift of all - life.

And, oh yes, I think the money helped, too.

[ant0n!]

any chicken soup for newly wed couples? or something related to weddings?

[biggie9385]

Sharing with the Preacher
By Robert J. McMullen Jr.

My first year at seminary, I did my field work at the state penitentiary in Richmond, Virginia - a cold, creepy place with steel doors that clanged shut. In the infirmary was a young man about my age. His eyes were hard, angry and showing hurt like a cornered animal. Loudly he welcomed me with, "Here comes another one of them preachers. You're all a bunch of hypocrites."

"You're right. And so are you. Welcome to the club," I fired back.

He flung all the usual accusations at me. My answers were not what he expected. Thus began a weekly ritual in which we would talk while those in the other beds listened closely. Soon his story came out.

His family fell apart and he lived in the streets, supporting himself by stealing cars. He was in prison for multiple car thefts. To avoid work detail, he injected his foot with gasoline. He overdid it and his foot was now permanently damaged. He might even lose it. No wonder he was furious. My heart ached for him.

Gradually we learned to respect each other and even had some laughs together. Soon we were discussing our purpose in life. His tone softened. We became friends. He began to think of himself as a Christian.

Then it was time for me to move to my summer fieldwork in a rural church. I felt sad and I noticed the same feeling in him as he asked, "Preacher...this our last day?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna miss you, guy," I replied.

He beckoned me to come to the side of his bed. He put his hand behind my neck and abruptly pulled me down so my ear was next to his mouth. In a whisper, he explained to me in detail the two best ways to hot-wire a car, which cars were easiest to steal and which method worked best on which make of car.

I almost laughed. 'Me, a minister, stealing cars?' Then I realized what he was doing. He was giving me his most precious possession, the one skill he had developed in life.

My eyes filled with tears. All I could do was stammer, "Thanks. If I ever lose my car keys, I'll know what to do. Take care of yourself, buddy." I left hurriedly so people wouldn't see the tears running down my face.

At that moment, I learned that love is expressed in many different ways.

[biggie9385]

Employee of the Year
By Ken Swarner

I have been enjoying my job a whole lot more now that Larry Johnson packed his belongings and moved out of our department. I don't want to appear insensitive, but you can't have someone with that much free time, and a calm disposition, dragging down you or your coworkers.

For years, my associates and I attended to our jobs just fine, and we all planned to stay there until we retired.

Then, Larry arrived last December. I took one look at him and called an emergency meeting in the break room.

"I don't want to panic anyone," I said, "but there's something peculiar about the new guy."

The staff looked concerned.

"Did anyone notice his clothes? They're pressed." A wave of fear spread across their faces.

"His complexion is clear. His hair is combed. His shoes are shined." People started to weep.

"You mean to tell us...," Steve from accounting started to say.

"Yes," I interrupted. "I don't think he has kids."

Everyone screamed.

We sent a reconnaissance squad to Larry's desk to con- firm my suspicions. "Sure enough," the squad leader reported back, "but it's worse than you thought. He's not even married."

The problems started immediately. While we were doing what we always did - shuttling kids to doctors' appointments, rushing home for forgotten school lunches and hawking Boy Scout fundraisers in the elevator - Larry was working late, arriving early and eating his dinner at his desk.

Then, the inevitable happened. The boss noticed.

"Has anyone noticed how hard Larry is working?!" he barked.

How could we tell our leader from the "Leave It to Beaver" generation that we had responsibilities to our children? He'd never understand.

"Maybe Larry would be a good candidate for that new job in Department Six," I suggested to the boss. "You'd look good, sir, for recommending him." And that's how we got rid of Larry "No Kids" Johnson.

The next day, Larry's replacement showed up with a hint of baby formula behind each ear and a dried macaroni necklace as her only accessory. I was the first to greet her. "So, do you plan to work overtime here?" I asked nervously.

She winced. "Do you see these dark circles around my eyes? I was up at the crack of dawn digging a pacifier out of the compost pile, and when I leave here, I have to drive ten giggly Brownies clear across town to the slaughterhouse so they can earn their farming badge. Who has time to work?" She has my vote for Employee of the Year.

[biggie9385]

The Flower
By Pastor John R. Ramsey

For some time I have had a person provide me with a rose boutonniere to pin on the lapel of my suit every Sunday. Because I always got a flower on Sunday morning, I really did not think much of it. It was a nice gesture
that I appreciated, but it became routine. One Sunday, however, what I considered ordinary became very special.

As I was leaving the Sunday service a young man approached me. He walked right up to me and said, "Sir, what are you going to do with your flower?" At first I did not know what he was talking about, but then I understood.

I said, "Do you mean this?" as I pointed to the rose pinned to my coat.

He said, "Yes sir. I would like it if you are just going to throw it away." At this point I smiled and gladly told him that he could have my flower, casually asking him what he was going to do with it. The little boy, who was probably less than 10 years old, looked up at me and said, "Sir, I'm going to give it to my granny. My mother and father got divorced last year. I was living with my mother, but when she married again, she wanted me to live with my father. I lived with him for a while, but he said
I could not stay, so he sent me to live with my grandmother. She is so good to me. She cooks for me and takes care of me. She has been so good to me that I want to give that pretty flower to her for loving me."

When the little boy finished I could hardly speak. My eyes filled with tears and I knew I had been touched in the depths of my soul. I reached up and unpinned my flower. With the flower in my hand, I looked at the boy and said, "Son, that is the nicest thing I have ever heard, but you can't have this flower because it's not enough. If you'll look in front of the pulpit, you'll see a big bouquet of flowers. Different families buy them for the church each week. Please take those flowers to your granny because she deserves the very best."

If I hadn't been touched enough already, he made one last statement and I will always cherish it. He said, "What a wonderful day! I asked for one flower but got a beautiful bouquet."

[tolstoi]

A Special Story

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the
way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare
for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going be a girl,
and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his sister in
Mommy's tummy. He was building a bond of love with his little sister
before he even met her.

The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. In time, the labor pains
came. Soon it was every five minutes, every three, every minute. But
serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in
hours of labor. Would a C-section be required?

Finally, after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born. But she
was in very serious condition. With a siren howling in the night, the
ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at Mary's
Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee.

The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatrician had to
tell the parents there is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst.

Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They
had fixed up a special
room in their house for their new baby but now they found themselves
having to plan for a funeral.

Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I
want to sing to her", he kept saying. Week two in intensive care looked as
if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging
about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care.
Karen decided to take Michael whether they liked it or not. If he didn't
see his sister right then, he may never see her alive.

She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He
looked like a walking laundry basket. The head nurse recognized him as a
child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now. No children are
allowed." The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually
mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse's face, her
lips a firm line, "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister" she
stated. Then Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside.

He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. After a moment, he
began to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang:
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are
gray."

Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond. The pulses rate began to calm
down and become steady. "Keep on singing, Michael," encouraged Karen with
tears in her eyes. "You never know, dear, how much I love you, please
don't take my sunshine away."

As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged, strained breathing
became as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, sweetheart."

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my
arms".

Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest, seemed to
sweep over her.

"Keep on singing, Michael." Tears had now conquered the face of the
bossy head nurse. Karen glowed. "You are my sunshine, my only
sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away..."

The next, day...the very next day...the little girl was well enough to go
home.

Woman's Day Magazine called it The Miracle of a Brother's Song. The
medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of
God's love.

NEVER GIVE UP ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE. LOVE IS SO INCREDIBLY POWERFUL.

[Angelo937]

Touching..... very heart warming.... more pls....

i have a book... pero i wonder if its ok to post some too

[biggie9385]

The Graduation Speech
by Cheryl Costello-Forshey

Jesse was well liked by everyone, so everybody anticipated what he had to say. As he walked up to the microphone, on graduation day for a moment he remained silent, as he peered at the faces from his senior class. And then Jesse leaned into the microphone, and finally spoke at last.

“As your class president, I'm here to speak to you today. I was up most of the night, considering what words that I should say. I reminisced on school days, and all the many things I've done. So many memories came to mind, but my thoughts kept me focusing on one.”

And then Jesse held up a photo, and he moved it all around. As everyone leaned to view it, and silence was the only sound you could have heard a pin drop, as Jesse placed the picture in full view. And began talking of a classmate, that no one really knew. “Charlie's life seemed meaningless, compared to yours and mine. Because none of us understood him, we never took the time. We saw only what we wanted to, that Charlie was not cool. He was far from being popular, the butt of all our jokes in school. Yes that we knew of Charlie, that much we decided on our own. He simply wasn't worth our time, he was an outsider who deserved to be alone. But you see Charlie had a passion, deep within he had a dream. It was his one desire, to play for our soccer team. And of course that was ludicrous, it was totally absurd. Charlie was no athlete, he was the senior nerd. In gym class he was never captain, he was always chosen last. He was the poster child for unpopular, he preferred history, science, and math. And so some of us took it upon ourselves to keep Charlie from wanting to play. For weeks we taunted him with insults, day after day after day. We made sure that he wasn't welcomed, by anyone else on the team. For whatever foolish reasons, we were set on destroying his dream. And I'm here now to tell you, as your class president, I was wrong. I'm here to speak for Charlie, who couldn't be here, because you see he's gone.”

Jesse paused just for a moment, to give time for his words to sink in as he looked about at the faces, of parents, teachers, and friends.
“I'm not sure if all of you know it, I'm not sure if anyone cares. But the reason Charlie isn't with us is a reason I feel I must share. Cruel words they are definitely weapons, they destroyed Charlie's body and soul. For all of the taunting and teasing left Charlie feeling out of control. And Charlie alone in a battle, gathered his weapons to fight. He purchased some drugs from a dealer, his mother found his body last night. Maybe it was only an accident, maybe Charlie wanted to die. But no matter how it happened, we as his classmates know why. For who in their lives hasn't been teased, or made to feel unbearable shame. I'm certain that everyone in this room has endured some heartache and pain. And maybe boys will be boys and girls will be girls, and we each have our battles to fight. But no matter our justification, hurting Charlie was never right.”

And then Jesse took Charlie's picture and held it firm in his hand. And spoke to the photo before him, words unrehearsed and unplanned.

“If only I'd helped somehow, given you guidance to conquer your dream. If only a teacher, a classmate, if someone would have just intervened. But I know I can never go back, I can never undo what has been. For you will never receive your diploma, or ever play soccer again. But deep in my heart I wonder, I can't help asking what if... I would have reached out to you Charlie, Would your school years have ended like this?”

Jesse stood lost in his thoughts, of a life that was ended too soon. Until muffled coughs caught his attention, and nervous whispers began filling the room. And then Jesse turned with a smile, before retreating back to his chair teaching a valuable lesson, with his final words filling the air.

“I would like to introduce our valedictorian, he will be speaking today. Please give him your full attention, please hear all that he has to say.”

And then Jesse set Charlie's picture down, on the podium facing the crowd as the silence told Charlie's story, a message quite convincingly loud.