Chicken Soup for the Soul

[biggie9385]

---

Message in a Mug
by Tina French

My cries must have woken him. My son, P.J., stands before me, his blue eyes filled with concern.

“What the matter, Mommy? Why are you crying?”

What can I say to him that won't sound like I'm scared? I'm all my children have, and I need to be strong for them.

“I just find it hard sometimes to take care of you guys and go to college at the same time,” I say finally. “Exams are next week, and I'm just...” my voice broke, “just tired, I guess.”

Just so tired.

Going back to college full-time as a single parent of two children had been a difficult choice. But I didn't want to be a welfare mom. I wanted more for my children - for them to value education, for them to be proud of their mother. Yet without emotional and family support, I had found this to be a journey of being alone, feeling alone and doing it alone.

Tonight it had hit me all at once. It was too difficult to pay all the bills, take care of the children, study for exams, clean the house. Life was piling up around me, and I suddenly wanted out.

“I can't go on, Lord,” I cried. “I can't do this! It's too tough. I thought I had the strength, but I don't.”

Just then my son interrupted my panicked thoughts for a second time. Holding his Buddy doll tighter, he came closer and said very quietly, “God made the whole world, Mom. And he's a single parent.”

I knelt down next to him. “What did you say?”

P.J. repeated tentatively, “God is a single parent, too.”

His words washed away my loneliness, my feelings of self-pity, of being angry at the world and God.

“P.J., that's wonderful! I'm going to put that saying on posters, cards, T-shirts - just everything.”

I took his little hands, and P.J. and I danced around the living room laughing and singing. Then I carried him back to bed.

My spirit renewed, I studied most of the night.

After exams were over, I made good on my promise to P.J. With the help of a friend, I ordered one thousand coffee mugs; I had them printed with the words, “God Is a Single Parent, Too!” Then I went door to door in my building, giving a mug to all the single parents I knew - my version of a message in a bottle.

Some just thanked me, with tears in their eyes. Others invited me in for a cup of coffee and told me their own experiences and feelings about being a single parent. Trading stories showed me that my struggle was not a unique one, that mine was not a journey taken alone. Many others trudged daily beside me; I'd just been too focused on myself to notice my fellow travelers.
I still have some mugs left. Once in a while I become newly acquainted with single parents who need encouragement. I tell them my story. I give them a mug.

I leave them with more than a parenting slogan. I give them a message from the mouth of a babe, the message that God is there for all of his children, all of the time.

[biggie9385]

Relief
by Kathryn Litzenberger

I'm not quite sure when the turning point came. But I know that it came after a fig
ht I had with my mother. It was a typical fight for that rebellious summer. You know how it is, you lie once, and then they all start to pile up. And nothing happens evenly - it's always all at once. That summer I drifted apart from my mother, and my two best friends, whom I needed to turn to, were angry with me. That's where I learned my second lesson (the first being not to lie) - never keep your feelings hidden. That's what my friends did, and when I found out, it was too late.

Anyway, my house was a battle zone. I'd sleep till I had to go to work and then sleep after work. In between, I'd cry and feel sorry for myself, well, when I wasn't fighting with my mom. That day it all changed.

She was screaming at me about how I wasn't a part of the family anymore - that no one liked being around me because I was always so hostile. I yelled back, as most sixteen-year-olds would. But my mom doesn't ground me (well, I was already grounded) or take away the phone; she assigns essays. My assignment was to apologize for my behavior.

I cried tears of rage in my room, yelling about what I could possibly write. But then I started to write. And the apology turned into an explanation. I poured out every pain and emotion, ones that I had hidden behind my rage, the ones I cried about at night. I didn't know how to get back to being me, and I hated what I had become. I felt so lost. And, most of all, I felt like everyone that I had depended on had left me. Alone.

I left the letter on her bed and went to sleep, exhausted from sobbing. I wrapped myself up in my warm, flannel blankets to ease the cold. Although it was a warm and humid summer night, I shivered. The next morning I woke up early enough to go to work so that no one was awake yet. I crept into the bathroom and noticed a card with my name written on it in my mother's handwriting taped to the mirror. I opened it. It said that she understood. She understood that I was lost and scared. And she promised that she would help me.

I got into the hot shower, silently sobbing. My salty tears mixed with the water on my face. Except this time, the tears were of relief, not of despair.

[biggie9385]

Barriers or Hurdles?
by Irvine Johnston

Children were enthusiastically rehearsing and decorating the rural school for their approaching concert. As I glanced up from my teacher's desk, Patty stood waiting to lodge her urgent request.

“Every year I g-g-g-get to do quiet stuff. The other kids are always in a p-p-p-play or something. Talking. This year, I w-w-want to do a p-p-p-poem, myself!”

As I looked into those eager eyes, all possible excuses fizzled. Patty's yearning drew from me a promise that in a day or two she would have a special part - a “reciting” part. That promise proved to be very difficult to keep.

None of my resource books had any usable selection. In desperation, I stayed up most of the night writing a poem, carefully avoiding those letters that trip the tongue. It was not great literature, but it was custom tailored to cope with Patty's speech problem.

After only a few brief readings, Patty had memorized all the verses and was prepared to dash through them. Somehow we had to control that rush without shattering her enthusiasm. Day after day, Patty and I plodded through recitals. She meticulously matched her timing to my silent mouthing. She accepted the drudgery, eagerly anticipating her first speaking part.

Concert night found the children in a frenzy of excitement.

In a dither the master of ceremonies came to me, waving his printed program. “There has been a mistake! You have listed Patty for a recitation. That girl can't even say her own name without stuttering.” Because there was not time enough for explanations, I brushed his objection aside with, “We know what we are doing.”

The entertainment was moving well. As item after item was presented, parents and friends responded with encouraging applause.

When it was time for the questionable recitation, the MC again challenged me, insisting that Patty would embarrass everyone. Losing patience, I snapped, “Patty will do her part. You do yours. Just introduce her number.”

I flitted past the curtains and sat on the floor at the foot of the audience. The emcee appeared flustered as he announced, “The next recitation will be by... um... Patty Connors.” An initial gasp from the audience was followed by strained silence.

The curtain parted to show Patty, radiant, confident.

Those hours of rehearsing took possession of the moment. In perfect control, the little charmer synchronized her words to my silent mouthing below the footlights. She articulated each syllable with controlled clarity, and without a splutter or stammer. With eyes sparkling she made her triumphant bow.

The curtain closed. A hushed silence held the audience. Gradually the stillness gave way to suppressed chuckles, and then to enthusiastic applause.

Utterly thrilled, I floated backstage. My little heroine threw her arms around me and bubbling with joy, blurted out, “We d-d-d-d-did it!”

[biggie9385]

Playing Through
by Sondra Sue Ward Elder

Parachuting from a helicopter over a drop zone inside Camp Dawson, West Virginia, a lieutenant colonel from the Special Forces Group Airborne found himself doing battle with a sudden twenty-two-knot wind, which forced him onto a nearby golf course. On landing, the Green Beret fumbled for the release but another gust drove the chute and its struggling captive down the fairway, catching the attention of three players about to tee off. “Can we help?” shouted the golfers.

Sliding by them, the officer clung to his sense of humor as well as his pride. “No, thanks,” he called out. “I'll just play through.”

[crackedthoughts]

Secret Crush

A crush is the path to a secret heartache.
Gina Romanello

Jason. He was the boy of my dreams. He started coming to my school when I was in the second grade, but he was in a different class than me, so I barely caught a glimpse of him. In the third grade he wasn't in my class either, but then came fourth grade. That was the first year we had the same teacher, and the first time I really got to see him, hear him, watch him . . . and I fell madly in love with him.

His blond hair was always cut just so, and his bangs hung straight down on his forehead. His blue eyes were the bluest of blues, and when he smiled . . . oh, that smile. His entire face lit up. He had the straightest, whitest teeth I'd ever seen. He was a dream. I was obsessed with him, and it was the beginning of a secret crush that I'd hold onto for years.

In fifth and sixth grade, Jason and I ended up having different teachers so I didn't see him as much, but he was on my mind and in my heart just the same. During lunch or recess, I'd steal glimpses of him. I couldn't erase his blue eyes out of my heart.

When sixth grade came to an end, we were off to junior high school. I knew I'd be meeting new boys, and Jason would be meeting new girls. I was excited, and nervous. For three years I secretly loved him, dreamt about him and never shared that with anyone.

Finally the first day of junior high school came. I hardly slept at all that night, I was so scared and nervous and anxious all at the same time.

When the bus arrived at our new school, I went to my first class and then my second-and there was no Jason. I went to my third class, then finally my fourth. I walked in the classroom-and there he was, sitting alone at a desk. He gave me a huge grin as if he was so relieved to see a familiar face-mine! I sat right next to him, and we talked. We talked and talked and talked. It was different this time, we were in junior high, and we didn't know anyone else in the class except each other. We talked until the class started and then we talked at the end of class, and we walked out together! Except, I wasn't walking at all-I was floating!

That's how it was every day in fourth period during those first few weeks. Jason and I sat next to each other and talked. We became fast friends, more than we'd ever been before. Then one day, my heart almost exploded.

"I have an idea of what you can do today when you get home," Jason said to me as we walked out of the classroom.

"What?" I asked, curious.

"You can call me," he answered, and I was speechless. "Call me around three o'clock."

"Okay," I said; my lips and heart quivering.

With trembling hands I picked up the phone. It was three o'clock, just like he said. I heard the phone ring, then another.

"Hello?" Jason answered.

"Hi," I said, hoping that he'd know it was I. He did. After the first few minutes I began to relax, and he did too. We talked on the phone for more than an hour! I was dreaming, I was flying; my head was in the clouds! And to top it off, the first dance of the year was coming up that Friday, and I began to hope that Jason might ask me to the dance with him! Was my dream on the verge of coming true?

The next day I wanted to run to fourth period class, but I didn't. I walked slowly, fighting the butterflies that were flying around my stomach.

I went and sat in my usual spot next to Jason. He looked at me and smiled. Right away, the teacher started talking, and try as I might, I couldn't pay attention. My heart was pounding in my chest as I sat next to the boy of my dreams, the boy I'd talked to on the phone for more than an hour the day before!

To my total surprise, he slipped a note on my desk. With trembling hands, I took the folded slip of paper. My face became hot, and I hoped it didn't look as red as it felt.

What could this be? I thought. Is he telling me that he likes me? Is he going to ask me to the dance? Is my dream coming true? I carefully and quietly opened the piece of paper and saw one sentence written there. I looked closely and read the words, "Will you ask Shelly if she likes me? Thanks, Jason."

Fighting tears, I quickly folded it back up and put it in my book. I looked over at Jason and quickly nodded "yes" to him. The teacher rambled on, but I was in a broken-hearted world of my own.

I did Jason's asking for him and I found out that Shelly didn't like him, but it didn't matter. For the first time ever, I'd experienced a broken heart, and I'd had enough. I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to spend another second of my life hanging onto a dream that was never going to come true. After much crying, I gave up on Jason.

Jason and I never got together, but I watched him with this girlfriend or that one. And he watched me, as I found new boyfriends that captured my heart.

He never knew that a blond haired girl with green eyes and freckles loved him from afar. In fact, no one ever knew. He was my secret love for many years-until now.

[crackedthoughts]

Big Problems, Little Miracles
By Patricia Lorenz


My pastor called it my "midlife crisis." Personally, I think it was just a string of rotten luck, including horrendous income changes, my son's poor health winging its way into its sixteenth straight month, medical bills that could choke a buffalo, bewilderment following cross words with two of my grown children, the empty-nest syndrome looming just months away when my youngest would be leaving for college eighteen hundred miles away, daily lower back pain due to lack of exercise, arguments with a woman in Texas over a book we were coauthoring and the fact that I'd only seen the sun for about twenty-six hours all winter.

Call it any old psychobabble thing you want - midlife crisis, midwinter funk, too many lifestyle changes at once, mild depression, premenopausal angst, seasonal affective disorder or simply being sick of being a single parent after twelve years. Whatever it was, the fact remained that I was not my usual cheerful self from the end of January until mid-March that year. By then my friends and family had caught on that the big-time blues had invaded
my home, heart and health.

For a time, it was all I could do to barely take care of the three basics around the house: food, clothing and shelter. For about a week, during the bleakest days of all, the smallest things could reduce me to tears. I bit my lip a lot, trying to hold back tears.

One day after a job interview, I stopped at my friend Sharon's house for a cup of tea. She knew something was wrong, even though I didn't go into all the details. She hugged me, poured a second cup and tried to make me laugh. As I was leaving, Sharon noticed one of the two buttons that hold the decorative belt on the back of my winter coat was missing, causing the belt to dangle ridiculously in the back.

At that moment, during that extremely low point in my life, I honestly could not comprehend how or when I would manage to sew that button back on. Mortified, I felt hot tears sneaking into my lower lashes as I headed for the front door.

Sharon pulled open my coat at the bottom. "Hey, look here. There's an extra button sewn inside. Take your coat off and I'll sew it on for you right now."

At that moment, I felt more love and more compassion from a friend than ever before in my life. Granted, over the years, my friends have been wonderful to me, with me and for me. But this gesture, when I was at such a state emotionally, dragging so low that a missing button was about to send me over the edge, the gift of Sharon's time, her caring and intuitive knowing that I could not muster the energy to sew that button on myself, meant more to me than if someone had come to my door with a sweepstakes check.

When I got home that afternoon, I found a silly greeting card in the mail from another friend, Kay. Inside, it simply said, "I've got a hug here with your name on it." Every time I looked at that card for the next couple of weeks, I felt loved and buoyed by the light of Kay's friendship.

A few days later, on what was probably the darkest day of all, a day I seriously considered begging my doctor for a Prozac prescription, my Texas coauthor, the one I'd had arguments with as we worked on our book, sent me a "sunshine box." Little miracles of love spilled out of that box: chocolates, red silk tulips, sunflower candles, ginger-lily bath gel and three little juice boxes of pure Florida gold.

My heart melted as I noticed for the first time that day that the sun was actually shining. I took one of the juice boxes and the candy out to the deck and sat in my favorite yellow rocker in the forty-degree weather, sipping juice and basking in the glorious sunshine and in the wonderful miracle of friendship.

That sewed-on button, the hug card and the sunshine box got me through those dark days without drugs or further mental deterioration.

And when I began taking brisk half-hour walks every morning the following week, I did a lot of thinking about those friends of mine and their gifts of love. Before I knew it, I understood one of the most amazing, most profound aspects of life: God has designed the world and his people in such a way that no matter how big our problems, the smallest gesture given in love from a friend can become the biggest miracle of all.

[drix]

I am looking for a book of Chicken Soup for the Soul, thus any one knows where to buy coz iv been roaming to all boolk stores and they run out of stocks.

Or any body from this forum own one and planning to sell coz im very much interested to buy thou it's slightly used.

I will appreciate your help. Thanks

Here is my contact # 0906-4457974 or 3406230 just look form e Henry.

[sheeshcute]

* Nindot baya kaayo na nga mga books. Maka encourage and so many heart warming stories. Hope you'll find a copy soon! :mrgreen:

[wak_wak]

bai, imo na g.suwayan ang tanan branch sa national bookstore? murag naa man cla ana..

nindut jud ning mga chicken soup na books ma encourage.. nakaread naman ko ug 3 ka chicken soup,sa library lng hinuon 2 nako g.huwaman.. chicken soup 4 da teenage soul, chicken soup 4 da dying soul & chicken soup 4 a, sori kalimot ko, high school pa man gud ko ato pagbasa nako..

[hera_82]

Ahhh... i'm a subscriber of their e-stories!
Everyday, i get a copy of inspiring experiences in my inbox from people around the globe thru Chicken Soup.

Why don't u try checking out their website for the mean time po?