One day he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself to see someone who would dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up.
As he got closer he saw hat it was a young man, and the young man wasn't dancing, but instead he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something and very gently throwing it into the ocean.
As he approached the young man, he called out,
"Good morning! what are you doing?"
The young man paused, looked up and replied,
"Throwing starfish into the ocean."
"I see that and I guess, I should have asked,
why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"
"The sun is up and the tide is going out.
And if you don't throw them in, they will die!"
"But, young man, don't you see there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it? You can't possibly make a difference!"
The young man listened politely, then he bent down, picked another starfish, and threw it into the see, past the breaking waves and said,
"It made a difference for that one"
We must each find our starfish. And if we throw them wisely and well, the world will be blessed.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Then it gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive the nails into the fence. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger they will leave scars just like these ones.
The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the
landing Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
WORDS
There was a little boy with a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, to hammer a nail in the back fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn't loose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day he was able to hold his temper.
The days past and the young boy was able to tell his father all the nails were gone.
You can put a knife in a man and draw it out, it won't matter how many times you say "I'm sorry", the wound is still there.
A vebal wound is as bad as a physical one.""TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR"
Wishing to encourage her young son's progress on the piano, a mother took her son to a Paderewski Concert. After they where seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her.
Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy rose and eventually explored his way through a door marked
" NO ADMITTANCE".
When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her child and discovered that he was missing.
Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage. In horror the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star...".
At that moment the great piano master made his entrence, qickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit. Keep playing."
Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obligato.
Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience.
And the audience was mesmerized.Whatever our situation in life and history, however outrageous, however desperate, whatever dry spell of the spirit,
whatever dark night of the soul ~ God is whispering deep within our beings
"Don't quit. Keep playing. You are not alone.
Together we will transform the broken patterns into a masterwork of my creative art.
Together we will mesmerize the world with our song.""Information, please!"
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the
wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information
Please"
...and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply ...anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in- the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. 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 in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer
and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said
I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice
and hold it to
your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called
"Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown ups say to soothe a child. But I was un-consoled.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers
on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone."Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.
When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time
on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator
and said, "Information ,Please".
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well,
"Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer,
"I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have
any idea how much you meant to me during that time."
"I wonder", she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me." "I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do, she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered "Information."
"Are you a friend?" She said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, she said. Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick.
She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute.
Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
The Trouble Tree
The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit,
and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start.
While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he
invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged
his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home.
Then in the morning I pick them up again."
"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning
to pick 'em up, there ain't nearly as many
as I remember hanging up the night before."
A room with a view....
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his room-mate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive
words. Then unexpectedly, a sinister thought entered his mind.
Why should the other man alone experience all the pleasures of seeing everything while he himself never got to see anything? It didn't seem fair.
At first thought the man felt ashamed. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and he found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window - that thought, and only that thought now controlled his life.
Late one night as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as
the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running in. In less than five minutes the coughing and choking stopped, along with that the sound of breathing.
Now there was only silence,deathly silence.
The following morning the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take it away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the
bed.
It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased room mate had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
You can interpret the story in any way you like. But one moral stands out: There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.
Your Angel!
Bare foot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the people go
by. She never tried to speak, she never said a word. Many people
passed, but never did one person stop.
Just so happens the next day I decided to go back to the park,
curious if the little girl would still be there. Right in the very
spot as she was yesterday she sat perched on high, with the saddest look in her eyes.
Today I was to make my own move and walk over to
the little girl.
As we all know a park full of strange people is
not a place for young children to play alone.
As I began walking towards her I could see the back of the little
girl's dress indicated a deformity. I figured that was the reason
the people just passed by and made no effort to help. As I got
closer, the little girl slightly lowered her eyes to avoid my
intent stare. I could see the shape of her back more clearly. It
was grotesquely shaped in a humped over form. I smiled to let her know it was ok, I was there to help, to talk.
I sat down beside her and opened with a simple Hello.
The little
girl acted shocked and stammered a HI after a long stare into my
eyes. I smiled and she shyly smiled back. We talked 'til darkness fell and the park was completely empty.
Everyone was gone and we at once was alone.
I asked the girl why she was so sad. The little girl looked at me and with a sad face said "Because I'm different."
I immediately said "that you are!" and smiled. The little girl
acted even sadder, she said, "I know."
"Little girl," I said, "you remind me of an angel, sweet and
innocent."
She looked at me and smiled, slowly she stood to her feet, and
said, "Really?"
"Yes, ma'am, your like a little guardian angel sent to watch
over all those people walking by."
She nodded her head yes and smiled, and with that she spread her wings and said, "I am. I'm your guardian angel," with a twinkle in her eye.
I was speechless, sure I was seeing things.
She said, "For once you thought of someone other than yourself,
my job here is done."
Immediately I stood to my feet and said, "Wait, so why
did no one stop to help an angel?"
She looked at me and smiled, "You're the only one who could see me, and you believe it in your heart." And She was gone. And with that my life was changed dramatically. So, when you think you're all you have, remember, your angel is always watching over you. Mine was... :o) ^i^ By: Leigh~
You are my Sunshine
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 to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sings to his sister in Mommy's tummy.
The pregnancy progresses normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist church in Morristown, TN. Then the labor pains come. Every five minutes.....every minute. But complications arise during delivery. Hours of labor. Would a C-section be required?
Finally, Michael's little sister is born. But she is in serious condition. With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushes the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's hospital, Knoxville, TN.
The days inch by. The little girl gets worse. The pediatric specialist tells the parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst."
Karen and her husband contact a local cemetery about a burial plot.They have fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby and now they plan a funeral. Michael keeps begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I want to sing to her," he says.
Week two in intensive care. It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. But Karen makes up her mind. She will take Michael whether they like it or not. If he doesn't see his sister now, he may never see her alive.
She dresses him in an oversized scrub suit and marches him into ICU.He looks like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognizes him as a child and bellows, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed!"
The mother rises up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glares steel-eyed into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!"
Karen tows Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazes at the tiny
infant losing the battle to live. And he begins to sing. In the pure
hearted voice of a 3 year old, Michael sings:
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray - - -"
Instantly the baby girl responds. The pulse rate becomes calm and steady."Keep on singing, Michael."
"You never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away- - -"
The ragged, strained breathing becomes as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, Michael."
"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..."
Michael's little sister relaxes as rest, healing rest, seems to sweep over her.
"Keep on singing, Michael."
Tears conquer the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glows.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away."
Funeral plans are scrapped. The next day - - - the very next day, the little girl is 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!~author unknown~
Puppies for Sale
A store owner was tacking a sign above his door that read
"Puppies For Sale."
Signs like that have a way of attracting small children, and sure enough, a little boy appeared under the store owner's sign.
"How much are you going to sell the puppies for?" he
asked. The store owner replied, "Anywhere from $30
to $50." The little boy reached in his pocket and
pulled out some change.
"I have $2.37," he said. "May I please look at them?"
The store owner smiled and whistled and out of the
kennel came a dog, who ran down the aisle of his store
followed by five teeny, tiny balls of fur. One puppy was
lagging considerably behind.
Immediately the little boy
singled out the lagging, limping puppy and said,
"What's wrong with that little dog?"
The store owner explained that the veterinarian had
examined the little puppy and had discovered it didn't
have a hip socket. It would always limp.
It would always be lame.
The little boy became excited.
"That is the puppy that
I want to buy."
The store owner said, "No, you don't want to buy that
little dog. If you really want him, I'll just give him to you."
The little boy got quite upset. He looked straight into
the store owner's eyes, pointing his finger, and said,
"I don't want you to give him to me. That little dog is
worth every bit as much as all the other dogs, and I'll
pay full price. In fact, I'll give you $2.37 now, and $0.50
cents a month until I have him paid for."
The store owner countered, "You really don't want to
buy this little dog. He is never going to be able to run
and jump and play with you like the other puppies."
To his surprise, the little boy reached down and rolled
up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left
leg supported by a big metal brace.? He looked up at
the store owner and softly replied, "Well, I don't run so
well myself, and the little puppy will
need someone who
understands."~author unknown~
All theses stories have been sent to me by friends.
They are supposed to give hope and remind us all that there are people out there, that care very much. Everything we do comes back threefold. Let us not forget this and make a difference. It is so easy to forget that not just the people shown on televison have problems, have to live in bad conditions, are ill or lonely. It is the person we greet in the line in the supermarket, the old couple that takes a lifetime to cross the intersection, the very smelly looking person we give a smile, and all the other people we take the time to give love to. In this I would like to include animals and plants.
It makes a difference whether we take the time to nurish a plant rather than throwing it out and buying a new one.
It makes a difference when we decide to get an animal out of the shelter and really take care of it.
We can't change the whole world, or have hunger and war dissapear forever, but we can make the difference in our space in this world. And who knows, maybe someone sees it and finds our actions worth copying, taking them back to his or her space.
Deeds don't spread like words, but they ARE. They will never be taken back.
Unfortunately, I do not know who wrote these stories. Please e-mail me, if you happen to know the author or origin of one of them. I would be happy to be able to give credit.
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