Okay, one last story to share on Christmas Eve. Again, I don’t know where this originated, but it deserves to be put out there.
A friend of mine named Paul received an automobile from his brother as a pre-Christmas present. On Christmas Eve, when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.
Is this your car, Mister?” he asked.
Paul nodded. “My brother gave it to me for Christmas.”
The boy looked astounded. “You mean your brother gave it to you, and it didn’t cost you anything? Gosh, I wish…”
He hesitated, and Paul knew what he was going to wish. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.
“I wish,” the boy went on, “that I could be a brother like that.”
Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, “Would you like to ride in my automobile?” Continue reading A BROTHER LIKE THAT
Several years ago a neighbor shared this story with us. I don’t know the original author, but feel the message is timely for the world we currently live in.
It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.
It all began because my husband, Mike, hated Christmas – oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it – overspending… the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma – the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Continue reading The white envelope in the Christmas tree
In the spring of 1989 I climbed in my car and made the trip alone to Grace, Idaho. I had made an appointment to meet with Ann’s parents to discuss my intention to marry their daughter.
Much to my chagrin, they asked me to dinner. I would have preferred a quick in-and-out kind of thing.
It seemed like all through dinner we talked about everything BUT a possible marriage to Ann. Who knew that we could spend so long talking about nothing?
At the time I really didn’t like to eat ice cream because it was so cold and made my teeth hurt. We laugh about it now, but you can imagine my discomfort when Ann’s dad came out with a bowl filled with what had to be a quart of ice cream.
I waited for him to divide it up between the three of us, only to be horrified to see him return with two identical bowls, each filled with the same amount.
The huge bowl was my responsibility to make disappear.
This was going to be worse than I thought.
Continue reading I SEE you
Gratitude: the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness
That’s kind of it in a nutshell, isn’t it?
Gratitude is an exchange of kindness.
The world can use more kindness.
So can we.
Thank you for all the kindnesses you have shown me over the years that help bring us together, they always arrive just at the right time.
To express my gratitude, I’ll do my best to follow your example.
And send out as much kindness as possible.
Happy Holidays – truly.
The world is in turmoil right now, some parts more than others.
In France, the wounds are raw and wide open; in the UK the wounds have scabbed over but are still tender and red around the edges.
In Syria, canon fire is taking off limbs – with no one to help staunch the bleeding.
Here in the United States we have scars that are more of a reminder of pain than source of immediate pain.
But we are understandably still pretty gun shy.
Each country has its own personal pain.
In the madness that is extremism, it only takes one to carry out terrorist acts – leaving a bloody trail of what were, to him, nameless strangers who were guilty for no other reason than they were there.
We are repulsed at the callousness and insanity of it all.
For someone to act in such a way, they surely must be beyond feeling.
What causes someone to become that way?
Continue reading Anonymity breeds apathy