Shortarmguy's Inspirational Page
On this page, I will post the most inspirational material I receive on any given day. So email shortarmguy@aol.com the best stuff you get. Life can be darn tough sometimes and every now and then you might need a little happiness booster. I'm hoping this page may accomplish that. After you read a few of these, you can push back from your keyboard, throw your arms in the air, wave them back and forth and scream "I'm glad to be alive!" If this happens to you, please send pictures and I'll post them here!
July 27, 2003
THE
PERFUME
As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of
school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her
students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was
impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little
boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play
well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly
needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant.
It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking
his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big F at the
top of his papers. At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to
review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However,
when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, Teddy is a bright child with a
ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be
around.
His second grade teacher wrote, Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his
classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and
life at home must be a struggle.
His third grade teacher wrote,His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries
to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will
soon affect him if some steps aren't taken.
Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much
interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in
class.
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She
felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in
beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily
wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson
took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children
started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones
missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume.
But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the
bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs.
Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." after the children
left, she cried for at least an hour.
On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic.
Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to
Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she
encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had
become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she
would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her teacher's pets.
A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she
was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he
had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher
he ever had in his whole life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been
tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon
graduate from college with ! the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson
that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole
life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained
that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The
letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had.
But now his name was a little longer.... the letter was signed, Theodore F.
Stoddard, MD.
The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring.
Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married.
He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering
if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually
reserved for the mother of the groom.
Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one
with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the
perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas
together.
They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, Thank
you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel
important and showing me that I could make a difference.
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, Teddy, you have
it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I
didn't know how to teach until I met you.
July 20, 2003
Wife of a US soldier
serving in the Middle-East …
It could have been any
night of the week, as I sat in one of those loud and casual steak houses that
are cropping up all over the country. You
know the type- a bucket of peanuts on the table, shells
littering the floor, and a bunch of perky college kids racing around
with longneck beers and sizzling platters.
Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my glass.
I let my gaze linger on a few of the tables next to me, where several
uniformed military members were enjoying their meals.
Smiling sadly, I glanced across my booth to the empty seat where my husband
usually sat. Had it had only been a few weeks since we had sat
at this very table talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle
East? He made me promise to come back to this restaurant once a month, sit in our booth, and treat myself to a nice dinner.
He told me that he would treasure the thought of me there eating a
steak and thinking about him until he came home.
I fingered the little
flag pin I wear on my jacket and wondered where at that moment
he was. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold any better?
Were any of my letters getting to him?
As I pondered all of these things, shrill feminine voices from the next booth
broke into my thoughts. "I don't know what Bush is thinking invading Iraq.
Didn't he learn anything from his father's mistakes?
He is an idiot anyway, I can't believe he is even in office. You
know he stole the election."
I cut into my steak and tried not to listen as they began an endless tirade
of running down our president. I thought about the last night I
was with my husband as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned
from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots and the image of
him standing in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gave me chills.
Once again their voices invaded my thoughts. "It is all about
oil, you know. Our military will go in
and rape and pillage and steal all the
oil they can in the name of freedom. I wonder how many innocent
lives our soldiers will take without a thought? It is just pure
greed."
My chest tightened and I
stared at my wedding ring. I could picture how handsome my husband was in
his mess dress the day he slipped it on my finger. I wondered what he was
wearing at that moment. He probably
had on his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed coffee stains, over the
top of which he wore a heavy bulletproof vest.
"We should just leave Iraq alone. I don't think they are hiding any
weapons. I think it is all a ploy to increase the president's popularity
and pad the budget of our military at the expense of social security and education.
We are just asking for another 9-11 and I can't say when
it happens again that we didn't deserve it."
Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering outside
our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave
men and women who leave their homes and family to ensure our
freedom? I glimpsed at the tables around me and saw the faces of some of those courageous men, looking sad as they
listened to the ladies talk.
"Well, I for one, think it is a travesty to invade Iraq and I am
certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train the professional baby
killers we call a military."
Professional baby killers? As I thought about what a wonderful father my husband
is and wondered how long it would be before he was able to see his children
again, indignation rose up within me. Normally reserved, pride in my
husband gave me a boldness I had never known. Tonight, one voice
would cry out on behalf of the military.
One shy woman would stand and let her pride in our troops be
known. I made my way to their table, placed my palms flat on it
and lowered myself to be eye level with
them. Smiling I said,
"I couldn't help
overhearing your conversation. I am sitting over there
trying to enjoy my dinner alone. Do you know why I am alone? Because my husband,
whom I love dearly, is halfway across the world defending your right
to say rotten things about him. You have
the right to your opinion, and what you think is none of my
business, but what you say in my hearing is and I will not sit by
and listen to you run down my country, my
president, my husband, and all these
other fine men and women in here who put their lives on the line
to give you the freedom to complain. Freedom is expensive
ladies, don't let your actions cheapen
it."
I must have been louder than I meant to be, because about that time the manager
came over and asked if everything was all right.
"Yes, thank you." I replied and then turned back to the ladies,
"Enjoy the rest of your meal."
To my surprise, as I sat down to finish my steak, a round of applause broke
out in the restaurant. Not long after the ladies picked
up their check and scurried away, the manager brought me
a huge helping of apple cobbler and ice cream, compliments of
the table to my left. He told me that the ladies had tried to pay
for my dinner, but someone had beaten them to it. When I asked
who, he said the couple had already left, but that the man had mentioned he was a WWII vet and wanted to take care
of the wife of one of our boys.
I turned to thank the soldiers for the cobbler, but they wouldn't hear a word
of it, retorting, "Thank you, you said what we wanted
to say but weren't allowed."
As I drove home that night, for the first time in while, I didn't feel quite so
alone. My heart w as filled with the warmth of all the
patrons who had stopped by my table to tell me they too were
proud of my husband and that he would be in their prayers.
I knew their flags would
fly a little higher the next day. Perhaps they
would look for tangible ways to show their pride in our country
and our troops, and maybe, just maybe, the two ladies sitting at that
table next to me would pause for a minute to appreciate all the freedom this great country offers and what it
costs to maintain. As for me, I had learned
that one voice can make a difference. Maybe the next time protesters gather outside
the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand across
the street with a sign of my own.
A sign that says
"Thank you!"
Lori Kimble is a 31 year old teacher and proud military wife.
She is a California
native currently living in Alabama.
July 13, 2003
Smart Ideas For Women
1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on
your body. If you are close enough to use it, do!
2. Learned this from a tourist guide to New Orleans: If a robber asks for
your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you ...
chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you and
he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!
3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car: Kick out the back tail
lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver
won't see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.
4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping, eating, working,
etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc. DON'T DO
THIS! The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for
him to get in on the passenger side, put a gun to your head, and tell you where
to go. AS SOON AS YOU GET INTO YOUR CAR, LOCK THE DOORS AND LEAVE.
5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:
A.) Be aware: look around you, look into your car, at the passenger side floor, and in the back seat.
B.) If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars. (Personally, I think this could happen no matter which door you tried to get in. Avoid parking next to big vans would be my choice.)
C.) Look at the car parked on the driver's side of your
vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest
your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a
guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY.
(And better paranoid than dead.)
6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. Stairwells are horrible
places to be alone and the perfect crime spot.
7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his
control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4
in 100 times; And even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!
8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may
get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well
educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He
walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked "for help" into his
vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his
next victim. Some attackers have asked for help for their children
who are sick/ hurt & need attention.
You might want to forward this to all the women you know. It
may save a life. It's better safe than sorry.
July 7, 2003
The Tax Cuts Explained
Thanks
G. W. for your example explaining how the Democrats would have liked to have
restructured the recent tax cut. Some of us haven't understood the
Democrats' version of tax cuts and this really helps to explain it. I'll
pass it on.
50,000 people go to a baseball game, but the game was rained out. A refund
was then due. The team was about to mail refunds when the Congressional
Democrats stopped them and suggested that they send out refund amounts based on
the Democrat National Committee's interpretation of fairness. After all,
if the refunds were made based on the price each person paid for the tickets,
most of the money would go to the ticket holders of the most expensive tickets.
That would be unconscionable.
People in the $10 seats will get back $15, because they have less money to
spend. Call it an "Earned" Income Ticket Credit." Persons
"earn" it by demonstrating little ambition, few skills and poor work
habits, thus keeping them at entry-level wages. People in the $25 seats
will get back $25, because that's only fair. People in the $50 seats
will get back $1, because they already make a lot of money and don't need a
refund. If they can afford a $50 ticket, then they must not be paying enough
taxes. People in the $75 luxury seats will have to pay another $50,
because they have way too much to spend. The people driving (or
walking) by the stadium who couldn't afford to watch the game will get $10 each,
even though they didn't pay anything in, because they need the most help.
(Sometimes known as Welfare)
Now do you understand?
If
not, contact Representative Richard Gephardt, Senator Tom Daschle or Senator
Hillary Clinton for assistance.
June 29, 2003
She
was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive
to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to
close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her
eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello," she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
"I'm building," she said..
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand." That sounds good, I
thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.."
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello
pain, and turned to walk on.
I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy."
She giggled. "You're funny," she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed
me.
"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy
day."
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of
the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I
strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know, you say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
"Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. "Where do you
live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter. "Where do you go to school?" "
I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on
other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling
surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like
demanding she keep her child at home.
"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with
me, "I'd rather be alone today."
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My
God, why was I saying this to a little child?
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and — oh, go
away!"
"Did it hurt?" she inquired.
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?"
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in
myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the
cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with
honey-colored hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl
today and wondered where she was."
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm
afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my
apologies."
"Not at all — she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't
tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
"She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She
seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the
last few weeks, she declined rapidly . . ." Her voice faltered, "She
left something for you . . . if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment
while I look?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues — a yellow beach,
a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO
BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened
wide.
I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so
sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words — one for each year of
her life — that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift
from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand — who taught me the
gift of love.
June 22, 2003
And
they call some of these people "retarded".
A few years ago, at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants, all
physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard
dash.
At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to
run the race to the finish and win.
All, that is, except one little boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a
couple of times, and began to cry.
The other eight heard the boy cry. They slowed down and looked back. Then they
all turned around and went back...every one of them.
One girl with Down's Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said, "This will
make it better."
Then all nine linked arms and walked together to the finish line.
Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes.
People who were there are still telling the story. Why?
Because deep down we know this one thing: What matters in this life is more than
winning for ourselves. What matters in this life is helping others win, even if
it means slowing down and changing our course.
"A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle."
June 14, 2003
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. 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,
only 24-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 and 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
daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream
was slipping away.
Through the dark hours of morning as Dana held onto life by
the thinnest thread, Diana slipped in and out of sleep, growing more and more
determined that their tiny daughter would live and live to be a healthy, happy
young girl.
But
David, fully awake and listening to additional dire details of their daughter's
chances of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less healthy, knew he must
confront his wife with the inevitable.
David walked in and said that we needed to talk about making funeral
arrangements. Diana remembers she felt so bad for him because he was doing
everything trying to include me in what was going on, but I just wouldn't
listen, I couldn't listen. I said, "No, that is not going to happen, no
way! I don't care what the doctors say. Dana is not going to die! One day
she will be just fine, and she will be coming home with us!"
As if willed to live by Diana's determination, Dana clung to life hour after
hour, with the help of every medical machine and marvel her miniature body could
endure. 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.
Today, five years later, Dana is a petite but feisty young
girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She shows no
signs, whatsoever, of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she is
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, 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 then 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
remembered so well.
June 7, 2003
20 Things To Remember
1.
Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the
same night.
2.
If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not
achieved and never will achieve, its full potential,
that word would be "meetings."
3. There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental
illness."
4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want
you to share yours with them.
5. And when God, who created the entire universe
with all its glories,
decides to deliver a message to humanity, He WILL
NOT use, as His messenger, a person on TV with a bad hairstyle.
6. You should not confuse your career with your life.
7. No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.
8. When trouble arises and things look bad, there
is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take
command. Very often, that individual is crazy.
9. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
10. Never lick a steak knife.
11. Take out the fortune before you eat the cookie.
12. The most powerful force in the universe is
gossip.
13. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason
why we observe daylight savings time.
14. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that
you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her
at the moment.
15. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a
big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.
16. The one thing that unites all human beings,
regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is
that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers.
17. The main accomplishment of almost all organized protest is to annoy people
who are not in them.
18. A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is not a nice person.
(This is important. Pay attention. It never fails.)
19. Your friends love you anyway.
20.
Thought of the day: Never be afraid to try something new. Remember that a lone
amateur built the
June 1, 2003
A
little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart. She must have been 6
years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence. It was
pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so
much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. We all
stood there under the awning and just inside the door of the Wal-Mart.
We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their
hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I got lost in the sound and
sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of
running, splashing so carefree as a child come pouring in as a welcome reprieve
from the worries of my day.
The
little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in
"Mom, let's run through the rain," she said.
"What?" Mom asked.
"Let 's run through the rain!" She
repeated.
"No, honey. We'll wait until it slows
down a bit," Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute
and repeated: "Mom, let's run through the rain,"
"We'll
get soaked if we do," Mom said.
"No,
we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning," the young girl said
as she tugged at her Mom's arm.
This morning? When did I say we could run
through the rain and not get wet?
"Don't you remember? When you were
talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, 'If God can get us through this, he
can get us through anything!"
The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I
promise you, you couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No
one came or left in the next few minutes.
Mom paused and thought for a moment about
what she would say. Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly.
Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a
young child's' life. A time when
innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith..
"Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's
run through the rain. If GOD let's us get wet, well maybe we just needed
washing," Mom said.
Then off they ran. We all stood watching,
smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles.
They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked.
But they were followed by a few
who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I
did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.
Circumstances or people can take away your
material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your
health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories...So, don't forget
to make time and take the opportunities to make memories everyday. To everything
there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.
Inspiration from the past
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Inspiration August and September 2001
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