~*Cast Your Bread Upon The Waters*~
He was driving home one evening, on a two-lane country road. Work
in this small mid-western community, was almost as slow as his beat-up Pontiac.
But he never quit looking. Ever since the factory closed, he'd been
unemployed, and with winter raging on, the chill had finally hit home. It
was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be on it, unless
they were leaving. Most of his friends had already left. They had families
to feed and dreams to fulfill. But he stayed on. After all, this was where
he buried his mother and father. He was born here and he knew the country.
He could go down this road blind, and tell you what was on either side, and
with his headlights not working, this came in handy. It was starting to get
dark and light snow flurries were coming down. He'd better get a move
on. You know, he almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of
the road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed
help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was
still sputtering when he approached her. Even with the smile on his face,
she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was
he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry. He
could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew
how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. He said,
"I'm here to help you ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm?
By the way, my name is Bryan". Well, all she had was a flat tire,
but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car
looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two.
Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands
hurt. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and
began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only
just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.
Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. She asked him how much she owed
him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She had already imagined
all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan
never thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him. This
was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given
him a hand in the past... He had lived his whole life that way, and it never
occurred to him to act any other way. He told her that if she really wanted
to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could
give that person the assistance that they needed, and Bryan added "...and
think of me". He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been
a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing
into the twilight. A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She
went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the
last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside
were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register
was like the telephone of an out of work actor - it didn't ring much. Her
waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had
a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't
erase. The lady noticed that the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant,
but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady
wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger.
Then she remembered Bryan. After the lady finished her meal, and the waitress
went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, the lady slipped right out
the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. She wondered where
the lady could be, then she noticed something written on the napkin under
which were 4 more $100 bills. There were tears in her eyes when she read
what the lady wrote. It said:
"You don't owe me anything,
I have been there too.
Somebody once helped me out,
the way I'm helping you.
If you really want to pay me back,
here is what you do:
Do not let this chain of love end with you".
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve,
but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home
from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what
the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her
husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard.
She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her,
she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low,
"Everything's gonna be all right; I love you, Bryan."
~ Author Unknown ~
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The Story of Ugly
Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly
was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting,
eating garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined
with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with,
he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole.
He was also missing his ear on the same side, His left foot has appeared
to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle,
making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail has long
been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly
jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except
for the sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing
scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. "That's one
UGLY cat!!" All the children were warned not to touch him, The adults threw
rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their
homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always
had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand
there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at
him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he
spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head
against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up he
would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could
find. One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbors huskies. They
did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could
hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where
he was laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end. Ugly
lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of
shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As
I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and
gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly
I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear Ugly,
in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear.
I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head,
then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct
sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat
was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that
moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever
seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away
from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely
trusting in me to relieve his pain. Ugly died in my arms before I could get
inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about
how one scared, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what
it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly
taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures,
or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful.
He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and
it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give
my total to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful,
well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be Ugly.
~ Author Unknown ~
"We look in mirrors to see the reflection of our outer surface but only
God can see the beauty of the Soul
May ours shine forth and light the world for those around us."
~*The Red Marble*~
During the waning years of the depression in a small south eastern Idaho
community, I used to stop by Brother Miller's roadside stand for farm-fresh
produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still
extremely scarce and bartering was used, extensively. One particular
day Brother Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small
boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a
basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also
drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed
peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing
the conversation between Brother Miller and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?" "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank
ya. Jus' admirin' them peas......surelook good." "They are good, Barry.
How's your Ma?" "Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time." "Good. Anything
I can help you with?" "No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas." "Would
you like to take some home?" "No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?" "All
I got's my prize marble here." "Is that right? Let me see it." "Here
'tis. She's a dandy." "I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one
is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....but, almost." "Tell you what. Take this sack
of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller." Mrs. Miller, who had been standing
nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said: "There are two other
boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances.
Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he
decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of
produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps." I left the stand,
smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to
Utah but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering.
Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one. Just
recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community
and while I was there learned that Brother Miller had died. They were having
his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to
accompany them. Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line
to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort
we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform
and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...very
professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling
and composed, by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged
her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the
casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young
man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand
in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our
turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story
she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led
me to the casket. "Those three young men, that just left, were the boys I
told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded"
them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change hismind about color or size...they
came to pay their debt. We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this
world," she confided, "but, right now, Jim would consider himself the richest
man in Idaho." With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of
her deceased husband.Resting underneath were three, magnificently shiny,
red marbles. Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by
our kind deeds. Author Unknown
  
~*Please sing my guestbook before you leave*~
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