Stories Of Hope & Inspiration

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FineLinen

Well-known member
A Glass Of Milk

Once, there was a poor boy who made a living by selling various objects from door to door. This was the way he earned money to pay for his school.

One day, as he was walking from house to house as usual, he felt very hungry and weak. He felt that he couldn’t walk even a few steps. He decided to ask for food at a house. He knocked on the door and was stunned to see a beautiful young girl open the door. With much hesitation, he asked the girl for a glass of water.

The young girl understood his condition and offered him a huge glass of milk. With an astonished look, the boy drank the milk very slowly.

“How much do I owe you for this milk?” he asked her.

The girl replied, “I do not want any money for this.”

The boy thanked the girl from the bottom of his heart and left the place.

Years passed by. The young girl grew up. In her youth, unfortunately, she fell ill and was diagnosed with the rarest kind of nervous disorder. Many experienced doctors were baffled at her condition, and she was admitted in the city hospital with the most advanced facilities.

Dr. Kevin, a renowned neuro specialist was called in by the hospital to examine her. Even with his extraordinary expertise, Dr. Kevin found the girl’s illness very hard to cure. However, with perseverance and hard work that lasted months, he was finally able to get the disease under control. With careful medication and monitoring, the girl was completely cured in the end.

Everyone praised the doctor, but the girl was quite worried about how much the hospital bill would come to. Her family had just a little money kept away in the bank, which was by no means enough to pay for such a long treatment in that reputed hospital.

The girl was given the hospital bill finally. With trembling hands, she opened it. She was stunned to see that the bill had been crossed out and cancelled, and there was a note underneath signed by Dr. Kevin.

“Bill paid years ago with a glass of milk!”
 
F

FineLinen

Well-known member
Covered By The Cloud

This is a true story as told by Spencer January.

It was a morning in early March, 1945, a clear and sunny day. I was 24
years old and a member of the U.S. Army's 35th Infantry Division, 137th
Infantry Company I.

Along with several other companies of American troops, we were making our
way through dense woods, towards the Rhine River in the German Rhineland.
Our objective was to reach and take the town of Ossenberg, where a factory
was producing gunpowder and other products for use in the war.

For hours we had pressed through an unrelenting thicket. Shortly after
midday word was passed that there was a clearing ahead. At last, we
thought, the going would be easier. but then we approached a large stone
house, behind which huddled a handful of wounded, bleeding soldiers who
had tried to cross the clearing and failed.

Before us stretched at least 200 yards of open ground, bordered on the far
side by more thick woods. As the first of us appeared on the edge of the
clearing there was an angry rat-tat-tat and a ferocious volley of bullets
sent soil spinning as far as we could see. Three nests of German machine
guns, spaced 50 yards apart and protected by the crest of a small hill to
the left, were firing across the field. As we got our bearings it was
determined that the machine guns were so well placed that our weapons
couldn't reach them.

To cross that field meant suicide. Yet, we had no choice. The Germans had
blockaded every other route into the town. In order to move on and secure
a victory, we had to move forward.

I slumped against a tree, appalled at the grim situation. I thought of
home, of my wife and my 5-month old son. I had kissed him good-bye just
after he was born. I thought that I might never see my family again, and
the possibility was overwhelming.

I dropped to my knees. "God," I pleaded desperately, "You've got to do
something. Please do something."

Moments later the order was given to advance. Grasping my M-1 rifle, I go
to my feet and started forward. After reaching the edge of the clearing I
took a deep breath. But just before I stepped out from cover, I glanced to
the left.

I stopped and stared in amazement. A white cloud -- a long fluffy white
cloud -- had appeared out of nowhere. It dropped from over the trees and
covered the area. The Germans' line of fire was obscured by the thick
foggy mist.

All of us bolted into the clearing and raced for our lives. The only
sounds were of combat boots thudding against the soft earth as men dashed
into the clearing, scrambling to reach the safety of the other side before
the mist lifted. With each step the woods opposite came closer and closer.
I was almost across! My pulse pounding in my ears, I lunged into the
thicket and threw myself behind a tree.

I turned and watched as other soldiers following me dove frantically into
the woods, some carrying and dragging the wounded. This has to be God's
doing, I thought. The instant the last man reached safety, the cloud
vanished! The day was again bright and clear.

The enemy, apparently thinking we were still pinned down behind the stone
house on the other side, must have radioed their artillery. Minutes later
the building was blown to bits but our company was safe and we quickly
moved on.

We reached Ossenberg and went on to secure more areas for the Allies. But
the image of that cloud was never far from my mind. I had seen the sort of
smoke screens that were sometimes set off to obscure troop activity in
such situations. That cloud had been different. It had appeared out of
nowhere and saved our lives.

Two weeks later, as we bivouacked in eastern Germany, a letter arrived
from my mother back in Dallas. I tore open the envelope eagerly. The
letter contained words that sent a shiver down my spine. "You remember
Mrs. Tankersly from our church?" my mother wrote.

Who could forget her? I smiled. Everybody called Mrs. Tankersly the prayer
warrior.

"Well," continued Mom, "Mrs. Tankersly telephoned me one morning from the
defense plant where she works. She said the Lord had awakened her the
night before at one o' clock and told her, 'Spencer January is in terrible
trouble. Get up now and pray for him!"

My mother went on to explain that Mrs. Tankersly had interceded for me in
prayer until six o' clock the next morning, when she had to go to her job.
"She told me the last thing she prayed before getting off her knees was
this" -- "Lord, whatever danger Spencer is in, just cover him with a
cloud!"

I sat there for a long time holding the letter in my trembling hand. My
mind raced, quickly calculating. Yes, the hours Mrs. Tankersly was praying
would indeed have corresponded to the time we were approaching the
clearing. With a seven-hour time difference, her prayer for a cloud would
have been uttered at one o'clock, the exact time Company I was getting
ready to cross the clearing.

From that moment on, I intensified my prayer life. For the past 52 years I
have gotten up early every morning to pray for others. I am convinced
there is no substitute for the power of prayer and its ability to comfort
and sustain others, even those facing the valley of the shadow of death.

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F

FineLinen

Well-known member
We are never alone

Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of passage?

His father takes him into the forrest...blindfolded...and leaves him....alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night...and not take off the blindfold until the ray of sun shines through it.

He is all by himself. He cannot cry out for help to anyone.

Once he survives the night...he is a MAN. He cannot tell the other boys of this experience. Each boy must come into his own manhood.

The boy was terrified...could hear all kinds of noise...Beasts were all around him. Maybe even some human would hurt him.

The wind blew the grass and earth... and it shook his stump. But he sat stoically...never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could be a man.

Finally, after a horrific night...the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold. It was then that he saw his father...sitting on the stump next to him...at watch...the entire night.

We are never truly alone. Even when we do not know it, our family and friends are watching out for us...sitting on a stump beside us.
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
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. She was 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 couple’s new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing. At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound 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.

Continued below-

THE SMELL OF RAIN – An Inspiring Story | Tales2Inspire
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
What love is all about

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman, in his 80s arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry and that he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs, and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redressed his wound. While taking care of him, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for awhile and was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.

As we talked and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, and hadn't recognized him in five years. I was surprised, and asked him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?" He smiled and patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
The black dot

One day, a professor entered his classroom and asked his students to prepare for a surprise test. They all waited anxiously at their desks for the exam to begin.

The professor handed out the exams with the text facing down, as usual. Once he handed them all out, he asked the students to turn over the papers.

To everyone’s surprise, there were no questions–just a black dot in the center of the paper. The professor, seeing the expression on everyone’s faces, told them the following: “I want you to write about what you see there.” The students, confused, got started on the inexplicable task.

At the end of the class, the professor took all the exams, and started reading each one of them out loud in front of all the students.

All of them, with no exception, defined the black dot, trying to explain its position in the center of the sheet. After all had been read, the classroom silent, the professor started to explain:

“I’m not going to grade you on this, I just wanted to give you something to think about. No one wrote about the white part of the paper. Everyone focused on the black dot – and the same thing happens in our lives.

However, we insist on focusing only on the black dot – the health issues that bother us, the lack of money, the complicated relationship with a family member, the disappointment with a friend. The dark spots are very small when compared to everything we have in our lives, but they are the ones that pollute our minds. Take your the eyes away from the black dots in your lives. Enjoy each one of your blessings, each moment that life gives you. Be happy and live a life filled with love!”
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
A Little Boy's Selfless Love

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a lovely little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare life threatening disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year-old brother, who had somehow survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes, I'll do it if it will save her."

As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"

Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her.
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
Love stays

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. "Your son is here," she said to the old man.

She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened. Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night, the young marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile. He refused.

Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital – the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night. Along towards dawn, the old man died. The marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse.

While she did what she had to do, he waited. Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked. The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.

"No, he wasn't," the marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"

"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed."

The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
Twenty Six Guards

A missionary on furlough told this story while visiting his home church in Michigan. "While serving at a small field hospital in Africa, every two weeks I traveled by bicycle through the jungle to a nearby city for supplies. This was a journey of two days and required camping overnight at the halfway point.

On one of these journeys, I arrived in the city where I planned to collect money from a bank, purchase medicine and supplies, and then begin my two-day journey back to the field hospital. Upon arrival in the city, I observed two men fighting, one of whom had been seriously injured. I treated him for his injuries and at the same time talked to him about the Lord.

The Rest Of The Story

26 Guards : Protectors we may not even see can be there for us..
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
Changing our vision

There was a very wealthy man who was bothered by severe eye pain. He consulted many physicians and was being treated by several. He did not stop consulting a galaxy of medical experts; he consumed heavy loads of drugs and underwent hundreds of injections. But the ache persisted with more vigour than before.

At last, a monk who was supposed to be an expert in treating such patients was called for by the suffering man. The monk understood his problem and said that for sometime he should concentrate only on green colours and not to let his eyes fall on any other colours. It was a strange prescription, but he was desperate and decided to try it.

The millionaire got together a group of painters and purchased barrels of green paint and directed that every object his eye was likely to fall to be painted green just as the monk had directed.

When the monk came to visit him after few days, the millionaire's servants ran with buckets of green paint and poured it on him since he was in red dress, lest their master see any other colour and his eye ache would come back.

Hearing this, the monk laughed and said "If only you had purchased a pair of green spectacles, worth just a few dollars, you could have saved these walls and trees and pots and all other articles and also could have saved a large share of his fortune. You cannot paint the world green."

Let us change our vision and the world will appear accordingly. It is foolish to shape the world, let us shape ourselves first.
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
The Two Brothers

Once upon a time, two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labour and goods as needed without a hitch. Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.
One morning there was a knock on John's door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter's toolbox. "I'm looking for a few days work," he said. "Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there. Could I help you?" "Yes," said the older brother. "I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That's my neighboor. In fact, it's my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I'll go him one better. See that pile of lumber curing by the barn? I want you to build me a fence - an 8-foot fence - so I won't need to see his place anymore. Cool him down anyhow."

The carpenter said, "I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post hole digger and I'll be able to do a job that pleases you." The older brother had to go to town for supplies, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day.

The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, and nailing. About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job. The farmer's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all. It was a bridge - a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work - handrails and all - and the neighbour, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand outstretched. "You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I've said and done." The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge, and then they met in the middle, taking each other's hand.

They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. "No, wait! Stay a few days. I've a lot of other projects for you," said the older brother. "I'd love to stay on," the carpenter said, " but I have many more bridges to build."

Everyday we have the choice of building fences or bridges. One leads to isolation and the other to openness.
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
A Sense Of A Goose

Next Autumn, when you see geese heading south for the winter, flying in a "V" formation, you might consider what science has discovered as to why they fly that way. As each bird flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for the bird immediately following. By flying in a "V" formation, the whole flock adds at least 71 percent greater flying range than if each bird flew on its own.

People who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going more quickly and easily, because they are travelling on the thrust of one another.

When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to go it alone and quickly gets back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird in front.

If we have the sense of a goose, we will stay in formation with those people who are heading the same way we are.

When the head goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing and another goose flies point.
It is sensible to take turns doing demanding jobs, whether with people or with geese flying south.

Geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep up their speed.
What message do we give when we honk from behind?

Finally - and this is important - when a goose gets sick or is wounded by gunshot, and falls out of the formation, two other geese fall out with that goose and follow it down to lend help and protection.

They stay with the fallen goose until it is able to fly or until it dies; and only then do they launch out on their own, or with another formation to catch up with their own group.

If we have the sense of a goose, we will stand by each other like that.
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.

When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of small pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "Yes." The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now", said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things - your family, your children, your health, your friends, your favorite passions - things that, if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car.

The sand is everything else - the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first" he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. There will always be time to clean the house, and fix the rubbish. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand".

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that, no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of beers".
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
The Japanese master

A great Japanese master received a university professor who came to enquire about wisdom. The master served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he could no longer restrain himself. 'It is overfull. No more will go in!' 'Like this cup,' the master said, 'you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you wisdom unless you first empty your cup?'
 
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FineLinen

Well-known member
The international food shortage

Recently, a worldwide survey was conducted and the only question asked was: "Would you please give your honest opinion about the solution to the food shortage in the rest of the world?"

The survey was, not surprisingly, a huge failure. Because:

In Africa they didn't know what "food" meant.

In Eastern Europe they didn't know what "honest" meant.

In Western Europe they didn't know what "shortage" meant.

In China they didn't know what "opinion" meant.

In the Middle East they didn't know what "solution" meant.

In South America they didn't know what "please" meant.

And, in the USA they didn't know what "the rest of the world" meant.
 
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