I am a 61 year old, father of two boys and have been happily married for 33 years. I have been a Physical Education teacher and coach for 38 years and have loved EVERY minute of it. I enjoy making people laugh and feel good about themselves. It’s fun collecting inspiring and heartwarming stories.from people. So, if you have a good story…let me know! I hope you enjoy my page!! :)
Remember:
Everyone is fighting a battle that you know nothing about.
Be kind.
Always.
This short story, from my friends at inspirationalstories.com, illustrates a great example about most things that we experience throughout our lives…
Long ago an Eastern monarch called his wise men together and asked them to invent a motto, a few magic words that would help him in time of trial or distress. It must be brief enough to be engraved on a ring to be ever present. It must be appropriate to every situation, as useful in prosperity as in adversity. It must be a motto wise and true and endlessly enduring, words by which a man could be guided all his life, in every circumstance, no matter what happened.
The wise men finally came to the monarch with their magic words. They were words for every change or chance of fortune … words to fit every situation, good or bad … words to ease the heart and mind in every circumstance. The words they gave for the ring were:
I came across this story that simply broke my heart and reminded me of an important lesson: never judge a person until you know exactly of what made them the way they are…
My mom only had one eye. I hated her… She was such an embarrassment. She cooked for students and teachers to support the family.
There was this one day during elementary school where my mom came to say hello to me. I was so embarrassed.
How could she do this to me? I ignored her, threw her a hateful look and ran out. The next day at school one of my classmates said, “EEEE, your mom only has one eye!”
I wanted to bury myself. I also wanted my mom to just disappear. I confronted her that day and said, “If you’re only gonna make me a laughing stock, why don’t you just die?”
My mom did not respond… I didn’t even stop to think for a second about what I had said, because I was full of anger. I was oblivious to her feelings.
I wanted out of that house, and have nothing to do with her. So I studied real hard, got a chance to go abroad to study.
Then, I got married. I bought a house of my own. I had kids of my own. I was happy with my life, my kids and the comforts. Then one day, my Mother came to visit me. She hadn’t seen me in years and she didn’t even meet her grandchildren.
When she stood by the door, my children laughed at her, and I yelled at her for coming over uninvited. I screamed at her, “How dare you come to my house and scare my children! GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!!!”
And to this, my mother quietly answered, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I may have gotten the wrong address.” – and she disappeared out of sight.
One day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house. So I lied to my wife that I was going on a business trip. After the reunion, I went to the old shack just out of curiosity.
My neighbors said that she died. I did not shed a single tear. They handed me a letter that she had wanted me to have.
“My dearest son,
I think of you all the time. I’m sorry that I came to your house and scared your children.
I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion. But I may not be able to even get out of bed to see you. I’m sorry that I was a constant embarrassment to you when you were growing up.
You see……..when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost your eye. As a mother, I couldn’t stand watching you having to grow up with one eye. So I gave you mine.
I was so proud of my son who was seeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye.
Here’s a great story of the spirit of unwavering determination and a demonstration that anyone can live their dreams if they have the dedication and desire to stay committed…..
In 1883, a creative engineer named John Roebling was inspired by an idea to build a spectacular bridge connecting New York with the Long Island. However bridge building experts throughout the world thought that this was an impossible feat and told Roebling to forget the idea. It just could not be done. It was not practical. It had never been done before.
Roebling could not ignore the vision he had in his mind of this bridge. He thought about it all the time and he knew deep in his heart that it could be done. He just had to share the dream with someone else. After much discussion and persuasion he managed to convince his son Washington, an up and coming engineer, that the bridge in fact could be built.
Working together for the first time, the father and son developed concepts of how it could be accomplished and how the obstacles could be overcome. With great excitement and inspiration, and the headiness of a wild challenge before them, they hired their crew and began to build their dream bridge.
The project started well, but when it was only a few months underway a tragic accident on the site took the life of John Roebling. Washington was injured and left with a certain amount of brain damage, which resulted in him not being able to walk or talk or even move.
“We told them so.”
“Crazy men and their crazy dreams.”
“It`s foolish to chase wild visions.”
Everyone had a negative comment to make and felt that the project should be scrapped since the Roeblings were the only ones who knew how the bridge could be built. In spite of his handicap Washington was never discouraged and still had a burning desire to complete the bridge and his mind was still as sharp as ever.
He tried to inspire and pass on his enthusiasm to some of his friends, but they were too daunted by the task. As he lay on his bed in his hospital room, with the sunlight streaming through the windows, a gentle breeze blew the flimsy white curtains apart and he was able to see the sky and the tops of the trees outside for just a moment.
It seemed that there was a message for him not to give up. Suddenly an idea hit him. All he could do was move one finger and he decided to make the best use of it. By moving this, he slowly developed a code of communication with his wife.
He touched his wife’s arm with that finger, indicating to her that he wanted her to call the engineers again. Then he used the same method of tapping her arm to tell the engineers what to do. It seemed foolish but the project was under way again.
For 13 years Washington tapped out his instructions with his finger on his wife’s arm, until the bridge was finally completed. Today the spectacular Brooklyn Bridge stands in all its glory as a tribute to the triumph of one man’s indomitable spirit and his determination not to be defeated by circumstances. It is also a tribute to the engineers and their team work, and to their faith in a man who was considered mad by half the world. It stands too as a tangible monument to the love and devotion of his wife who for 13 long years patiently decoded the messages of her husband and told the engineers what to do.
Perhaps this is one of the best examples of a never-say-die attitude that overcomes a terrible physical handicap and achieves an impossible goal.
Often when we face obstacles in our day-to-day life, our hurdles seem very small in comparison to what many others have to face. The Brooklyn Bridge shows us that dreams that seem impossible can be realized with determination and persistence, no matter what the odds are.
Even the most distant dream can be realized with determination and persistence.
There are times throughout our lives when wrongs are done to us that are sometimes very hard to forgive and forget. Hatred fuels bitterness and sometimes the only thing that will help relieve us from this bitterness is the power that we can only receive from God.
I read the following true story, written by Tim Kimmel, demonstrates a very powerful story of how the miracle of forgiveness helped to heal the wound of bitterness. It is my hope that, in some way, this story will help someone dealing with a wrong or a heart of bitterness to aply this sense of forgiveness in much the same way.
Shortly after the turn of the century, Japan invaded, conquered, and occupied Korea. Of all of their oppressors, Japan was the most ruthless. They overwhelmed the Koreans with a brutality that would sicken the strongest of stomachs. Their crimes against women and children were inhuman. Many Koreans live today with the physical and emotional scars from the Japanese occupation.
One group singled out for concentrated oppression was the Christians. When the Japanese army overpowered Korea one of the first things they did was board up the evangelical churches and eject most foreign missionaries. It has always fascinated me how people fail to learn from history. Conquering nations have consistently felt that shutting up churches would shut down Christianity. It didn’t work in Rome when the church was established, and it hasn’t worked since. Yet somehow the Japanese thought they would have a different success record.
The conquerors started by refusing to allow churches to meet and jailing many of the key Christian spokesmen. The oppression intensified as the Japanese military increased its profile in the South Pacific. The “Land of the Rising Sun” spread its influence through a reign of savage brutality. Anguish filled the hearts of the oppressed — and kindled hatred deep in their souls. One pastor persistently entreated his local Japanese police chief for permission to meet for services. His nagging was finally accommodated, and the police chief offered to unlock his church … for one meeting.
It didn’t take long for word to travel. Committed Christians starving for an opportunity for unhindered worship quickly made their plans. Long before dawn on that promised Sunday, Korean families throughout a wide area made their way to the church. They passed the staring eyes of their Japanese captors, but nothing was going to steal their joy. As they closed the doors behind them they shut out the cares of oppression and shut in a burning spirit anxious to glorify their Lord.
The Korean church has always had a reputation as a singing church. Their voices of praise could not be concealed inside the little wooden frame sanctuary. Song after song rang through the open windows into the bright Sunday morning. For a handful of peasants listening nearby, the last two songs this congregation sang seemed suspended in time. It was during a stanza of “Nearer My God to Thee” that the Japanese police chief waiting outside gave the orders. The people toward the back of the church could hear them when they barricaded the doors, but no one realized that they had doused the church with kerosene until they smelled the smoke. The dried wooden skin of the small church quickly ignited. Fumes filled the structure as tongues of flame began to lick the baseboard on the interior walls.
There was an immediate rush for the windows. But momentary hope recoiled in horror as the men climbing out the windows came crashing back in — their bodies ripped by a hail of bullets. The good pastor knew it was the end. With a calm that comes from confidence, he led his congregation in a hymn whose words served as a fitting farewell to earth and a loving salutation to heaven. The first few words were all the prompting the terrified worshipers needed. With smoke burning their eyes, they instantly joined as one to sing their hope and leave their legacy.
Their song became a serenade to the horrified and helpless witnesses outside. Their words also tugged at the hearts of the cruel men who oversaw this flaming execution of the innocent: Alas! and did my Savior bleed? and did my Sovereign die? Would he devote that sacred head for such a worm as I?
Just before the roof collapsed they sang the last verse, their words an eternal testimony to their faith: But drops of grief can ne’er repay the debt of love I owe: Here, Lord, I give myself away ‘Tis all that I can do! At the cross, at the cross Where I first saw the light, And the burden of my heart rolled away — It was there by faith I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day.
The strains of music and wails of children were lost in a roar of flames. The elements that once formed bone and flesh mixed with the smoke and dissipated into the air. The bodies that once housed life fused with the charred rubble of a building that once housed a church. But the souls who left singing finished their chorus in the throne room of God. Clearing the incinerated remains was the easy part. Erasing the hate would take decades. For some of the relatives of the victims, this carnage was too much. Evil had stooped to a new low, and there seemed to be no way to curb their bitter loathing of the Japanese.
In the decades that followed, that bitterness was passed on to a new generation. The Japanese, although conquered, remained a hated enemy. The monument the Koreans built at the location of the fire not only memorialized the people who died, but stood as a mute reminder of their pain. Inner rest? How could rest coexist with a bitterness deep as marrow in the bones?
Suffering, of course, is a part of life. People hurt people. Almost all of us have experienced it at some time. Maybe you felt it when you came home to find that your spouse had abandoned you, or when your integrity was destroyed by a series of well-timed lies, or when your company was bled dry by a partner. It kills you inside. Bitterness clamps down on your soul like iron shackles.
The Korean people who found it too hard to forgive could not enjoy the “peace that passes all understanding.” Hatred choked their joy. It wasn’t until 1972 that any hope came. A group of Japanese pastors traveling through Korea came upon the memorial. When they read the details of the tragedy and the names of the spiritual brothers and sisters who had perished, they were overcome with shame. Their country had sinned, and even though none of them were personally involved (some were not even born at the time of the tragedy), they still felt a national guilt that could not be excused.
They returned to Japan committed to right a wrong. There was an immediate outpouring of love from their fellow believers. They raised ten million yen ($25,000). The money was transferred through proper channels and a beautiful white church building was erected on the sight of the tragedy.
When the dedication service for the new building was held, a delegation from Japan joined the relatives and special guests. Although their generosity was acknowledged and their attempts at making peace appreciated, the memories were still there. Hatred preserves pain. It keeps the wounds open and the hurts fresh. The Koreans’ bitterness had festered for decades. Christian brothers or not, these Japanese were descendants of a ruthless enemy.
The speeches were made, the details of the tragedy recalled, and the names of the dead honored. It was time to bring the service to a close. Someone in charge of the agenda thought it would be appropriate to conclude with the same two songs that were sung the day the church was burned.
The song leader began the words to “Nearer My God to Thee.” But something remarkable happened as the voices mingled on the familiar melody. As the memories of the past mixed with the truth of the song, resistance started to melt. The inspiration that gave hope to a doomed collection of churchgoers in a past generation gave hope once more.
The song leader closed the service with the hymn “At the Cross.”
The normally stoic Japanese could not contain themselves. The tears that began to fill their eyes during the song suddenly gushed from deep inside. They turned to their Korean spiritual relatives and begged them to forgive. The guarded, calloused hearts of the Koreans were not quick to surrender. But the love of the Japanese believers – un-intimidated by decades of hatred — tore at the Koreans’ emotions: At the cross, at the cross Where I first saw the light, And the burden of my heart rolled away…
One Korean turned toward a Japanese brother. Then another. And then the floodgates holding back a wave of emotion let go. The Koreans met their new Japanese friends in the middle. They clung to each other and wept. Japanese tears of repentance and Korean tears of forgiveness intermingled to bathe the site of an old nightmare.
Heaven had sent the gift of reconciliation to a little white church in Korea.
Sometimes in life, things are never what they may seem.
Many years ago, a friend of mine told me the following true story……
When he was growing up, a neighbor of his, Scott, had a big, Golden Retriever, Max, as a pet. Max would get into everything…the garden, the trash cans, ground hog holes, etc. and occasionally, ransack their neighbor’s things. One neighbor, Mr. Swanson, had told Scott and his family that if he ever saw Max come into their yard again, he would call the police and the pound then have Max taken away.
One day Scott and his family came home after school and called for Max. To their horror and astonishment, their dog held a dead, white rabbit in its mouth. The first thing they thought was, where did Max find a white rabbit? All the rabbits that they ever saw hopping around the yard were either brown or gray but not white.
Then a bone-chilling awareness dawned on them…their neighbors, the Swanson’s, had two children who had a white, rabbit for a pet and it lived in a cage in their back yard. Could the dog have wondered into their yard and snatched the rabbit out of its cage? The only way that they would know for certain was to find out for themselves.
Lucky for them, the Swanson’s weren’t home, so Scott warily walked into the yard and looked upon the cage. To his chagrin, he found the small door to the rabbit cage wide open and there wasn’t a rabbit to be found.
Heart pounding and racing back home, Scott told his parents that the rabbit’s cage was empty and he was certain that Max had taken the little critter out of its pen, killed it, and brought it home to show the family as they arrived.
Scott and his parents were not only upset but scared. Max had once again gone into their neighbor’s yard but this time he went over the line…he had killed their pet. Mr. Swanson would have Max taken away. What were they going to do? They had to think of something quick…the Swanson’s would be home within the hour.
Suddenly, Scott’s dad had an inspiration. They would drive down to the local pet store and try to find a white rabbit that they could purchase. Imagine how excited they were when there was a white rabbit for sale!
As fast as they could, they drove back to Scott’s house and handed the rabbit to Scott. Scott ran back into the Swanson’s yard, put the bunny back into the cage, closed the door and left.
Scott and his family were very, very excited. The Swanson’s “pet” was back home where it belonged, Max was safe and nobody would know that anything had happened, Now, all they had to do was wait and see if the Swanson’s would notice.
Twenty minutes later, they saw the Swanson car pull into the driveway and watched as the family went into the house. After waiting, for seemed to be an eternity, a blood-curdling scream emanated from the Swanson’s backyard. Scott, along with his family, ran into the Swanson’s yard to see what had happened.
There, they found Mrs. Swanson, looking white as a ghost, shaking from head to toe. Mr. Swanson came dashing out of their house followed by their two kids. Scott’s father asked, what’s the matter? What’s wrong? Mrs. Swanson just stood their shaking her head in shock and disbelief.
After a minute or so, she calmed down and said in a slow, quiet voice, “I just don’t understand it. The most amazing thing has happened. You see, Snowball, our pet rabbit died last night. I took it out of its cage and buried it in our garden. When I came home to pick some tomatoes and onions for dinner, I saw that the spot where I had buried Snowball was empty…and he was back in its cage!!!”
Scott and his parents stood there in utter amazement. Max hadn’t killed the Swanson’s rabbit at all…it was dead and he had dug it up!!
Here’s a great tale to begin your week with a smile.
A doctor, a lawyer, a little boy and a priest were out for a Sunday afternoon flight on a small private plane. Suddenly, the plane developed engine trouble. In spite of the best efforts of the pilot, the plane started to go down. Finally, the pilot grabbed a parachute, yelled to the passengers that they had better jump, and then he bailed out.
Unfortunately, there were only three parachutes remaining. The doctor grabbed one and said “I’m a doctor, I save lives, so I must live,” and jumped out.
The lawyer then said, “I’m a lawyer and lawyers are the smartest people in the world. I deserve to live.” He also grabbed a parachute and jumped.
The priest looked at the little boy and said, “My son, I’ve lived a long and full life. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you. Take the last parachute and live in peace.”
The little boy handed the parachute back to the priest and said, “Not to worry, Father. The ‘smartest man in the world’ just took off with my back pack.”
This is a story that will touch your heart and hopefully, help you to understand why sometimes, when we jump to the wrong conclusions, it can affect you more than you’ll ever know.
The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.”
The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, “Don’t you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, “Oh, Daddy, it’s not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They’re all for you, Daddy.”
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.
Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses… from our children, family members, friends, and God. There is simply no other possession, anyone could hold, more precious than this.
My Good Time Stories 