Posts Tagged ‘memories’

Because of Love – A True Story

January 23, 2010

A brother and sister had made their usual hurried, obligatory pre-Christmas visit to the little farm where their elderly parents dwelt with their small herd of horses. The farm was where they had grown up and had been named Lone Pine Farm because of the huge pine, which topped the hill behind the farm. Through the years the tree had become a talisman to the old man and his wife, and a landmark in the countryside. The young siblings had fond memories of their childhood here, but the city hustle and bustle added more excitement to their lives, and called them away to a different life.

The old folks no longer showed their horses, for the years had taken their toll, and getting out to the barn on those frosty mornings was getting harder, but it gave them a reason to get up in the mornings and a reason to live. They sold a few foals each year, and the horses were their reason for joy in the morning and contentment at day’s end.

Angry, as they prepared to leave, the young couple confronted the old folks “Why do you not at least dispose of The Old One.” She is no longer of use to you. It’s been years since you’ve had foals from her. You should cut corners and save so you can have more for yourselves. How can this old worn out horse bring you anything but expense and work? Why do you keep her anyway?”

The old man looked down at his worn boots, holes in the toes, scuffed at the barn floor and replied, “Yes, I could use a pair of new boots. His arm slid defensively about the Old One’s neck as he drew her near with gentle caressing he rubbed her softly behind her ears. He replied softly, “We keep her because of love. Nothing else, just love.”

Baffled and irritated, the young folks wished the old man and his wife a Merry Christmas and headed back toward the city as darkness stole through the valley. The old couple shook their heads in sorrow that it had not been a happy visit. A tear fell upon their cheeks. How is it that these young folks do not understand the peace of the love that filled their hearts?

So it was, that because of the unhappy leave-taking, no one noticed the insulation smoldering on the frayed wires in the old barn. None saw the first spark fall. None but the “Old One”.

In a matter of minutes, the whole barn was ablaze and the hungry flames were licking at the loft full of hay. With a cry of horror and despair, the old man shouted to his wife to call for help as he raced to the barn to save their beloved horses. But the flames were roaring now, and the blazing heat drove him back. He sank sobbing to the ground, helpless before the fire’s fury. His wife back from calling for help cradled him in her arms, clinging to each other, they wept at their loss.

By the time the fire department arrived, only smoking, glowing ruins were left, and the old man and his wife, exhausted from their grief, huddled together before the barn. They were speechless as they rose from the cold snow covered ground. They nodded thanks to the firemen as there was nothing anyone could do now. The old man turned to his wife, resting her white head upon his shoulders as his shaking old hands clumsily dried her tears with a frayed red bandana.

Brokenly he whispered, “We have lost much, but God has spared our home on this eve of Christmas. Let us gather strength and climb the hill to the old pine where we have sought comfort in times of despair. We will look down upon our home and give thanks to God that it has been spared and pray for our beloved most precious gifts that have been taken from us.

And so, he took her by the hand and slowly helped her up the snowy hill as he brushed aside his own tears with the back of his old and withered hand.

The journey up the hill was hard for their old bodies in the steep snow. As they stepped over the little knoll at the crest of the hill, they paused to rest; looking up to the top of the hill the old couple gasped and fell to their knees in amazement at the incredible beauty before them.

Seemingly, every glorious, brilliant star in the heavens was caught up in the glittering, snow-frosted branches of their beloved pine, and it was aglow with heavenly candles. And poised on its top-most bough, a crystal crescent moon glistened like spun glass. Never had a mere mortal created a Christmas tree such as this. They were breathless as the old man held his wife tighter in his arms.

Suddenly, the old man gave a cry of wonder and incredible joy.  Amazed and mystified, he took his wife by the hand and pulled her forward. There, beneath the tree, in resplendent glory, a mist hovering over and glowing in the darkness was their Christmas gift. Shadows glistening in the night light.

Bedded down about the “Old One” close to the trunk of the tree, was the entire herd, safe.

At the first hint of smoke, she had pushed the door ajar with her muzzle and had led the horses through it. Slowly and with great dignity, never looking back, she had led them up the hill, stepping cautiously through the snow. The foals were frightened and dashed about. The skittish yearlings looked back at the crackling, hungry flames, and tucked their tails under them as they licked their lips and hopped like rabbits. The mares that were in foal with a new year’s crop of babies, pressed uneasily against the “Old One” as she moved calmly up the hill and to safety beneath the pine. And now, she lay among them and gazed at the faces of the old man and his wife. Those she loved she had not disappointed. Her body was brittle with years, tired from the climb, but the golden eyes were filled with devotion as she offered her gift—

Because of love. Only because of love.

Tears flowed as the old couple shouted their praise and joy… And again the peace of love filled their hearts.

This is a true story.

Willy Eagle

This is an inspirational message sent to a small group of people. My hope is that it will make your day just a little bit better.

A Christmas Story

December 29, 2009

A Christmas Story

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn’t been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no decorations, no tree, no lights.  It was just another day to him.  He didn’t hate Christmas, just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate.  There were no children in his life. His wife had gone.

He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.  Instead of throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space heater and warm-up.

“Thank you, but I don’t mean to intrude,” said the stranger. “I see you’re busy.  I’ll just go”

“Not without something hot in your belly,” George turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.

“It ain’t much, but it’s hot and tasty.  Stew.  Made it myself. When you’re done, there’s coffee and it’s fresh.”

Just at that moment he heard the “ding” of the driveway bell.

“Excuse me, be right back,” George said.

There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy.  Steam was rolling out of the front.  The driver was panicked.

“Mister can you help me!” said the driver with a deep Spanish accent. “My wife is with child and my car is broken.”

George opened the hood.  It was bad.  The block looked cracked from the cold; the car was dead.  “You ain’t going in this thing,” George said as he turned away.

“But mister,  Please help….” The door of the office closed behind George as he went in.

George went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.

He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.

“Here, you can borrow my truck,” he said.  “She ain’t the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good.”

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night.  George turned and walked back inside the office.

“Glad I loaned ‘em the truck.  Their tires were shot too. That ‘ol truck has brand new tires……..” George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone.  The thermos was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.

“Well, at least he got something in his belly,” George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start.

It cranked slowly, but it started.  He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been.  He thought he would tinker with it for something to do.  Christmas Eve meant no customers.

He discovered the block hadn’t cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator.

“Well, I can fix this,” he said to himself.  So he put a new one on.

“Those tires ain’t gonna get ’em through the winter either.” He took the snow treads off of his wife’s old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn’t going to drive the car.

As he was working he heard a shot being fired.  He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground.

Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, “Help me.”

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic.  He knew the wound needed attention.  “Pressure to stop the bleeding,” he thought.  The laundry company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels.  He used those and duct tape to bind the wound.

“Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin’,” he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.  “Something for pain,” George thought.  All he had was the pills he used for his back.

“These ought to work.” He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills.

“You hang in there.  I’m going to get you an ambulance.”

George said, but the phone was dead.  “Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your police car.”

He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.  He went back in to find the policeman sitting up.

“Thanks,” said the officer.  “You could have left me there.  The guy that shot me is still in the area.”

George sat down beside him.  “I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain’t gonna leave you.” George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding.  “Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through ‘ya.  Good thing it missed the important stuff though.  I think with time your gonna be right as rain.”

George got up and poured a cup of coffee.  “How do you take it?” he asked.

“None for me,” said the officer.

“Oh, yer gonna drink this.  Best in the city.” Then George added: “Too bad I ain’t got no donuts.”

The officer laughed and winced at the same time.  The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.

“Give me all your cash!  Do it now!” the young man yelled.

His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.

“That’s the guy that shot me!” exclaimed the officer.

“Son, why are you doing this?” asked George.  “You need to put the cannon away.  Somebody else might get hurt.”

The young man was confused.  “Shut up old man, or I’ll shoot you, too.  Now give me the cash!”

The cop was reaching for his gun.

“Put that thing away,” George said to the cop.  “We got one too many in here now.”

He turned his attention to the young man.  “Son, it’s Christmas Eve.  If you need the money, well then, here.  It ain’t much but it’s all I got.  Now put that pea shooter away.”

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.

The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry.

“I’m not very good at this am I?  All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,” he went on.  “I’ve lost my job. My rent is due.  My car got repossessed last week…”

George handed the gun to the cop.  “Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then.  The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can.”

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop.

“Sometimes we do stupid things.” George handed the young man a cup of coffee.  “Being stupid is one of the things that make us human.  Comin’ in here with a gun ain’t the answer.  Now sit there and get warm and we’ll sort this thing out.”

The young man had stopped crying.  He looked over to the cop. “Sorry I shot you.  It just went off.  I’m sorry officer.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.” the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside.  A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt.  Two cops came through the door, guns drawn.  “Chuck!  You ok?” one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

“Not bad for a guy who took a bullet.  How did you find me?”

“GPS locator in the car.  Best thing since sliced bread.

Who did this?” the other cop asked as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, “I don’t know.  The guy ran off into the dark.  Just dropped his gun and ran.”

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.

“That guy works here,” the wounded cop continued.

“Yep,” George said.  “Just hired him this morning.  Boy lost his job.”

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.

The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, “Why?”

Chuck just said, “Merry Christmas, boy.  And you too, George, and thanks for everything.”

“Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there.  That ought to solve some of your problems.” George went into the back room and came out with a box.  He pulled out a ring box.

“Here you go.  Something for the little woman.  I don’t think Martha would mind.  She said it would come in handy some day.”

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw.  “I can’t take this,” said the young man. “It means something to you.”

“And now it means something to you,” replied George.

“I got my memories.  That’s all I need.”

George reached into the box again.  A toy airplane, a racing car and a little metal truck appeared next.  They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell.  “Here’s something for that little man of yours.”

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier.  “And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with?  You keep that, too.  Count it as part of your first week’s pay.” George said. “Now git home to your family.”

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face.

“I’ll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good.”

“Nope.  I’m closed Christmas day,” George said.  “See ya the day after.” George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.

“Where’d you come from?  I thought you left?”

“I have been here.  I have always been here,” said the stranger.  “You say you don’t celebrate Christmas.  Why?”

“Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn’t see what all the bother was.  Puttin’ up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree.

Bakin’ cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn’t the same by myself and besides I was getting a little chubby.”

The stranger put his hand on George’s shoulder.  “But you do celebrate the holiday, George.  You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry.  The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists.

The young man who tried to rob you will become a rich man and share his wealth with many people. That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man.”

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said.  “And how do you know all this?” asked the old man.

“Trust me, George.  I have the inside track on this sort of thing.  And when your days are done you will be with Martha again.” The stranger moved toward the door.

“If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now.  I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned.”

George watched as the man’s old leather jacket and his torn pants turned into a white robe.  A golden light began to fill the room.

“You see, George, it’s My birthday. Merry Christmas.”

The Final Ride – an inspirational story

October 25, 2009

The Final Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked… ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated’.

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy’, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly.

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice’.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting he.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.

‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light… Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life…

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

You won’t get any big surprise in 10 days if you send this to ten people. But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending it.


%d bloggers like this: