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Inspirational Stories: “The Hugging Dog” by Author Katrina Mayer!

Monday, May 28th, 2012

A Personal Inspirational Story Written by Author, Motivational Speaker, and Owner of  Wholarian Living, Katrina Mayer!

One of the reasons I love Facebook is that I meet some awesome people on there! People I admire, people I learn from and people I become soul friends with; and Katrina is one of those awesome people who I have grown to love and be close to! One of these days I will actually meet her in person! I just know we will embrace each other with love and happiness when we see each other! We have the sort of friendship where we would be giddy sisters wanting to explore some adventure somewhere! We will have a lot of fun!

Katrina is an inspirational writer and I always enjoy her stories. She also loves to grow her own organic, heirloom garden, hang out with her loveable husband and pets, and explore nature on a regular basis. Here is one of her true stories that I want to share with you (in Katrina’s words):

I’m an animal lover through and through. Ever since I was a young girl, I’ve had cats, dogs, turtles, fish, mice, hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, rabbits, and so on. I loved every one and can probably tell you most of their names. My companion for the past eight years is a large black-and-white cat named Totoro who seems to know my every thought even before I think it. We have an uncanny connection, and I miss him immensely whenever I am away from home.

My husband, Peter, is also an animal lover and has three very large dogs that range in weight from 130- 175 lbs. They are fiercely loyal dogs that love family members and will protect them when necessary. I’ve had the wonderful pleasure of getting slobbery kisses from all of them, but unfortunately I can’t spend too much time with them because, in their exuberance, they have knocked me over.

So, a few months ago I started thinking about having a smaller dog that could curl up in my lap. I wasn’t sure what it would look like, but I knew that it would be affectionate and very smart. Once we were moved into our new home, unpacked, and settled, I thought we would go to the local animal shelter and find just such a pup.

Oh, silly me—I forgot how quickly the universe provides when we make our wishes known! One day, a month before our move, a small black-and-white dog showed up at the new house. She smelled like she had been wrestling with skunks and was a bit muddy, but she had the sweetest brown eyes that looked right into my heart. I wasn’t ready for such a precious parcel because we still had so much to do with the move, so I told her to go back to her owner, who was probably missing her very much. She listened to my every word and watched us back out of the driveway.

The next day, she was still there with that wagging tail and those endearing eyes. As soon as I opened the car door, she jumped in and curled up in my lap. That was when I said out loud, “Are you the dog I was waiting for?” At this question, she turned around, put one paw on each of my shoulders, and hugged me!

In all my life I’ve never had a dog hug me like that. She held tight as I wrapped my arms around her and told her that she had a new home.

What I didn’t know at the time is that our new puppy, whom we named Ananda, is an amazing hugger. She loves to give hugs to anyone who wants one. Whenever someone comes to the house, she greets them in the driveway, and if they squat down to pet her, she puts her paws around them and hugs. One day, one of the landscapers, whom I had not spoken to before, came up to me with a smile and said, “Your puppy gave me a hug and it made me so happy.”

Ananda is the dog I was hoping for. She fits perfectly in my lap; she’s sweet, very smart, friendly, still a bit muddy, and a beautiful addition to our family. Plus, I can get a hug anytime I want. And who wouldn’t like a hug?

I just love this story! It brings a warm smile to my face. To visit Katrina and to subscribe to her newsletters that have other inspirational stories and videos, go to WHOLARIAN LIVING and sign up for FREE! She welcomes all walks of life and she’ll inspire you to grow in more ways than one, like she’s done for me.

Thanks Katrina for your friendship and inspiration!

Katrina Mayer of Wholarian Living

Katrina Mayer of Wholarian Living

 

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Inspirational Lessons: Crabby Old Man!

Monday, February 28th, 2011

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri .

The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man . .. . .. . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . .. . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice .. .. . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not … . . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you’re not looking at me..

I’ll tell you who I am. . .. . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . . .. . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen .. . . . with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . … And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . .. .. With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . . . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside me .. . . .. . to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . .. My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old man . . . . . and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . .. where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . .. . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . .. . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . see ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet
an older person who you might brush aside
without looking at the young soul within.

We will all, one day, be there, too!

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM

The best and most beautiful things of  this world can’t be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart.

"Not Old Yet" Picture

"Not Old Yet" Picture

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Inspirational Lessons: Taking the “Other” Woman Out For Dinner!

Friday, February 18th, 2011

Inspirational Lessons: Wife Wants Husband to Take Another Woman Out to Dinner

After our first 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie.

She said, “I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you.”

The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my Mother, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and our five children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally.

That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.
“What’s wrong, are you well?” she asked. My Mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.

“I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you,” I responded. “Just the two of us.” She thought about it for a moment, and then said, “I would like that very much.” That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous.

When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary.

She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel’s. “I told my
friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed,” she said as she got into the car. “They can’t wait to hear about our meeting.”

We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My Mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady.
After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and saw Mother sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.

“It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small,” she said. “Then it’s time that you relax and let me return the favor,” I responded.

During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation, nothing extraordinary, but catching up on recent events of each other’s life.

We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, “I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you.” I agreed.

“How was your dinner date?” asked my wife when I got home. “Very nice, much more so than I could have imagined,” I answered.

A few days later, my Mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn’t have a chance to do anything for her.

Some time later, I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place Mother and I had dined. An attached note said: “I paid this bill in advance. I wasn’t sure that I could be there. But nevertheless, I paid for two plates – one for you and the other for your wife.  You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you, son.”

At that moment, I understood the importance of saying in time: “I love YOU” and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off till “some other time.”


I wish I knew who wrote this story as I don’t. If I find out in the future I will definitely put the source or name here.

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Inspirational Lessons: What Brings You Back to Earth?

Saturday, September 18th, 2010

This week has been a very challenging one for me in many ways. While I could sit here and explain all the “things” that have happened to me, what would be the point? In the end, we all have our challenges in life and go through periods where we either go head on like a bull ready to “take on” the world, or we just want to be left alone to rest our weary and tired souls for just a little bit.

I like to think of the Grand Canyon when I start to feel like I’m needing a soulful rest. And it’s something that definitely brings me back to earth. The Grand Canyon makes me feel like an ant, kind of like if you were in a space ship from high above the earth looking down at the city lights. It brings you back to reality again…..I realize that I am but ONE tiny person on a huge earth full of people, animals, and other living beings……….

I’ve had the opportunity of seeing the Grand Canyon THREE times now!! I am so happy I got to see one of the greatest wonders of the world! Each time I went I felt like I could just “BE” and it was great therapy for me. The pictures that you see here are the pictures I took on my last trip to the Grand Canyon in 2008. I love a gorgeous sunset and as you can see, it was magnificent. I have a beautiful Grand Canyon picture on my bedroom wall. Often I’ll stare at it and remember what it was like to be standing next to one gigantic piece of wonderment as I contemplate my next move in life…….

Is there a place you’ve been that brings you back to earth?

CLICK the picture to enlarge it!

North Side of the Grand Canyon

North Side of the Grand Canyon!

Angels Window at the North Side of the Grand Canyon

Angels Window at the North Side of the Grand Canyon!

Grand Canyon-North View-The Sun is Setting!

Grand Canyon-North View-The Sun is Setting!

The Sun Has Set over the Grand Canyon-North View

The Sun Has Set over the Grand Canyon-North View!

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Inspirational Lessons: The Light Was On!

Monday, September 13th, 2010

The love of our neighbor in all its fullness simply means being able to say to him, “What are you going through?

When I was in private practice as a pediatrician, life was always busy, and the days and night often ran together. I usually found myself in the office late at night, just catching up on paperwork. I found this time alone very peaceful. It allowed me to think about my patients and their problems without distractions. It also allowed for clear thinking about my own life.

One evening, after putting my own family to bed, I was back a the office, going through stacks of charts. As I sat studying a patient’s chart, I heard a knock at the door. I assumed it was my partner, since he was on call at the time.

I opened the door to find Brian, a 16-year-old patient of mine. I had seen Brian enough times over the past few years to know him by name. I asked him why he was wandering around at two o’clock in the morning. “I was just out taking a walk and thinking,” he replied. I invited him to have some hot chocolate and “talk and think together.”

I put the water on to boil, and we begin to chat. As the conversation progressed, we both begin to share a little bit about ourselves, our worries, and our frustrations. It was obvious Brian was full of fears and anxieties that he definitely needed to express.

Brian told me about his girlfriend, who had just broken up with him, and about his grades, which weren’t as good as he would have liked. He wanted to be an architect, but he worried that it would be impossible with his grades. He said that he didn’t know whether there was a God and, if there was, whether God loved him.

I tried just to listen and offer encouragement where I could. I had some contacts among architects, so I told Brian I wanted him to meet them and learn more about the profession. Brian and I also talked about positive things we planned to do to address some of our worries and fears. Our conversation lasted two hours. Finally I drove Brian home, where I saw him sneak in through a first-story window.

After that night, Brian frequently stopped by my office (at more reasonable hours) to give me an update on his progress in various areas of his life. He was a very pleasant, outgoing young man who soon became friends with my staff.

About six months after my first conversation with Brian, I moved my practice to a different location. A year after the move, I received a graduation announcement from Brian. Folded inside the formal invitation was a handwritten note.

Dear Mr. Brown,

I wanted to thank you for caring about me that night. I don’t think you ever knew, but I felt so bad that night, I planned to kill myself. Everything in my life seemed so bad, and I didn’t know what to do next. As I was walking down the street, I saw your office and noticed the lamp was on. Then, for some reason, I decided to talk to you. All that talking, and your listening, made me realize a lot of things about my life that were good. Some of the options and ideas you mentioned to me really helped. I am graduating from high school, and I’ve been accepted to the university’s architecture school. I couldn’t be happier. I know I’ll have hard times, but I also know I’ll get through the hard times. I’m very, very thankful that your light was on that night.

Sincerely,

Brian

I don’t believe this note was the result of anything extraordinary I did with Brian; our conversations had been very ordinary. But reflecting on my acquaintance with Brian makes me think there was something quite exceptional at work.

One might say it was fortuitous that I was in the office and that the light was on, that night when Brian was contemplating suicide. I believe the world works in a different way.

There is a light, or energy, that shines in and through each of us, to provide guidance and support for ourselves and our fellow human beings. And it was that light that shone the brightest on the night when Brian knocked at my office door.

~James C. Brown, M.D.

“We cannot hold a torch to another man’s path without brightening our own” ~ Ben Sweetland

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Inspirational Lessons: How One Dad Learned About Priorities!

Saturday, August 28th, 2010

A man came home from work late again, tired and irritated, to find his 5 year old son waiting for him at the door.

“Daddy, may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” replied the man.

“Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?”

“That’s none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?” the man said angrily.

“I just want to know. Please tell me,  how much do you make an hour?” pleaded the little boy.

“If you must know, I make $20 an hour.” “Oh,” the little boy replied, head bowed. Looking up, he said, “Daddy, may I borrow $10.00 please?”

The father was furious. “If the only reason you wanted to know how much money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you’re being so selfish. I work long, hard hours every day and don’t have time for such childish games.”

The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy’s questioning.  How dare he ask such questions only to get some money?

After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son. Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00 and he really didn’t ask for money very often.

The man went to the door of the little boy’s room and opened the door. “Are you asleep son?” he asked. “No daddy, I’m awake,” replied the boy.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier,” said the man. “It’s been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here’s that $10.00 you’ve asked for.” The little boy sat straight up, beaming. “Oh, thank you daddy!” he yelled. Then reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills. The man, seeing that the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at his father. “Why did you want more money if you already had some?” the father grumbled.

“Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do,” the little boy replied. “Daddy, I have $20.00 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?”

WOW!! That last paragraph says it all, doesn’t it?

Source Unknown

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Inspirational Stories: The Best Friend! (Be prepared to cry!)

Saturday, August 21st, 2010
Beth Blake-The Best Friend

Beth Blake- author of The Best Friend short story!

When I married Jenny, I gained her best friend Joy as well. Joy’s husband Carl and I became friends simply because we knew we couldn’t pry our wives apart. We went on double dates and spent vacations and holidays together. We were Lucy, Ricky, Fred, and Ethel. The girls were delighted when they became pregnant almost within a month of each other. Our two girls, Katie and Melissa, became inseparable as they grew up. Then one day, I arrived home from work to find a hurriedly scribbled note from my wife, “Munsons in a car accident. Melissa hurt badly.”

When Jenny came home that night, I held her while she cried. Together, we climbed into the little white bed that held our sleeping angel, and both of us took one of her hands in ours as we grieved for our friends’ loss. We grieved again when a year later, Carl and Joy divorced.

It was a little less than nine months after that when my own life was shattered in the garden department at Wal-Mart. Jenny and I were shopping for tomato seeds when she collapsed. I held her hand in the ambulance and then again until the long beep on the monitor told me she was gone. She never opened her eyes again. They told me it was a brain aneurysm. I couldn’t even spell what killed my wife.

For the next week, I was buried in casseroles. Katie and I spent our dinnertime silently poking our forks at mounds of green and gray that neither of us had the stomach to eat. At the funeral, Katie and I held hands as women who wore too much perfume cried over us and murmured, “You poor little things.”

Katie said that the room was too hot and the perfume stuck to her clothes. She said Mommy wouldn’t have liked it at all…and I agreed.

I saw Joy at the funeral, sitting by herself.

Weeks went by, and I was still holding my Jenny’s clothes up to my face at night to smell them. My daughter was still screaming whenever we came within the vicinity of Wal-Mart. I went back to work after leaving my crying, clinging daughter with a sitter. At night, I scorched dinners and left iron-shaped marks on the clothes. By the time school started, Katie and I were exhausted.

The first morning, I helped her pack her backpack, made a peanut butter sandwich (cut diagonally because that’s how Mommy did it), and helped her double-knot her sneakers. But when it came to her hair, that lovely mass of black curls, I was hopeless. I could see her disappointment as I did the best I could. Jenny could work wonders with it. When Katie had started second grade last year, Jenny had done up her hair in braids. I didn’t have the slightest idea how to do a braid.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered as I kissed the back of her head. She shrugged, trying to look brave for the old dad. I placed my hands on her shoulders as I heard the doorbell ring.

“Joy!” I said in surprise as I opened the door.

“Hi John,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry to intrude. I just…I thought Katie might like some help getting ready for her first day of school.”

I honestly had to fight back tears as I nodded. She slipped in quietly, squeezing my arm as she made her way to Katie’s room. Katie was overjoyed to see her. I watched her hands shake slightly as she touched Katie’s hair. She closed her eyes as she ran her fingers through it, a smile crossing her features.

“Now,” she instructed. “Separate the hair into three parts and just go back and forth, overlapping each other…see?”

I leaned in and watched carefully as she skillfully weaved the long hair into a beautiful braid.

“Good?” she asked, holding up a mirror in the back so Katie could see.

Katie gazed up at her with adoration. “Just like Mommy.”

Joy put her arms around Katie and gave her a squeeze. “Have a good day, honey.”

When she was done, I walked with her to the door. “I can come,” she said. “In the morning, if you want, until you get the hang of it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, smiling.

“Joy?” I called after she left. “What made you come?”

Her face was full of peace. “Because wherever Jenny is, she’s taking care of my baby, too.”

Written by Beth Blake

Beth won FIRST PLACE for this short story that was submitted to a contest at WOW-Women on Writing in 2009!  WOW-Women on Writing is a great resource website for all women who want to connect with other women authors. The site includes writer blogs, resources and articles, how to lessons, contests, classes, and more. I fully recommend this website! And, on a side note, I would like to say that the webmaster for this site is my best friend, a man who also helped build MY website! He is in the process of doing his own website and offering hosting services for new businesses or anyone who is interested in changing their hosting services.

To learn more about Beth Blake click HERE!

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Inspirational Lessons: Who You Are Makes a Difference!

Tuesday, August 3rd, 2010

A teacher in New York decided to honor each of her seniors in high school by telling them the difference they each made. She called each student to the front of the class, one at a time.

First, she told each of them how they made a difference to her and the class. Then she presented each of them with a blue ribbon imprinted with gold letters which read, “Who I Am Makes a Difference.” After wards, the teacher decided to do a class project to see what kind of impact recognition would have on a community. She gave each of the students three more ribbons and instructed them to go out and spread this acknowledgment ceremony. Then they were to follow up on the results, see who honored whom and report back to the class in about a week. One of the boys in the class went to a junior executive in a nearby company and honored him for helping him with his career planning. He gave him a blue ribbon and put it on his shirt. Then he gave him two extra ribbons and said, “We’re doing a class project on recognition, and we’d like you to go out, find somebody to honor, give them a blue ribbon, then give them the extra blue ribbon so they can acknowledge a third person to keep this acknowledgment ceremony going. Then please report back to me and tell me what happened.

Later that day the junior executive went in to see his boss, who had been noted, by the way, as being kind of a grouchy fellow. He sat his boss down and he told him that he deeply admired him for being a creative genius. The boss seemed very surprised. The junior executive asked him if he would accept the gift of the blue ribbon and would he give him permission to put it on him. His surprised boss said, “Well, sure.” The junior executive took the blue ribbon and placed it right on his boss’s jacket above his heart.

As he gave him the last extra ribbon, he said, “Would you do me a favor? Would you take this extra ribbon and pass it on by honoring somebody else? The young boy who first gave me the ribbons, is doing a project in school and we want to keep this recognition ceremony going and find out how it effects people.

That night the boss came home to his 14-year-old son and sat him down. He said, “the most incredible thing happened to me today. I was in my office and one of the junior executives came in and told me he admired me and gave me a blue ribbon for being a creative genius. Imagine. He think I’m a creative genius. Then he put this blue ribbon that says, ‘Who I Am Makes a Difference’ on my jacket above my heart. He gave me an extra ribbon and asked me to find somebody else to honor. As I was driving home tonight, I started thinking about whom I would honor with this ribbon and I thought about you. I want to honor you. My days are really hectic and when I come home I don’t pay a lot of attention to you. Sometimes I scream at you for not getting good enough grades in school and for your bedroom being a mess, but somehow tonight, I just wanted to sit here and, well, just let you know that you do make a difference to me. Besides your mother, you are the most important person in my life. You’re a great kid and I love you!”

The started boy started to sob and sob, and he couldn’t stop crying. His whole body shook. He looked up at his father and said through his tears, “I was planning on committing suicide tomorrow, Dad, because I didn’t think you loved me. Now I know you care. This is the happiest day I’ve known.”

The boss went back to work a changed man. He was no longer a grouch but made sure to let all his employees know that they made a difference. The junior executive helped several other people with career planning and never forgot to let them know that they made a difference in his life…one being the bosses’ son.

And the young boy and his classmates learned a valuable lesson. Who you are DOES make a difference.  If you know anyone who makes a difference for you, let them know.  You never know what kind of difference a little encouragement can make to a person.

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Inspirational Stories: Shmily

Monday, July 19th, 2010

My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word “shmily” in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving “shmily” around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.

They dragged “shmily” with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal.

They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring.

“Shmily” was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave “shmily” on the very last sheet.

There was no end to the places “shmily” would pop up. Little notes with “shmily” was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. The mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparent’s house as the furniture.

It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparent’s game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love, one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparent’s relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection, which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other’s sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew “how to pick ‘em”. Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other. But there was a dark cloud in my grandparent’s life: my grandmother had breast cancer.

The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with hr every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.

Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather’s steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore.

For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.

“Shmily.” It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother’s funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother’s casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her.

Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn’t begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.

S-h-m-i-l-y = See How Much I Love You

By Laura Jeanne Allen

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Inspirational Stories: The Yellow Shirt!

Saturday, July 17th, 2010

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.

“You’re not taking that old thing, are you?” Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. “I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!”

“It’s just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!” I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object.

The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I  missed mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois. But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her “real” gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad’s to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we un-crated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!

And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad’s mattress. I don’t know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.

In 1975, my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, “So use every piece of God’s armor to resist the enemy whenever he attaches, and when it is all over, you will be standing up.”

I tried to picture myself wearing God’s armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn’t my mother’s love a piece of God’s armor? My courage was renewed.

Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later, I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast were the words, “I BELONG TO PAT.” Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, “I BELONG TO PAT’S MOTHER.”

But I didn’t stop there. I zigzagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official-looking letter from “The Institute for the Destitute,” announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom’s face when she opened the box.

But, of course, she never mentioned it. Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend’s garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: “Read John 14: 27-29. I love you both, Mother.” That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: “I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace thee world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.”

The shirt was Mother’s final gift. she had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig’s disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.

I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I’m glad I didn’t, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

- Source Unknown

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