Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought, as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face -- lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning." He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. No one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.
"No, thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."
I told him he was welcome to come again. And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up to do this for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.
Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice, but oh, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him, from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Translated into Vietnamese version
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Old Fisherman
Sunday, March 30, 2008
All I Want For Christmas....
Jessica Ellenhart was only six years old that late November morning --- the day she went to see Santa Claus. She had recently moved from the small town of Willington in Upstate New York, where her cat would chase mice around her basement, to Orlando, Florida, where mice, of course, were praised for another reason.
To the commoner, a young child living in the land of dreams and the innocence surrounding Walt Disney World, it would have seemed as though a girl, like Jessica, would be in Heaven. Jessica, however, was very unhappy. She missed her Grandma.
Two weeks before her family had moved to Florida, Jessica’s Grandmother, Ruthie, passed away. Ruthie had been a simple woman, but she was someone to whom Jessica turned for sugar cookies and hugs, laughter and love. Now, although one thousand miles away from New York, it seemed as though she was a million miles from the place she longed to be --- near her Grandmother, yet again.
While families were joining together for the Thanksgiving holiday, Jessica and her parents were finishing their unpacking from the move. There was no turkey, no stuffing, no pumpkin pie, and very little time for laughter and family. Delores, Jessica’s Mother, was slated to begin her job as a stock broker the following Monday; therefore, everything along the lies of turning their simple two bedroom apartment into a home needed to be rushed to fruition.
Having planned no Thanksgiving dinner, Delores decided to order sandwiches from the local sub shop and she invited her daughter to accompany her on the trip to pick them. The sub shop was adjacent to the local shopping mall and outside the entrance, there was a long line. The line to visit the Mall Santa had grown beyond what the Mall’s enclosure could handle. Like any child, Jessica pleaded to see Santa and despite the line and her need to do other things, Delores, like any Mother, granted her daughter’s request.
Nearly two hours passed before Jessica arrived to the front of the line; yet, her time in line had allowed for much thought in regards to what she wanted for Christmas. When she was finally seated on Santa’s lap, no one believed what she had to say. Santa asked the little girl for her Christmas wish and Jessica said, “I want to see my Grandma.”
As Delores and Jessica traveled back to their home with their Thanksgiving sandwiches, Delores was stunned by her daughter's request and worried that Jessica would be disappointed that Christmas. After all, despite how much we might miss our loved ones, we will not see them again until we enter Heaven --- something that, for Jessica, was many years away. It had been quite obvious that Jessica had wanted her Christmas wish to be true, sooner rather than later. Santa had promised Jessica that he would do his best and Delores, deep in her heart, hoped he could provide this miracle for her precious little one.
A month of prayers and wishes passed and when Christmas morning arrived, a sleepy Jessica sat in front of her Christmas tree, tearing into box after box with no sign of her Grandmother. By 8 o’clock Christmas morning, it looked as though Santa had been unable to grant her special wish. Then, Jessica opened her last package.
The package was a simple box, wrapped in gold-colored paper with a bow as white as an angel’s wings. When Jessica looked inside the box, she saw her Grandmother, in the form of a five-by-seven inch photograph. Jessica held the picture close to her heart and then, noticed a note that had been placed beneath it. The note read:
“Jessie, my sweetheart....
I love you, though I’m far away
My heart is with you, every day
I send this hug with arms unfurled
You are my special little girl.”
Love,
Grandma
From that moment forward, Jessica Ellenhart was no longer sad. She realized that not only was her Grandmother always by her side, even if only in spirit, she also knew deep in her heart that the treasures for which we yearn most will come true, if only we believe.
Translated into Vietnamese version.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Painting
Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. The widowed, elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.
As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season, a season that he and his son had so looked forward to, would visit his house no longer.
On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door,he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, "I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you."
As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his, not to mention his father's, love of fine art. "I'm an artist," said the soldier, "and I want to give you this." As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail.
Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars of paintings. Then, the man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.
During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy's life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamored. He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received.
The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation! Unmindful of the story of the man's only son, but in his honor; those paintings would be sold at an auction.
According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day, the day he had received his greatest gift. The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim "I have the greatest collection." The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and go on to the good stuff." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now, who will take the son?"
Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. "Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy, so I'd like to have it." I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" called the auctioneer. After more silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice. Gone." The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and bid on these treasures!" The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over.
Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! I demand that you explain what's going on here!" The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son ... gets it all."
Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? Just as those art collectors discovered on that Christmas day, the message is still the same-the love of a Father, a Father whose greatest joy came from His Son who went away and gave His life rescuing others. And because of that Father's love, wow gold kaufenwhoever takes the Son gets it all.
Translated into Vietnamese version
Monday, March 24, 2008
Why Buy Trouble?
One day Mullah Nasruddin was inconsolably crying. His neighbours and friends gathered around and asked why Nasruddin grimly replied, "My uncle has passed away. A friend asked, "Was he very close and dear to you?"
Nasruddin replied, "Not very close. I have seen him during childhood. But he has left one lakh rupees for me." The friends were surprised, "Why are you crying for a distant uncle, more so when he has left so much money?" Nasruddin replied, "I am not crying for him. Another uncle of mine died yesterday ."
A neighbour asked, "Oh! He must be very close to you. Never mind, after all everybody has to die…." Nasruddin interrupted, "I am not crying for him. He has also left one lakh rupees for me." The surprised friends asked, "Then what makes you cry?" Nasruddin said, "Another uncle of mine died day before yesterday He has also left one lakh rupees for me."
The friends rebuked, "Today you are richer by three lakh rupees by the death of three distant uncles. Instead of crying you should rejoice."
Nasruddin grimly replied, "How can I rejoice? I am crying because I do not have any other uncle to die and give me one lakh rupees more."
We all make ourselves unhappy like Nasruddin over what we have not got or cannot get, instead of being happy over what we have got. In life we get certain things and do not get certain things. We have precious life, loving relations, air, water, flowers, green grass and blue skies to make us happy . All nature is busy giving us pleasure. But we have no time to accept it.
We are too busy in counting what we have not got: a bigger house, better car, power and position and so on. We forget that someday in the near future we have to leave everything for our eternal abode.
Life is too short to be possessed by these transitory possessions. Since life is in motion we cannot remain happy with anything for long. So why pine for them?
Translated into Vietnamese version
Friday, March 21, 2008
A Teacher's Lesson
There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.
But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to be around."
His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."
His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."
Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class."
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag.
Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children..
Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one her "teacher's pets."
A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter came.. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer -- the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.
They hugged each, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."
Translated into Vietnamese version.