Regardless the holiday name,
Inclusive of the reason,
Wishing you Light, Love and Joy
This holiday season!!!
See November posts for Christmas stories --->
- ESA
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Christmas Dragon (Story)
© 1993, 1996, 2003, 2008
Who knows the story of the Epiphany? You know, the story of the magi who trekked across the vast, dry desert to bring gifts to the infant Jesus? And we remember the three gifts they brought – gold, frankincense and myrrh. But what if I told you those were NOT the three gifts they bore with them when they started out on their long journey across the sands…
This is the story about the gift of gold that was presented to the newborn Christ.
* * *
Our story begins way back in a time when dragons still freely roamed throughout lands and flew in the skies over Eastern Europe. There was a small village nestled on the banks of a small river at the bottom of a deep valley. The river’s source was this large, clear lake higher in the mountains where a natural dike held back the water and let only a small amount trickle gently down into the valley below.
On this particular day, a young – and rather bored – blue dragon was bent on mischief. He decided to tear down the dike to see how many villagers could scramble out of the path of the impending flash-flood – much like a child who dams a curbside rivulet and then removes the twigs and mud to see how many ants would be swept away.
Unknown to the blue dragon, there was an older golden dragon higher on the mountaintop observing him. The young dragon latched onto the dike with his claws and pulled away large chunks of earth, opening the way to the rush of water.
The older dragon sadly shook his huge scaled head, opened his golden wings to the bright afternoon sunlight and dove into crisp mountain air. Within a heartbeat, he was atop a small hill that rose beside the river above the village. Two graceful bounds brought him to the foot of the hill opposite the river, where the dragon planted his foreclaws into the hillside. He began to push the whole hill toward the river. The river waters started to gurgle louder as the surface quickly reached the limits of the river’s banks. The hill would not budge; even for a mighty dragon, this was an unlikely feat of strength. A dull roar thundered up the valley – growing louder by the second. The dragon strained all the muscles in his body as he tried to will the stone beneath the dirt and tree-cover to move.
His sharp hearing then caught the terrified shouts and cries from the village downriver. The golden dragon cast his eyes heavenward in a silent plea. At once, strength beyond his experience filled his muscles, and with a desperate roar tearing from his throat, he cracked the bedrock and thrust the small hill into the river’s path below. A large crash thundered along the valley as dirt, rock and tree tumbled into the churning brown water below. Moments later a deafening roar reverberated up the valley as the main body of the flash flood collided with the newly-made dam.
The sudden strength quickly left the golden dragon as he unfurled his wings to take flight. Leaping into the air, he spied the young blue dragon hurtling toward him, seething in anger.
“Why have you done this?” the blue dragon roared, flinging a claw in the direction of the water rising safely behind the new dam.
The golden dragon sighed. He looked at the younger dragon with pity in his great golden orbs and replied, “If you truly wish to know, follow me.”
With a majestic sweep of his wings, the late afternoon sunlight sparkling golden on his sides, the older dragon flew gracefully toward a ledge high on a mountaintop.
Perplexed, the younger dragon followed silently behind him.
At the ledge, the golden dragon perched on the bare rocks and surveyed the valley and village far below. When the blue dragon landed lightly beside him, the older dragon turned his golden gaze to him and said, “Furl your wings and listen to my tale.”
+++ +++ +++
“When I was a young dragon, centuries ago, I lived in the desert far southeast from here. One night, I awoke to discover this brilliant light shinning down into the cave I used as my weir. Moving to the cave’s entrance, I discovered the most remarkable stellar light shining down from the heavens. Curious, as I was in those days, I spread my wings and flew out into the clear star-speckled desert sky.
“During this flight, I witnessed a small band of travelers crossing the desert sands. They kept glancing skyward. At first, I believed they heard the wind from my wings, but they always looked toward the same bright star; a star that even outshone the moon’s glow.
“Careful not to be seen, I swept closer to observe them better. These were men, wealthy by their standards, and far from home by their appearance and dress. They plodded along on their camels, sure in their path across the dry land.
“My curiosity rose a notch and keeping downwind of their mounts, I landed and quietly approached them. ‘Where are you heading so far from your home?’ I asked them in what I hoped was their language.
“Recognition lit in their eyes at hearing my words, though they and their camels shied away from my luminous gaze. ‘We are going to see the king whose star we have seen in the far east,’ one replied, sweeping his arm toward the bright star.
“‘We are bringing gifts to present to him,’ another added as he gestured to the parcels tied to their mounts. My nose detected the frankincense and myrrh, and I could see the shapes of scrolls and books.
“This perplexed me somewhat. ‘Why would you travel so far from home, through cold desert nights and dry desert days on such a long journey to give away your treasures to a newborn child? What will you get in return?’
“This question seemed to puzzle them and they spoke briefly among themselves. Then one turned back to me and replied, ‘These are gifts, not trade goods; we expect nothing in return.’
“‘Nothing!?!’ said I. ‘After you spend all your time, resources and efforts to trek across the desert with treasures to give to a babe you’ve never seen? You expect NOTHING in return?’
“Another of the men paused in thought a moment, perhaps trying to understand my perspective. At last he answered, ‘We may receive the new king’s blessings, His Grace.’
“‘Grace?’ I felt my eyes sparkle in sheer curiosity at this. ‘What is Grace?’
“‘It is the greatest treasure of all,’ came the reply.
“I pondered these words for several moments, my tail trashing through the dry air as it does when I’m deep in new thoughts. Then I wanted to confirm my thoughts. I said to them, ‘Let me see if I understand you. If you give your treasures to this newborn king – the one whose star you follow – he will give you this Grace?’
“‘We believe it to be so,’ one stated as the others nodded in agreement.
“I considered this a moment more and asked, ‘If I too part with my treasure and give it to this child king, could I also receive this Grace?’
“The men paused again to confer among themselves and one replied, ‘We believe there is that possibility as well, though we never considered it a gift your kind ever needed, noble dragon.’
“I rose up on my haunches and responded, ‘If this Grace is truly the greatest gift of all, it is something my kind would also desire to posses. I unfurled my wings ready to take flight and asked, ‘Where can I find this newborn king?’
“One pointed skyward and instructed, ‘Follow the brightest star until it shines straight down upon the dwelling where He is. The child will be found inside.’
“I thanked them and permitted the men and the camels to continue on their journey. When they were a safe distance, I leapt into the star-filled sky. In a few wingstrokes, I was back at my weir where I gathered all the gold I possessed. For surely if this Grace was indeed the greatest treasure of them all, it was worth all that I possessed. With my young arms so burdened, I launched myself skyward. Quickly I overtook the men and their slow-moving camels and continued toward our mutual destination far ahead of them.
“Checking the star’s location often, I found myself approaching a small walled town the humans called Bethlehem. But as I started to descend toward the town, the brilliant starlight sparkled like diamonds along my golden hide. The soldiers on the wall saw my descent and shouted the alarm. As spears, rocks and arrows began to hurtle toward me, I dodged and maneuvered around the missiles. All too quickly, it became obvious that I would have to leave or slaughter the city’s defenders. I decided this quest was not worth the fight. Perhaps this new king did not want dragonkind to have this Grace, I thought sadly.
“As I arced over the town to return to the desert, I felt a gentle tug at the fabric of my very inner self. The newborn king knew I was there. But I could not present my own gifts to Him. I sadly shook my head and winged away from the soldiers and their walled town of Bethlehem.
“Soon I met with the foreign men still out in the desert. I lightly landed downwind of them once again and approached them with the gold still heaped in my arms. As I related to them what transpired at Bethlehem, I did not tell them about that strange tug to my inner self or the growing warmth of Love and understanding that seemed affixed deep within me. I did not yet know what this new sensation was.
“At the conclusion of my tale, I placed the gold before the men and requested, ‘Take this gold to the newborn king and tell him it’s my gift to Him.’
“The men fell silent and exchanged glances. One was brave enough to ask, ‘And you seek nothing in return?’
“I shook my head, yearning to depart from them for this strange feeling deep inside me needed quiet contemplation.
“The men looked at the heaps of gold on the ground and at their well-burdened camels. At last, an idea bloomed in the mind of one. ‘Wait yet a moment more, noble dragon. For we can not take all our gifts AND your gift of gold with only the mounts we have. Let me give you my gift to take home with you.’ The man that spoke rapidly emptied his parcels of the scrolls and bound books of wisdom and refilled the sacks with my gift. ‘I will tell the newborn king this is your gift. This,’ he gestured toward the small mountain of knowledge, ‘is my gift to dragonkind.’
“This man knew our kind well, for we forever seek to gain knowledge and wisdom, but I did not understand why he was giving it as a gift. I asked, ‘What do you want in exchange for this knowledge given to my kind?’
“He replied, ‘The same I expected from the newborn king, nothing; it is a gift.’
“‘What about His Grace?’ I asked.
“The man climbed up onto his camel and urged it to rise. Then he met my eyes, and I saw the wisdom that filled his own. After a moment of silence, he replied, ‘I believe we have both already received that gift from the newborn king.’
“I sat in the open desert for a long time after that, watching the men follow the brilliant star toward Bethlehem. That new feeling deep inside me never left and is still with me today.”
+++ +++ +++
When the golden dragon had finished his remarkable story, the blue dragon cocked his head in interest. “So then you received this gift of Grace?”
The golden dragon nodded elegantly. “You have seen it within my actions today.”
“What about the books and scrolls of wisdom?” asked the blue dragon skeptically. Then he paused and his cobalt eyes widened in sudden recognition. “You’re Him! You’re the one who brought wisdom and knowledge to all dragonkind!”
“Yes, but I also brought a far greater gift to our kind as well,” responded the golden dragon quietly.
“What?”
“His Grace.”
The expression on the blue dragon’s face showed a blend of skepticism and curiosity. “You can share that gift with others? How could I get some? Where do I have to go for it?”
The golden dragon raised his head to peer wistfully at the first evening star shining on the eastern horizon. “You must be willing to give up what you treasure to find the greatest treasure of all. Then look deep within yourself. When you are ready to receive it, it will be there.”
The young blue dragon peered at the evening star and with a sigh turned to the golden dragon. “But this newborn king you knew is no longer in this world. It was so long ago and humans do not live as long as our kind. How am I to receive His Grace then?”
The golden dragon looked down at the blue dragon and smiled a broad draconic smile, his golden eyes sparkling with an inner Joy. “Oh, that King still lives. That was only the very beginning of His story. Do as I say and you too will find Him and His Grace.”
* * *
Thus concludes the story of the Christmas Dragon and his gift of gold to the newborn Christ.
- ESA
Who knows the story of the Epiphany? You know, the story of the magi who trekked across the vast, dry desert to bring gifts to the infant Jesus? And we remember the three gifts they brought – gold, frankincense and myrrh. But what if I told you those were NOT the three gifts they bore with them when they started out on their long journey across the sands…
This is the story about the gift of gold that was presented to the newborn Christ.
* * *
Our story begins way back in a time when dragons still freely roamed throughout lands and flew in the skies over Eastern Europe. There was a small village nestled on the banks of a small river at the bottom of a deep valley. The river’s source was this large, clear lake higher in the mountains where a natural dike held back the water and let only a small amount trickle gently down into the valley below.
On this particular day, a young – and rather bored – blue dragon was bent on mischief. He decided to tear down the dike to see how many villagers could scramble out of the path of the impending flash-flood – much like a child who dams a curbside rivulet and then removes the twigs and mud to see how many ants would be swept away.
Unknown to the blue dragon, there was an older golden dragon higher on the mountaintop observing him. The young dragon latched onto the dike with his claws and pulled away large chunks of earth, opening the way to the rush of water.
The older dragon sadly shook his huge scaled head, opened his golden wings to the bright afternoon sunlight and dove into crisp mountain air. Within a heartbeat, he was atop a small hill that rose beside the river above the village. Two graceful bounds brought him to the foot of the hill opposite the river, where the dragon planted his foreclaws into the hillside. He began to push the whole hill toward the river. The river waters started to gurgle louder as the surface quickly reached the limits of the river’s banks. The hill would not budge; even for a mighty dragon, this was an unlikely feat of strength. A dull roar thundered up the valley – growing louder by the second. The dragon strained all the muscles in his body as he tried to will the stone beneath the dirt and tree-cover to move.
His sharp hearing then caught the terrified shouts and cries from the village downriver. The golden dragon cast his eyes heavenward in a silent plea. At once, strength beyond his experience filled his muscles, and with a desperate roar tearing from his throat, he cracked the bedrock and thrust the small hill into the river’s path below. A large crash thundered along the valley as dirt, rock and tree tumbled into the churning brown water below. Moments later a deafening roar reverberated up the valley as the main body of the flash flood collided with the newly-made dam.
The sudden strength quickly left the golden dragon as he unfurled his wings to take flight. Leaping into the air, he spied the young blue dragon hurtling toward him, seething in anger.
“Why have you done this?” the blue dragon roared, flinging a claw in the direction of the water rising safely behind the new dam.
The golden dragon sighed. He looked at the younger dragon with pity in his great golden orbs and replied, “If you truly wish to know, follow me.”
With a majestic sweep of his wings, the late afternoon sunlight sparkling golden on his sides, the older dragon flew gracefully toward a ledge high on a mountaintop.
Perplexed, the younger dragon followed silently behind him.
At the ledge, the golden dragon perched on the bare rocks and surveyed the valley and village far below. When the blue dragon landed lightly beside him, the older dragon turned his golden gaze to him and said, “Furl your wings and listen to my tale.”
+++ +++ +++
“When I was a young dragon, centuries ago, I lived in the desert far southeast from here. One night, I awoke to discover this brilliant light shinning down into the cave I used as my weir. Moving to the cave’s entrance, I discovered the most remarkable stellar light shining down from the heavens. Curious, as I was in those days, I spread my wings and flew out into the clear star-speckled desert sky.
“During this flight, I witnessed a small band of travelers crossing the desert sands. They kept glancing skyward. At first, I believed they heard the wind from my wings, but they always looked toward the same bright star; a star that even outshone the moon’s glow.
“Careful not to be seen, I swept closer to observe them better. These were men, wealthy by their standards, and far from home by their appearance and dress. They plodded along on their camels, sure in their path across the dry land.
“My curiosity rose a notch and keeping downwind of their mounts, I landed and quietly approached them. ‘Where are you heading so far from your home?’ I asked them in what I hoped was their language.
“Recognition lit in their eyes at hearing my words, though they and their camels shied away from my luminous gaze. ‘We are going to see the king whose star we have seen in the far east,’ one replied, sweeping his arm toward the bright star.
“‘We are bringing gifts to present to him,’ another added as he gestured to the parcels tied to their mounts. My nose detected the frankincense and myrrh, and I could see the shapes of scrolls and books.
“This perplexed me somewhat. ‘Why would you travel so far from home, through cold desert nights and dry desert days on such a long journey to give away your treasures to a newborn child? What will you get in return?’
“This question seemed to puzzle them and they spoke briefly among themselves. Then one turned back to me and replied, ‘These are gifts, not trade goods; we expect nothing in return.’
“‘Nothing!?!’ said I. ‘After you spend all your time, resources and efforts to trek across the desert with treasures to give to a babe you’ve never seen? You expect NOTHING in return?’
“Another of the men paused in thought a moment, perhaps trying to understand my perspective. At last he answered, ‘We may receive the new king’s blessings, His Grace.’
“‘Grace?’ I felt my eyes sparkle in sheer curiosity at this. ‘What is Grace?’
“‘It is the greatest treasure of all,’ came the reply.
“I pondered these words for several moments, my tail trashing through the dry air as it does when I’m deep in new thoughts. Then I wanted to confirm my thoughts. I said to them, ‘Let me see if I understand you. If you give your treasures to this newborn king – the one whose star you follow – he will give you this Grace?’
“‘We believe it to be so,’ one stated as the others nodded in agreement.
“I considered this a moment more and asked, ‘If I too part with my treasure and give it to this child king, could I also receive this Grace?’
“The men paused again to confer among themselves and one replied, ‘We believe there is that possibility as well, though we never considered it a gift your kind ever needed, noble dragon.’
“I rose up on my haunches and responded, ‘If this Grace is truly the greatest gift of all, it is something my kind would also desire to posses. I unfurled my wings ready to take flight and asked, ‘Where can I find this newborn king?’
“One pointed skyward and instructed, ‘Follow the brightest star until it shines straight down upon the dwelling where He is. The child will be found inside.’
“I thanked them and permitted the men and the camels to continue on their journey. When they were a safe distance, I leapt into the star-filled sky. In a few wingstrokes, I was back at my weir where I gathered all the gold I possessed. For surely if this Grace was indeed the greatest treasure of them all, it was worth all that I possessed. With my young arms so burdened, I launched myself skyward. Quickly I overtook the men and their slow-moving camels and continued toward our mutual destination far ahead of them.
“Checking the star’s location often, I found myself approaching a small walled town the humans called Bethlehem. But as I started to descend toward the town, the brilliant starlight sparkled like diamonds along my golden hide. The soldiers on the wall saw my descent and shouted the alarm. As spears, rocks and arrows began to hurtle toward me, I dodged and maneuvered around the missiles. All too quickly, it became obvious that I would have to leave or slaughter the city’s defenders. I decided this quest was not worth the fight. Perhaps this new king did not want dragonkind to have this Grace, I thought sadly.
“As I arced over the town to return to the desert, I felt a gentle tug at the fabric of my very inner self. The newborn king knew I was there. But I could not present my own gifts to Him. I sadly shook my head and winged away from the soldiers and their walled town of Bethlehem.
“Soon I met with the foreign men still out in the desert. I lightly landed downwind of them once again and approached them with the gold still heaped in my arms. As I related to them what transpired at Bethlehem, I did not tell them about that strange tug to my inner self or the growing warmth of Love and understanding that seemed affixed deep within me. I did not yet know what this new sensation was.
“At the conclusion of my tale, I placed the gold before the men and requested, ‘Take this gold to the newborn king and tell him it’s my gift to Him.’
“The men fell silent and exchanged glances. One was brave enough to ask, ‘And you seek nothing in return?’
“I shook my head, yearning to depart from them for this strange feeling deep inside me needed quiet contemplation.
“The men looked at the heaps of gold on the ground and at their well-burdened camels. At last, an idea bloomed in the mind of one. ‘Wait yet a moment more, noble dragon. For we can not take all our gifts AND your gift of gold with only the mounts we have. Let me give you my gift to take home with you.’ The man that spoke rapidly emptied his parcels of the scrolls and bound books of wisdom and refilled the sacks with my gift. ‘I will tell the newborn king this is your gift. This,’ he gestured toward the small mountain of knowledge, ‘is my gift to dragonkind.’
“This man knew our kind well, for we forever seek to gain knowledge and wisdom, but I did not understand why he was giving it as a gift. I asked, ‘What do you want in exchange for this knowledge given to my kind?’
“He replied, ‘The same I expected from the newborn king, nothing; it is a gift.’
“‘What about His Grace?’ I asked.
“The man climbed up onto his camel and urged it to rise. Then he met my eyes, and I saw the wisdom that filled his own. After a moment of silence, he replied, ‘I believe we have both already received that gift from the newborn king.’
“I sat in the open desert for a long time after that, watching the men follow the brilliant star toward Bethlehem. That new feeling deep inside me never left and is still with me today.”
+++ +++ +++
When the golden dragon had finished his remarkable story, the blue dragon cocked his head in interest. “So then you received this gift of Grace?”
The golden dragon nodded elegantly. “You have seen it within my actions today.”
“What about the books and scrolls of wisdom?” asked the blue dragon skeptically. Then he paused and his cobalt eyes widened in sudden recognition. “You’re Him! You’re the one who brought wisdom and knowledge to all dragonkind!”
“Yes, but I also brought a far greater gift to our kind as well,” responded the golden dragon quietly.
“What?”
“His Grace.”
The expression on the blue dragon’s face showed a blend of skepticism and curiosity. “You can share that gift with others? How could I get some? Where do I have to go for it?”
The golden dragon raised his head to peer wistfully at the first evening star shining on the eastern horizon. “You must be willing to give up what you treasure to find the greatest treasure of all. Then look deep within yourself. When you are ready to receive it, it will be there.”
The young blue dragon peered at the evening star and with a sigh turned to the golden dragon. “But this newborn king you knew is no longer in this world. It was so long ago and humans do not live as long as our kind. How am I to receive His Grace then?”
The golden dragon looked down at the blue dragon and smiled a broad draconic smile, his golden eyes sparkling with an inner Joy. “Oh, that King still lives. That was only the very beginning of His story. Do as I say and you too will find Him and His Grace.”
* * *
Thus concludes the story of the Christmas Dragon and his gift of gold to the newborn Christ.
- ESA
Saturday, November 29, 2008
The Reindeer Tale (Story)
(c) 1995, 2008
* * *
The tolling bells chimed from the church in town, proclaiming the start of Christmas morning.
When the last sound of the bells faded beyond the rolling hills, Joey slid out from under his covers. Peter was already out of his bunk and pulling on his boots. Both had worn their jeans and sweaters to bed, ready for their adventure. They fluffed pillows and pulled the covers over them to make it look as if they were still in bed.
Within a few moments, both were bundled up and out the back door with flashlights in hand. As they trudged through the ice-crusted snow to their rendezvous spot, they could make out the brilliant circles of light from Mary and Matt’s flashlights.
All four children had dressed warmly, leaving only their eyes exposed to the biting wind. “Where to now?” Matt asked.
“Let’s go deeper into the woods,” Joey suggested as he led the way with his flashlight.
The children had not gone far when they heard voices in the darkness ahead of them. “Hey! Watch those lights. It’s killing our night vision.” A few eyes glittered in the light from Joey’s flashlight.
The other children pointed their flashlights in that direction and saw a herd of deer grazing. The does nervously moved behind the buck. And the buck lowered his head menacingly at the children, dark-tipped antlers coming within inches of their flashlights. “Again, would you get the light out of our eyes?”
The children obediently lowered their flashlights. The snow on the ground softly reflected the light, enough to make out shapes in the darkness.
“Thank you, children,” said the buck as he continued to graze on the low-hanging tree branches.
The children exchanged wide-eyed looks as their mouths hung agape behind their scarves.
Mary was the first to speak, “You... you can talk.”
“Of course we can, child,” one doe replied. “We always could. You just can’t understand us until these first hours of Christmas.”
“How come Santa’s reindeer can talk all year round, and you can only be heard now?” Peter asked.
“Saint Nicholas’ reindeer are special,” the doe explained.
“It’s a good story,” the buck added.
“Let me tell it. Let me tell it,” another doe pleaded. The buck nodded elegantly and the doe began….
+++ +++ +++
“Many years ago, somewhere in Europe -- I forget where -- there was a herd of reindeer living in the woods just beyond a small village. One day, the herd discovered an abandoned fawn. It was a miracle that he was found so easily, for his coat was as white as the pure snow he burrowed himself into. With the newborn stag’s parents nowhere to be found, the herd decided to adopt him.
“It was strange that one so young was found early in the winter -- Christmas morning in fact. But there were does in the herd who were heavy with unborn fawns and able to give the newborn stag the milk he needed. And on cold winter nights, the herd curled around the young one, to shelter him and keep him warm.
“Near the end of winter, the wolves came down from the mountains, as they did each bad winter. The bucks and does taught the young stag to keep downwind from the wolves. When the wolves finally scented the herd, though, several strong bucks kept to the rear of the herd, keeping the wolves away from the does and the young.
“The seasons turned, and the white stag was raised and well loved by all in the herd. But as he grew in size and strength, he never lost his white coat like the fawns lose their spots. In fact, his coat only seemed to grow more brilliant -- as if the moon had come to rest in his hide.
“One day in the fall, just as the young stag was getting the first of his antlers, something strange happened. There was a grizzly in the area who had gone mad with pain. A careless bow hunter had hit him, and left him suffering. He attacked any animal that came near him, and he suffered all the more when his movements made the shaft further open the wound.
Once the herd knew about the wounded grizzly, they ma
de sure to keep out of his way. But the young white stag went off on his own. He approached the grizzly slowly. The bear’s red-rimmed eyes spotted him and he bellowed a terrible growl. The stag stood still, letting his clear eyes gaze into those of the bear. The bear’s madness began to fade, then pass. The stag then brushed his muzzle against the bear’s wounded side. The shaft fell out and the wound healed.
“Just then, the herd found him and one of the does stepped forward carefully. ‘There you are, young one. Step away from that bear. Didn’t we tell you he had gone mad?’
“‘But he’s alright now,’ he argued. ‘Can you not see that?’
“With amazement, they realized that the bear was healed. Only a small scar remained where the wound had been. ‘Come with us now, young one,’ a buck said quietly. ‘We’re off to find winter grazing, and we don’t want you lost out here.’
“‘Yes, sir,’ the white stag replied and took his place in the herd.
“‘What were you thinking of?’ one of the does scolded. ‘We were worried about you.’
“‘I didn’t mean to worry you. I was only doing my father’s work.’
“The members of the herd exchanged puzzled looks. None knew what the young stag had meant.
“Late that winter, the wolves came again. The stag by then had been taught to defend the females and younger members of the herd. When the chase began and the wolves howled their joy in the hunt, he took his place at the rear. But when the wolves drew closer, he stopped and turned to face them.
“‘He’s going to get himself killed,’ an older buck said. He turned to defend the herd beside the white stag, antlers lowered.
“But the white stag held his head high. ‘Brothers,’ he called out to the wolves. ‘This herd is not yours to hunt.’
“The alpha-male wolf paused and called back across the snowy woodland, ‘Brother, we are hungry and meat is scarce. You have many fine members in your herd. It’s our right and nature’s way that we have at least the weakest from your herd.’
“‘It is your right to hunt, brother. But I have chosen this herd for a special purpose. You shall not hunt here.’
“The alpha-male thought the answer over and replied, ‘As you will. We shall hunt elsewhere.’
“When the young stag turned, he saw the questions in the eyes of his herdmates. ‘I shall leave you for a time,’ he said, ‘But I shall find you when you’re needed. I thank you for raising me.’ With a few bounds, he disappeared into the thickness of the woodland.
“It wasn’t until a few years later that the white stag returned. His coat still gleamed white, and a full set of antlers crowned his head. ‘There’s someone in the nearby village that needs your help,’ he said. ‘A man by the name of Nicholas Claus brings food and toys to the poor children. And each year his burden grows heavier.’
“Since it was Christmas Eve, the herd agreed to help Nicholas. But as they shyly approached his cabin at the edge of the village, they remembered that men couldn’t understand their speech. ‘Stall him until midnight,’ the white stag suggested, ‘and then you can explain your intentions.’
“And that is what they did. A few does lured away the mule that Nicholas used to help carry the food and toys. Some spread the toys around the yard, careful not to damage any. Another hid a sack behind the stable.
“Soon Nicholas and his wife were outside, trying to chase the reindeer off and collect the scattered items. ‘Isn’t it strange,’ Nicholas’ wife said, ‘that the reindeer don’t run away.’
“‘Look there, dear,’ Nicholas said as he pointed at the white stag. ‘That’s the one I said watched me last year.’
“For a few more hours, the couple chased the reindeer about the yard. It soon became a game, and they couldn’t help laughing at the reindeer’s antics. But then, the village church bells rang in Christmas. ‘Enough already!’ Nicholas said. ‘I need to get these gifts to the children.’
“‘We’re here to help you do that,’ one of the reindeer said.
“‘Well why didn’t you say so earlier instead of scattering these gifts?’
“‘Christmas morning, sir. We couldn’t be understood by you until then.’
“‘Oh-ho! That’s right. So what are we waiting for? Let’s get you loaded up. The lot of you will save me several trips back home this night.’
“‘Here, dear,’ his wife said as she dragged some bells from the storage shed. ‘If we put these on the reindeer, the children will hear you coming and know that you haven’t forgotten them.’
“‘Splendid idea!’ Soon the reindeer were loaded up with sacks of gifts piled high on their backs and bells strung about their necks. Nicholas stopped at many villages that night. And everywhere he went, he brought joy to the children. Many children were asleep by now. And they wouldn’t know that he came until the next morning when they saw the gifts he had left.
“The reindeer helped Nicholas through the night. They returned to Nicholas’ home just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the winter sky.
“The white stag waited with Nicholas’ wife and nodded proudly when the herd returned. ‘You’ve done well tonight. This day I will give you two gifts. First, the speech of this herd and its descendants will be understood year round. This way you can work with Nicholas throughout the year. Second, as Nicholas’ work grows to cover the entire world, you shall receive a second gift. Those of this herd shall receive the gift of flight to help bear the burden, but only during my hours -- between midnight and dawn on Christmas morning.’”
+++ +++ +++
“And that,” concluded the doe, “is the story of Saint Nicholas’ reindeer.”
The four children stood in awe, motionless in the soft glow reflected from the snow at their feet. At that moment, a faint silvery sound of jingle bells could be heard above the treetops. The children looked up. Even Joey’s eyes took on the well-known wistful look as he silently mouthed the word, “Santa.”
The buck smiled at the children, “We speak and they remain silent. Go back to your homes, little ones, you know how Saint Nicholas feels about children being awake.”
Matt was the first to recover, “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Deer, uhm, whatever your name is. Let’s go Mary.” He tugged on his sister’s sleeve until she followed him up the path back to their home.
“Yeah,” added Joey, “like he says.” He gave a curt nod in the direction of the deer. “Thanks.” He turned to start his brother moving but found that Peter was already trudging through the snow back toward their home.
When Joey caught up with Peter, he saw that his brother’s eyes sparkled in the reflected light of his flashlight. “Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?”
“To tell Mom and Dad what we just heard.”
“Are you NUTS!?!”
Peter stopped and turned to face his older brother. “No.”
“Well, you are if you tell them.” He rapped his mittened fist on his brother’s head for emphasis. “Remember we’re supposed to be asleep in our beds. If you tell them we’ll get into trouble, you moron!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter replied as he turned and started trudging up the path toward their back door. “Mom and Dad should hear the story too. Everyone should!”
- ESA
The cold, wet wind howled through the small Pennsylvania town, promising more snow. Joey peered down the road. There was still no sign of his mother. The snow-covered roads were slick, and the old station wagon barely ran in the cold weather. Joey tugged his knit skull cap down, keeping the wind off the back of his neck.
Peter, his little brother, stood beside him on the icy steps of the local school. Mary and Matt, their neighbors, waited with them for Joey’s mother to take them home. Peter was relating the story that his teacher told her class that day.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Joey said stubbornly. “Mrs. Maybel just tells you little kids things like that because they have nothing to teach just before Christmas break.”
Peter glared at his brother from between his scarf and knit hat. The bright blue pom-pom on top danced in the cold wind. “I think it’s true.”
“Me too!” Mary spoke up from under her scarf. She was in Peter’s class and usually sided with him in these arguments.
“I believe Joey,” Matt argued. “Who ever heard of animals talking on Christmas morning? It’s all make-believe. It’s just a story Mrs. Maybel made up.”
“Is not!” Peter shouted.
“Is so!” Matt and Joey countered.
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“NOT!”
“SO!”
“Here she comes,” Mary cried.
The sign that read, “Caution School Children,” crested the hill before the old, battered station wagon rose into view.
“I get shotgun,” Joey called.
“Not fair,” Peter whined, “You rode shotgun to school. It’s my turn.”
“Too late. I called it.”
“I want to ride shotgun,” Peter shouted as he shoved his brother.
Joey shoved him back, and Peter fell right into a snowbank. Mary helped him rise to his feet. But by then, Joey was in the front seat next to his mother. “Hurry up, Peter! I don’t want to miss the Power Rangers.”
Pouting, Peter climbed into the back seat and pulled the heavy door shut behind him.
“Don’t forget to buckle up, kids. The roads are pretty bad,” their mother called from the front seat. “So, kids, how was school today?” With a shudder, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.
Peter fumbled with the seatbelt for a few minutes. The padded mittens made it difficult. He tugged the scarf down away from his mouth and removed the mitten with his teeth. “Miffus Maybel thaid that animufs talk on Chrifmuth.”
“What was that, Peter dear?”
“Our teacher said that animals talk on Christmas morning,” Mary supplied.
“I told them it isn’t true,” Joey said, “It’s just make-believe.”
“Oh? How do you know?” his mother asked with a grin.
“Huh?”
“Well, you’re not outside early Christmas morning, are you? Maybe the animals do talk. And you just haven’t heard them.”
“It’s true?”
“I don’t know,” his mother said with a shrug, “I’m not outside early Christmas morning either. Maybe they do talk. Or maybe it is just a story.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Joey said stubbornly. “Mrs. Maybel just tells you little kids things like that because they have nothing to teach just before Christmas break.”
Peter glared at his brother from between his scarf and knit hat. The bright blue pom-pom on top danced in the cold wind. “I think it’s true.”
“Me too!” Mary spoke up from under her scarf. She was in Peter’s class and usually sided with him in these arguments.
“I believe Joey,” Matt argued. “Who ever heard of animals talking on Christmas morning? It’s all make-believe. It’s just a story Mrs. Maybel made up.”
“Is not!” Peter shouted.
“Is so!” Matt and Joey countered.
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“NOT!”
“SO!”
“Here she comes,” Mary cried.
The sign that read, “Caution School Children,” crested the hill before the old, battered station wagon rose into view.
“I get shotgun,” Joey called.
“Not fair,” Peter whined, “You rode shotgun to school. It’s my turn.”
“Too late. I called it.”
“I want to ride shotgun,” Peter shouted as he shoved his brother.
Joey shoved him back, and Peter fell right into a snowbank. Mary helped him rise to his feet. But by then, Joey was in the front seat next to his mother. “Hurry up, Peter! I don’t want to miss the Power Rangers.”
Pouting, Peter climbed into the back seat and pulled the heavy door shut behind him.
“Don’t forget to buckle up, kids. The roads are pretty bad,” their mother called from the front seat. “So, kids, how was school today?” With a shudder, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.
Peter fumbled with the seatbelt for a few minutes. The padded mittens made it difficult. He tugged the scarf down away from his mouth and removed the mitten with his teeth. “Miffus Maybel thaid that animufs talk on Chrifmuth.”
“What was that, Peter dear?”
“Our teacher said that animals talk on Christmas morning,” Mary supplied.
“I told them it isn’t true,” Joey said, “It’s just make-believe.”
“Oh? How do you know?” his mother asked with a grin.
“Huh?”
“Well, you’re not outside early Christmas morning, are you? Maybe the animals do talk. And you just haven’t heard them.”
“It’s true?”
“I don’t know,” his mother said with a shrug, “I’m not outside early Christmas morning either. Maybe they do talk. Or maybe it is just a story.”
* * *
The four children stood together in the woodlands. The snow hissed as it fell through the leafless branches. “Hey, Peter?”
“Yeah, Mary?”
“If the animals do talk like you said, what will you ask them?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. What about you?”
“I don’t know either.”
“How are you clowns going to ask them anything?” Matt inquired.
“We just don’t tell them,” Joey replied. “You know, sneak out.”
“These woods are scary at night,” Mary said.
“Don’t be such a ‘fraidy cat, Mary,” Joey scolded. “These woods are right behind our houses. And there’s deer and other animals out here at night. We’ll just sneak out and meet here.”
“You sure we can do it?” Matt asked. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“We won’t,” Joey said confidently. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, Mary?”
“If the animals do talk like you said, what will you ask them?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. What about you?”
“I don’t know either.”
“How are you clowns going to ask them anything?” Matt inquired.
“We’re not allowed outside after dark. There’s no way our parents are going to let us out after midnight.”
“These woods are scary at night,” Mary said.
“Don’t be such a ‘fraidy cat, Mary,” Joey scolded. “These woods are right behind our houses. And there’s deer and other animals out here at night. We’ll just sneak out and meet here.”
“You sure we can do it?” Matt asked. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“We won’t,” Joey said confidently. “Trust me.”
* * *
The tolling bells chimed from the church in town, proclaiming the start of Christmas morning.
When the last sound of the bells faded beyond the rolling hills, Joey slid out from under his covers. Peter was already out of his bunk and pulling on his boots. Both had worn their jeans and sweaters to bed, ready for their adventure. They fluffed pillows and pulled the covers over them to make it look as if they were still in bed.
Within a few moments, both were bundled up and out the back door with flashlights in hand. As they trudged through the ice-crusted snow to their rendezvous spot, they could make out the brilliant circles of light from Mary and Matt’s flashlights.
All four children had dressed warmly, leaving only their eyes exposed to the biting wind. “Where to now?” Matt asked.
“Let’s go deeper into the woods,” Joey suggested as he led the way with his flashlight.
The children had not gone far when they heard voices in the darkness ahead of them. “Hey! Watch those lights. It’s killing our night vision.” A few eyes glittered in the light from Joey’s flashlight.The other children pointed their flashlights in that direction and saw a herd of deer grazing. The does nervously moved behind the buck. And the buck lowered his head menacingly at the children, dark-tipped antlers coming within inches of their flashlights. “Again, would you get the light out of our eyes?”
The children obediently lowered their flashlights. The snow on the ground softly reflected the light, enough to make out shapes in the darkness.
“Thank you, children,” said the buck as he continued to graze on the low-hanging tree branches.
The children exchanged wide-eyed looks as their mouths hung agape behind their scarves.
Mary was the first to speak, “You... you can talk.”
“Of course we can, child,” one doe replied. “We always could. You just can’t understand us until these first hours of Christmas.”
“How come Santa’s reindeer can talk all year round, and you can only be heard now?” Peter asked.
“Saint Nicholas’ reindeer are special,” the doe explained.
“It’s a good story,” the buck added.
“Let me tell it. Let me tell it,” another doe pleaded. The buck nodded elegantly and the doe began….
+++ +++ +++
“Many years ago, somewhere in Europe -- I forget where -- there was a herd of reindeer living in the woods just beyond a small village. One day, the herd discovered an abandoned fawn. It was a miracle that he was found so easily, for his coat was as white as the pure snow he burrowed himself into. With the newborn stag’s parents nowhere to be found, the herd decided to adopt him.
“It was strange that one so young was found early in the winter -- Christmas morning in fact. But there were does in the herd who were heavy with unborn fawns and able to give the newborn stag the milk he needed. And on cold winter nights, the herd curled around the young one, to shelter him and keep him warm.
“Near the end of winter, the wolves came down from the mountains, as they did each bad winter. The bucks and does taught the young stag to keep downwind from the wolves. When the wolves finally scented the herd, though, several strong bucks kept to the rear of the herd, keeping the wolves away from the does and the young.
“The seasons turned, and the white stag was raised and well loved by all in the herd. But as he grew in size and strength, he never lost his white coat like the fawns lose their spots. In fact, his coat only seemed to grow more brilliant -- as if the moon had come to rest in his hide.
“One day in the fall, just as the young stag was getting the first of his antlers, something strange happened. There was a grizzly in the area who had gone mad with pain. A careless bow hunter had hit him, and left him suffering. He attacked any animal that came near him, and he suffered all the more when his movements made the shaft further open the wound.
Once the herd knew about the wounded grizzly, they ma
de sure to keep out of his way. But the young white stag went off on his own. He approached the grizzly slowly. The bear’s red-rimmed eyes spotted him and he bellowed a terrible growl. The stag stood still, letting his clear eyes gaze into those of the bear. The bear’s madness began to fade, then pass. The stag then brushed his muzzle against the bear’s wounded side. The shaft fell out and the wound healed.“Just then, the herd found him and one of the does stepped forward carefully. ‘There you are, young one. Step away from that bear. Didn’t we tell you he had gone mad?’
“‘But he’s alright now,’ he argued. ‘Can you not see that?’
“With amazement, they realized that the bear was healed. Only a small scar remained where the wound had been. ‘Come with us now, young one,’ a buck said quietly. ‘We’re off to find winter grazing, and we don’t want you lost out here.’
“‘Yes, sir,’ the white stag replied and took his place in the herd.
“‘What were you thinking of?’ one of the does scolded. ‘We were worried about you.’
“‘I didn’t mean to worry you. I was only doing my father’s work.’
“The members of the herd exchanged puzzled looks. None knew what the young stag had meant.
“Late that winter, the wolves came again. The stag by then had been taught to defend the females and younger members of the herd. When the chase began and the wolves howled their joy in the hunt, he took his place at the rear. But when the wolves drew closer, he stopped and turned to face them.
“‘He’s going to get himself killed,’ an older buck said. He turned to defend the herd beside the white stag, antlers lowered.
“But the white stag held his head high. ‘Brothers,’ he called out to the wolves. ‘This herd is not yours to hunt.’
“The alpha-male wolf paused and called back across the snowy woodland, ‘Brother, we are hungry and meat is scarce. You have many fine members in your herd. It’s our right and nature’s way that we have at least the weakest from your herd.’
“‘It is your right to hunt, brother. But I have chosen this herd for a special purpose. You shall not hunt here.’
“The alpha-male thought the answer over and replied, ‘As you will. We shall hunt elsewhere.’
“When the young stag turned, he saw the questions in the eyes of his herdmates. ‘I shall leave you for a time,’ he said, ‘But I shall find you when you’re needed. I thank you for raising me.’ With a few bounds, he disappeared into the thickness of the woodland.“It wasn’t until a few years later that the white stag returned. His coat still gleamed white, and a full set of antlers crowned his head. ‘There’s someone in the nearby village that needs your help,’ he said. ‘A man by the name of Nicholas Claus brings food and toys to the poor children. And each year his burden grows heavier.’
“Since it was Christmas Eve, the herd agreed to help Nicholas. But as they shyly approached his cabin at the edge of the village, they remembered that men couldn’t understand their speech. ‘Stall him until midnight,’ the white stag suggested, ‘and then you can explain your intentions.’
“And that is what they did. A few does lured away the mule that Nicholas used to help carry the food and toys. Some spread the toys around the yard, careful not to damage any. Another hid a sack behind the stable.
“Soon Nicholas and his wife were outside, trying to chase the reindeer off and collect the scattered items. ‘Isn’t it strange,’ Nicholas’ wife said, ‘that the reindeer don’t run away.’
“‘Look there, dear,’ Nicholas said as he pointed at the white stag. ‘That’s the one I said watched me last year.’
“For a few more hours, the couple chased the reindeer about the yard. It soon became a game, and they couldn’t help laughing at the reindeer’s antics. But then, the village church bells rang in Christmas. ‘Enough already!’ Nicholas said. ‘I need to get these gifts to the children.’
“‘We’re here to help you do that,’ one of the reindeer said.
“‘Well why didn’t you say so earlier instead of scattering these gifts?’
“‘Christmas morning, sir. We couldn’t be understood by you until then.’
“‘Oh-ho! That’s right. So what are we waiting for? Let’s get you loaded up. The lot of you will save me several trips back home this night.’
“‘Here, dear,’ his wife said as she dragged some bells from the storage shed. ‘If we put these on the reindeer, the children will hear you coming and know that you haven’t forgotten them.’
“‘Splendid idea!’ Soon the reindeer were loaded up with sacks of gifts piled high on their backs and bells strung about their necks. Nicholas stopped at many villages that night. And everywhere he went, he brought joy to the children. Many children were asleep by now. And they wouldn’t know that he came until the next morning when they saw the gifts he had left.
“The reindeer helped Nicholas through the night. They returned to Nicholas’ home just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the winter sky.
“The white stag waited with Nicholas’ wife and nodded proudly when the herd returned. ‘You’ve done well tonight. This day I will give you two gifts. First, the speech of this herd and its descendants will be understood year round. This way you can work with Nicholas throughout the year. Second, as Nicholas’ work grows to cover the entire world, you shall receive a second gift. Those of this herd shall receive the gift of flight to help bear the burden, but only during my hours -- between midnight and dawn on Christmas morning.’”
+++ +++ +++
“And that,” concluded the doe, “is the story of Saint Nicholas’ reindeer.”
The four children stood in awe, motionless in the soft glow reflected from the snow at their feet. At that moment, a faint silvery sound of jingle bells could be heard above the treetops. The children looked up. Even Joey’s eyes took on the well-known wistful look as he silently mouthed the word, “Santa.”
The buck smiled at the children, “We speak and they remain silent. Go back to your homes, little ones, you know how Saint Nicholas feels about children being awake.”
Matt was the first to recover, “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Deer, uhm, whatever your name is. Let’s go Mary.” He tugged on his sister’s sleeve until she followed him up the path back to their home.
“Yeah,” added Joey, “like he says.” He gave a curt nod in the direction of the deer. “Thanks.” He turned to start his brother moving but found that Peter was already trudging through the snow back toward their home.
When Joey caught up with Peter, he saw that his brother’s eyes sparkled in the reflected light of his flashlight. “Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?”
“To tell Mom and Dad what we just heard.”
“Are you NUTS!?!”
Peter stopped and turned to face his older brother. “No.”
“Well, you are if you tell them.” He rapped his mittened fist on his brother’s head for emphasis. “Remember we’re supposed to be asleep in our beds. If you tell them we’ll get into trouble, you moron!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter replied as he turned and started trudging up the path toward their back door. “Mom and Dad should hear the story too. Everyone should!”
- ESA
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The Little Wolf that Cried "People!" (Story)
Hi, folks!
As we're just about at Halloweeen, I think this is a good story to post. Not every traditional fairy tale ends in happily ever after....
Warning: This may not be appropriate for all ages; parental discretion is advised.
______________________________________________
- ESA
As we're just about at Halloweeen, I think this is a good story to post. Not every traditional fairy tale ends in happily ever after....
Warning: This may not be appropriate for all ages; parental discretion is advised.
______________________________________________
THE LITTLE WOLF THAT CRIED "PEOPLE!"
Once upon a time there was a small pack of timber wolves roaming in the territory their kind have always known as home. At this point in time, their numbers had dwindled to a small pack of indeed and into this pack was born one of the smallest wolves they had ever seen. Though small, he did have a very keen nose and sharp eyes. While he would never be the hunter his father is and would always be low wolf in the pack hierarchy, they did find his gifts useful.
When it had been determined that he was grown enough and had learned all that the pack could teach him, he was granted the responsibility to watch over the pack as it slept during the daytime. At first, the little wolf took this responsibility very seriously. And much occurred during the day that he would tell the others about in the cool evening twilight before he himself would get a few hours of rest. For you see, during the daytime there were other animals awake and active. Even more fascinating were the people and the many curious items they brought with them into the wolves' territory.
One twilight, the little wolf told the others of the pack, “I saw people today. They came nearby on the flat rock-river in a large container that roared and chugged something fierce. Then the container stopped and sighed itself to silence. The sides of the container opened and people came out. There were four of them, male and female from the scents. Their scents didn’t even match each other, so they may have been from different packs. In their forepaws they carried these little silver items with something that looked like a dead fish’s eye. They pointed the eye at me and there was a brilliant flash of bright light. The females made some soft pleased noises and the males nodded their heads. Then they all got back into the container. The container sprang back to life with a ear-splitting roar and a horribly bad-smelling plume from its hindquarters. Then they continued on their way down the rock-river.”
The wolf pups loved to hear his stories of what occurred during the day. The elder wolves would smile knowingly and tell him about what he had seen. No matter what new story he would bring to the pack each twilight, the wolf pups ate it up with the evening meal and the elder wolves would tell him it’s been seen before. “Just once,” the little wolf thought to himself, “I would like to tell a tale about people where the elder wolves would be in as much awe as the pups.” Some nights, he would lie there thinking about what he could say, instead of getting the rest he needed. And one night, while listening to the melodic howling of his pack and the echoing sounds of the reply from a distant pack he came up with a story.
A few nights after that, he padded down from the hilltop where he lay watching the surrounding area during the day. His eyes were bright with mischief. “Listen all,” he barked, “I have seen something never seen before.”
All heads turned as one in his direction and he was met with the cool knowing lupine gazes of the elders as well as the wonder in the pups’ eyes.
The little wolf faced the pack and dropped to his hindquarters, his forelegs straight so he could meet all the wolves nose to nose if not eye to eye – after all, he was still a low wolf in this pack. “The people are invading!” he blurted out.
The elder wolves exchanged worried glances and the pack leader asked the little wolf, “How do you know this?”
The little wolf puffed up his chest with false pride. “I have seen them. They come while you are all asleep during the day. They carry new things and bigger containers. They have come to take our territory and make it their home.”
The little pups yelped in fear and ran to their mothers, hiding among their legs. The pack leader and elder wolves exchanged thoughts in the silent lupine body language known their kind. Then the pack leader turned back to the little wolf and nipped him on the muzzle. “Little fool!” he growled. “If this is so, you should have awakened us immediately so we can defend our territory.”
“B- B- But it was daytime,” yelped the little wolf.
“Are we afraid of the sun? Are we afraid of people? No matter what they bring into our territory, we will defend our home!”
As the high wolves nipped and growled at the little wolf, he promised that should this occur again, he would wake the others. Quickly he dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, acknowledging his place in the pack.
Day by day, his humiliation before the pack ate at the little wolf's inside. Now even the young pups ridiculed him for his actions. Things didn’t change much and the novelty of the daytime events wore away. “This task is boring,” thought the little wolf, “and I’m never going to get any recognition in my pack.
Days turned into months, and the moon flowed through its changes time and again. Game moved to the south and the winter snows followed. One day, the little wolf got an idea as he noted that the people and their containers also left tracks in the snow. On a particularly boring day, the little wolf waited until he was sure the pack was deep in sleep. Then he lifted his chin and howled for all his worth!
Immediately the pack was awake and came running up the hill to the vantage point where the little wolf stood perched with hackles up. “What is the danger?” asked the pack leader immediately, fangs bared and ready.
The little wolf pointed with his nose and ears in the direction of the rock-river. People had come again to invade our territory. I scared them away with my growl. You can see their tracks in the snow. They are gone now. But because you required it of me, I awakened you with my howl.
The pack leader approached the little wolf, and the little wolf’s ears swiveled, fearing he was about to get bitten on the muzzle for doing wrong again. Instead the pack leader just placed his jaws lightly over the little wolfs nose, letting the little wolf know that he was still the low wolf but had done the right thing. The little wolf licked the pack leader’s muzzle in gratitude.
The pups also came up to him, pride shining in their small faces and they actually licked the low wolf’s muzzle. That show made the little wolf’s heart glow warm with pride. “I must do this again,” he thought to himself. “Even though the people will never invade as I have made that story up, the pack will give me a little more respect each time and I will rise in the ranks.”
The little wolf waited through another dance of the moon’s cycle before he tried his plan again. On a particular brutish day with the winds howling their own fierce song and the driving snow stinging the nose, eyes and eartips, the little wolf tilted back his head and howled his message to the others of his pack.
They were slower to arrive to the hilltop as the snow was deeper and the weather was dangerous with it’s hidden ice both beneath the white blanket and overlying the snow as a breakable crust that could cut the unwary paw. The pups, the little wolf noted, were left back in the winter dens where they were warm and safe.
The pack leader was the first to clear the hilltop and gazed around through the storm. “What did you see?” he growled to the little wolf.
“People tried to invade again.”
“In THIS weather?” growled the pack leader baring his sharp fangs at the little wolf.
“Th- They did! They came but they left when I chased them down toward the rock-road. You would see their tracks, but the blowing snow has covered them up.”
The pack leader chuffed in the little wolf’s direction and padded slowly and purposely toward the rock-road, sniffing as he went trying to detect the scents of man and his machines. Within the hour, the pack leader returned to the hilltop and faced the pack.
“I find little evidence to support our watcher’s story, but if people have indeed returned to invade our home after they were chased off the first time, we must warn the others.” As one voice, the wolf pack howled the message to the other packs and the message was passed from pack to pack all along the winter landscape. “Beware, people are invading.”
Shaken by the fact that the pack leader searched for evidence to his story, the little wolf decided he should be more careful the next time he tried his trick. Time passed again. Winter snows melted and the ground became muddy and bright green as the new growth pushed up from the warming ground toward the sun. The game moved north again, following the sun’s own journey to its summer home. And the little pups that once admired the little wolf were now members of the pack and hunters themselves and would often make the little wolf show his belly to them.
With the return of the warmer weather, the little wolf spied more people again. Now is the time for my trick. “Surely” he thought to himself, “I would not be the low wolf if I could get the pack leader to confirm my story of the invasion.”
So one day, he put his brilliant plan into action. When the people were still there, aiming the silver object with the dead fish eye at him, he tilted his head back and howled. Instantly, the others came running and charged the people.
Many of the people screamed and jumped into their containers. But one grabbed a thunder stick from the back of his container and pointed it at the charging wolves. The little wolf had never seen a thunder stick before, but when the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning issued from the stick, he knew what it was from the tales the elder wolves told him when he was a pup.
The little wolf felt the bite of the thunder stick across his right shoulder. The other wolves swiftly scattered but just as quickly reconverged when they realized the little wolf was injured. “Can you run?” the pack leader barked at him as others growled and hunkered themselves down between the little wolf and the thunder stick.
“Yes,” hissed the little wolf as he climbed to all four paws despite the pain.
“Then everyone back to the hilltop. We defend our territory, our pups and our home!”
As one, the wolves lumbered up the muddy hillside and turned to face the invaders. The one person outside the containers lowered the thunder stick back into the back of his container and stood next to the opening on one side of another container, talking to the people inside. Curiously, the wolves listened, but understood little.
The little wolf had better hearing than most of his pack, and had even learned to understand some of the people’s spoken language. But there was one word he did not understand that was mentioned again and again: “rabid.”
That night, the pack howled the message to the other wolf packs around their territory. A sad tale was also passed on to them, one of sickness. A sickness from the game had come into one wolf pack and made them go mad with thirst and mindlessness. They chased shadows and turned on friends and disregarded the pack order. People had come to this pack and now that pack is no more but vanished in one day.
The little wolves pack was shaken to their souls and they howled a sad lamentation for the pack that was no more. Afterwards, they worried about their own plight with the people. The new pups would be born soon and preparations had to be made to keep them safe.
A young but larger wolf was assigned to watch during the day with the little wolf. After what occurred, the little wolf decided it was time he stopped this trick. When he tried to rise in the pack order, all he got was a sore shoulder and someone that was assigned to the same duty, as if he were no longer worthy of even this position. A depression came upon the little wolf and he cared less and less about the activity around him during the day.
His companion, however, was ever curious, as this was all new to her and she would ask the little wolf many questions about what she saw. One day the young wolf spied people. The little wolf sniffed the air and confirmed, “Yes, that’s people.” He didn’t even raise his muzzle from the warm grass where he lay.
The young wolf rose on all four paws and barked, “They’re coming up the hill and they have thunder sticks.”
The little wolf’s ears shot up and he raised his head, but the moment was passed before he knew it. The roar of the thunder stick echoed off the distant hills as his young companion dropped beside him, a strange tube embedded in her throat.
The little wolf raised his muzzle to cry the warning and heard the thunder stick again. A hot jab of pain pierced his own throat and the world around him became a warm fuzzy blur. “It’s the sickness,” his panicked mind thought just before he drifted into it’s warm welcome. One last thought crossed his drifting mind as his chin touched down on the warm grass, “I never did issue the warning this time…..”
When it had been determined that he was grown enough and had learned all that the pack could teach him, he was granted the responsibility to watch over the pack as it slept during the daytime. At first, the little wolf took this responsibility very seriously. And much occurred during the day that he would tell the others about in the cool evening twilight before he himself would get a few hours of rest. For you see, during the daytime there were other animals awake and active. Even more fascinating were the people and the many curious items they brought with them into the wolves' territory.
One twilight, the little wolf told the others of the pack, “I saw people today. They came nearby on the flat rock-river in a large container that roared and chugged something fierce. Then the container stopped and sighed itself to silence. The sides of the container opened and people came out. There were four of them, male and female from the scents. Their scents didn’t even match each other, so they may have been from different packs. In their forepaws they carried these little silver items with something that looked like a dead fish’s eye. They pointed the eye at me and there was a brilliant flash of bright light. The females made some soft pleased noises and the males nodded their heads. Then they all got back into the container. The container sprang back to life with a ear-splitting roar and a horribly bad-smelling plume from its hindquarters. Then they continued on their way down the rock-river.”
The wolf pups loved to hear his stories of what occurred during the day. The elder wolves would smile knowingly and tell him about what he had seen. No matter what new story he would bring to the pack each twilight, the wolf pups ate it up with the evening meal and the elder wolves would tell him it’s been seen before. “Just once,” the little wolf thought to himself, “I would like to tell a tale about people where the elder wolves would be in as much awe as the pups.” Some nights, he would lie there thinking about what he could say, instead of getting the rest he needed. And one night, while listening to the melodic howling of his pack and the echoing sounds of the reply from a distant pack he came up with a story.
A few nights after that, he padded down from the hilltop where he lay watching the surrounding area during the day. His eyes were bright with mischief. “Listen all,” he barked, “I have seen something never seen before.”
All heads turned as one in his direction and he was met with the cool knowing lupine gazes of the elders as well as the wonder in the pups’ eyes.
The little wolf faced the pack and dropped to his hindquarters, his forelegs straight so he could meet all the wolves nose to nose if not eye to eye – after all, he was still a low wolf in this pack. “The people are invading!” he blurted out.
The elder wolves exchanged worried glances and the pack leader asked the little wolf, “How do you know this?”
The little wolf puffed up his chest with false pride. “I have seen them. They come while you are all asleep during the day. They carry new things and bigger containers. They have come to take our territory and make it their home.”
The little pups yelped in fear and ran to their mothers, hiding among their legs. The pack leader and elder wolves exchanged thoughts in the silent lupine body language known their kind. Then the pack leader turned back to the little wolf and nipped him on the muzzle. “Little fool!” he growled. “If this is so, you should have awakened us immediately so we can defend our territory.”
“B- B- But it was daytime,” yelped the little wolf.
“Are we afraid of the sun? Are we afraid of people? No matter what they bring into our territory, we will defend our home!”
As the high wolves nipped and growled at the little wolf, he promised that should this occur again, he would wake the others. Quickly he dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, acknowledging his place in the pack.
Day by day, his humiliation before the pack ate at the little wolf's inside. Now even the young pups ridiculed him for his actions. Things didn’t change much and the novelty of the daytime events wore away. “This task is boring,” thought the little wolf, “and I’m never going to get any recognition in my pack.
Days turned into months, and the moon flowed through its changes time and again. Game moved to the south and the winter snows followed. One day, the little wolf got an idea as he noted that the people and their containers also left tracks in the snow. On a particularly boring day, the little wolf waited until he was sure the pack was deep in sleep. Then he lifted his chin and howled for all his worth!
Immediately the pack was awake and came running up the hill to the vantage point where the little wolf stood perched with hackles up. “What is the danger?” asked the pack leader immediately, fangs bared and ready.
The little wolf pointed with his nose and ears in the direction of the rock-river. People had come again to invade our territory. I scared them away with my growl. You can see their tracks in the snow. They are gone now. But because you required it of me, I awakened you with my howl.
The pack leader approached the little wolf, and the little wolf’s ears swiveled, fearing he was about to get bitten on the muzzle for doing wrong again. Instead the pack leader just placed his jaws lightly over the little wolfs nose, letting the little wolf know that he was still the low wolf but had done the right thing. The little wolf licked the pack leader’s muzzle in gratitude.
The pups also came up to him, pride shining in their small faces and they actually licked the low wolf’s muzzle. That show made the little wolf’s heart glow warm with pride. “I must do this again,” he thought to himself. “Even though the people will never invade as I have made that story up, the pack will give me a little more respect each time and I will rise in the ranks.”
The little wolf waited through another dance of the moon’s cycle before he tried his plan again. On a particular brutish day with the winds howling their own fierce song and the driving snow stinging the nose, eyes and eartips, the little wolf tilted back his head and howled his message to the others of his pack.
They were slower to arrive to the hilltop as the snow was deeper and the weather was dangerous with it’s hidden ice both beneath the white blanket and overlying the snow as a breakable crust that could cut the unwary paw. The pups, the little wolf noted, were left back in the winter dens where they were warm and safe.
The pack leader was the first to clear the hilltop and gazed around through the storm. “What did you see?” he growled to the little wolf.
“People tried to invade again.”
“In THIS weather?” growled the pack leader baring his sharp fangs at the little wolf.
“Th- They did! They came but they left when I chased them down toward the rock-road. You would see their tracks, but the blowing snow has covered them up.”
The pack leader chuffed in the little wolf’s direction and padded slowly and purposely toward the rock-road, sniffing as he went trying to detect the scents of man and his machines. Within the hour, the pack leader returned to the hilltop and faced the pack.
“I find little evidence to support our watcher’s story, but if people have indeed returned to invade our home after they were chased off the first time, we must warn the others.” As one voice, the wolf pack howled the message to the other packs and the message was passed from pack to pack all along the winter landscape. “Beware, people are invading.”
Shaken by the fact that the pack leader searched for evidence to his story, the little wolf decided he should be more careful the next time he tried his trick. Time passed again. Winter snows melted and the ground became muddy and bright green as the new growth pushed up from the warming ground toward the sun. The game moved north again, following the sun’s own journey to its summer home. And the little pups that once admired the little wolf were now members of the pack and hunters themselves and would often make the little wolf show his belly to them.
With the return of the warmer weather, the little wolf spied more people again. Now is the time for my trick. “Surely” he thought to himself, “I would not be the low wolf if I could get the pack leader to confirm my story of the invasion.”
So one day, he put his brilliant plan into action. When the people were still there, aiming the silver object with the dead fish eye at him, he tilted his head back and howled. Instantly, the others came running and charged the people.
Many of the people screamed and jumped into their containers. But one grabbed a thunder stick from the back of his container and pointed it at the charging wolves. The little wolf had never seen a thunder stick before, but when the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning issued from the stick, he knew what it was from the tales the elder wolves told him when he was a pup.
The little wolf felt the bite of the thunder stick across his right shoulder. The other wolves swiftly scattered but just as quickly reconverged when they realized the little wolf was injured. “Can you run?” the pack leader barked at him as others growled and hunkered themselves down between the little wolf and the thunder stick.
“Yes,” hissed the little wolf as he climbed to all four paws despite the pain.
“Then everyone back to the hilltop. We defend our territory, our pups and our home!”
As one, the wolves lumbered up the muddy hillside and turned to face the invaders. The one person outside the containers lowered the thunder stick back into the back of his container and stood next to the opening on one side of another container, talking to the people inside. Curiously, the wolves listened, but understood little.
The little wolf had better hearing than most of his pack, and had even learned to understand some of the people’s spoken language. But there was one word he did not understand that was mentioned again and again: “rabid.”
That night, the pack howled the message to the other wolf packs around their territory. A sad tale was also passed on to them, one of sickness. A sickness from the game had come into one wolf pack and made them go mad with thirst and mindlessness. They chased shadows and turned on friends and disregarded the pack order. People had come to this pack and now that pack is no more but vanished in one day.
The little wolves pack was shaken to their souls and they howled a sad lamentation for the pack that was no more. Afterwards, they worried about their own plight with the people. The new pups would be born soon and preparations had to be made to keep them safe.
A young but larger wolf was assigned to watch during the day with the little wolf. After what occurred, the little wolf decided it was time he stopped this trick. When he tried to rise in the pack order, all he got was a sore shoulder and someone that was assigned to the same duty, as if he were no longer worthy of even this position. A depression came upon the little wolf and he cared less and less about the activity around him during the day.
His companion, however, was ever curious, as this was all new to her and she would ask the little wolf many questions about what she saw. One day the young wolf spied people. The little wolf sniffed the air and confirmed, “Yes, that’s people.” He didn’t even raise his muzzle from the warm grass where he lay.
The young wolf rose on all four paws and barked, “They’re coming up the hill and they have thunder sticks.”
The little wolf’s ears shot up and he raised his head, but the moment was passed before he knew it. The roar of the thunder stick echoed off the distant hills as his young companion dropped beside him, a strange tube embedded in her throat.
The little wolf raised his muzzle to cry the warning and heard the thunder stick again. A hot jab of pain pierced his own throat and the world around him became a warm fuzzy blur. “It’s the sickness,” his panicked mind thought just before he drifted into it’s warm welcome. One last thought crossed his drifting mind as his chin touched down on the warm grass, “I never did issue the warning this time…..”
- ESA
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Meet Molly (True Story)
Hi folks!
This is from an email that was sent to me. It was such a touching story I decided to post it here as well.
____________________________________MEET MOLLY...
She's a grey speckled pony who was abandoned by her owners when Hurricane Katrina hit southern Louisiana. She spent weeks on her own before finally being rescued and taken to a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled.
While there, she was attacked by a pit bull terrier and almost died. Her gnawed right front leg became infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare case.
You know how that goes.
But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he changed his mind. He saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different sides so she didn't seem to get sores, and how she allowed people to handle her. She protected her injured leg. She constantly shifted her weight and didn't overload her good leg. She was a smart pony with a serious survival ethic.
Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee, and a temporary artificial limb was built. Molly walked out of the clinic and her story really begins there.
'This was the right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists. Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that she was in trouble. The other important factor, according to Moore, is having a truly committed and compliant owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care required over the lifetime of the horse.
Molly's story turns into a parable for life in post-Katrina Louisiana. The little pony gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. A human prosthesis designer built her a leg.
The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life, Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.
She's a grey speckled pony who was abandoned by her owners when Hurricane Katrina hit southern Louisiana. She spent weeks on her own before finally being rescued and taken to a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled.While there, she was attacked by a pit bull terrier and almost died. Her gnawed right front leg became infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare case.
You know how that goes.
But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he changed his mind. He saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different sides so she didn't seem to get sores, and how she allowed people to handle her. She protected her injured leg. She constantly shifted her weight and didn't overload her good leg. She was a smart pony with a serious survival ethic.
Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee, and a temporary artificial limb was built. Molly walked out of the clinic and her story really begins there.
'This was the right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists. Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that she was in trouble. The other important factor, according to Moore, is having a truly committed and compliant owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care required over the lifetime of the horse.
Molly's story turns into a parable for life in post-Katrina Louisiana. The little pony gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. A human prosthesis designer built her a leg.
The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life, Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.
And she asks for it. She will put her little limb out, and come to you and let you know that she wants you to put it on. Sometimes she wants you to take it off too. And sometimes, Molly gets away from Barca. 'It can be pretty bad when you can't catch a three-legged horse,' she laughs.
Most important of all, Molly has a job now. Kay, the rescue farm owner, started taking Molly to shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and rehabilitation centers. Anywhere she thought that people needed hope. Wherever Molly went, she showed people her pluck. She inspired people, and she had a good time doing it.
'It's obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to play in life,? Moore said. 'She survived the hurricane, she survived a horrible injury, and now she is giving hope to others.'Barca concluded, 'She's not back to normal, but she's going to be better. To me, she could be a symbol for New Orleans itself.'
This is Molly's most recent prosthesis. The bottom photo shows the ground surface that she stands on, which has a smiley face embossed in it. Wherever Molly goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.
Forward this and share it with all of the animal lovers that you know.
- ESA
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Ant and the Grasshopper (Story)
Anita Ant and Gabrielle Grasshopper were cousins from the same town. Like many in small towns, they attended the same schools when they were younger, worked at the same place and lived near each other. But the one major difference between these two cousins is what they did with their spare time.
Anita would often walk around the neighborhood, stopping whenever she spied a neighbor out on their front porch or yard, and would wave to them as they went past in their cars. She always had a friendly smile and an open ear for anyone she came across, friend or stranger.
Gabrielle – Gabbie to her friends – spent all her spare time in the electronic world. If she was out for a walk, she had her cell phone to her ear and chatted with someone a great distance away. She also spent a great deal of time chatting with people online from around the world. She had many good friends online, almost more than the entire population in the small town they lived in.
One Monday, Anita saw Gabbie walking past her cubicle on the way to the restroom, she smiled and waved. Gabbie just walked right by obviously caught up in the conversation on her cell phone and she never saw the wave. Anita thought about this a moment and realized it had been weeks now since she actually traded more than two words with her cousin. She knew her cousin wasn’t mad at her or intentionally ignoring her, but was just caught up in her friends outside the town.
At lunch, Anita grabbed her plastic container from the pile of similar containers in the lunchroom fridge. She noted that Gabbie had yet to get her lunch. So she grabbed her cousin’s container and walked it back to her cousin’s cubicle. Gabbie was there, chatting online with three people via IM and holding a fourth conversation with someone on her cell phone. Anita placed the container to one side of the keyboard and patiently waited for her cousin to take a break and say “hi.”
The half hour passed quickly, and Gabbie didn’t even look up. She did nab the container, pulled a plastic fork from her drawer and started to eat, however. At the end of the lunch break, Anita, sighed and hoped that this wasn’t going to be the way her cousin behaved all the time.
As the days of the week passed, Anita realized that Gabbie treated all her co-workers the same way. Anita would take the time to get to know them and exchange news or stories with them during the breaks, but Gabbie was so wrapped up in people elsewhere, she had even stopped smiling and nodding greetings to her coworkers that saw her everyday.
Week by week, Anita realized this was also the case with people in the neighborhood and even when they both attended family gatherings. Gabbie was there physically but mentally she was in cyberspace or deep in conversation with someone miles away. Anita finally decided to bring this to Gabbie’s attention.
One Saturday morning – VERY early in the morning, Anita went over to Gabbie’s apartment and pounded on the door. She could hear a half-asleep Gabbie fumble around inside the apartment. The door swung wide and a disheveled head stuck out. She opened her mouth but only got out a startled “What the – ” before Anita jammed the door open with her foot and shoved a hot cup of coffee into her cousin’s hand.
“We really need to talk, Gabbie.”
Gabbie’s eyes widened in panic. “Someone died?”
Anita smiled. “Not quite, but close. You haven’t talked to anyone around here in almost two months now.”
“Whaddaya mean? I see you at work everyday?”
“See, yes. But we haven’t spoken in ages. You’re always on your cell phone and computer. Heck, girl, I even hear you in the bathroom stall! You really should take a moment and talk to the people around here too.”
“You’ve GOT to be kidding me, Anita! People around here are boring! Heck, we’ve all gone to the same school, had the same teachers, live the same lives. You and I even have the same jobs, for crying out loud! I want to connect with people from different backgrounds, different countries, different lives! The world is too wide to just keep yourself in one small town your whole life.”
“I agree with you there, I do go out online from time to time too. But I don’t sacrifice my life here, my contacts with those in this town. Gabbie, you didn’t even talk to anyone at Jimmy’s birthday party last weekend.”
“I was there, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, but you talked on that cell phone the whole time. You even had the laptop out a good part of the day. Couldn’t you have at least stopped talking on that cell phone long enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with the rest of us?”
“So you’re upset that I didn’t sing???”
“You’re not getting it at all, are you?!?” Anita’s temper flared. “I give up! I tried but I don’t think there’s a way I could get it through your thick skull!” Anita stormed out of her cousin’s apartment.
Gabbie, shrugged, sipped her coffee and opened the laptop to check her email and see who was online. Even at this hour, someone in the world was awake.
Weeks turned to months. Gabbie and Anita’s uncle passed away and willed the duplex he owned to the two girls. Both were thrilled as their rents were rising faster than their paychecks.
When the day came to move, most of the company where they worked and a good part of the neighborhood showed up at Anitia’s apartment early to help her move. With the number of hands and vehicles they had, they were able to haul all her belongings over in one collective convoy and had her settled within three short hours.
As they passed the pizza boxes, beer and soda, they noticed Gabbie pulling up before the duplex. Anita looked around, no one had offered to help her cousin move. She tried to encourage a few of her closer co-workers and neighbors to go out and help, but many offered excuses such as being tired or that they had other plans for the afternoon. Some offered no excuse at all but simply refused to help.
After thanking everyone for their help and encouraging them to eat up the pizza, Anita went out alone to help her cousin with the first of many carloads.
While the two girls were wrestling a mattress onto the car’s roof for the third trip, Anita huffed, “What happened to all the friends you have? Couldn’t any of them help?”
Gabbie laughed and nearly slipped off the curb from where she wrestled with a rope, “Are you kidding? They’re thousands of miles away! They’re not going to come out here just to help me move!”
Anitia looked sadly at her cousin, “Who else is there to help you then?”
Gabbie froze as if the thought had taken hold a moment. Then she shrugged and replied, “Well, I have you, so I guess I can always depend on my family. Right?”
Thus Gabbie didn’t change her ways. The months became years. One day on the way home from work Gabbie was talking on her cell phone and didn’t hear the nearby car out of control. The driver’s side door of Gabbie’s car was completely crushed. Her cell phone flew from her hand, completely destroyed upon impact.
Gabbie woke up in the hospital. No cell phone. No laptop. No visitors.
Doctors and nurses came and went. The administrator said that both her place of work and family had been notified.
Hour by hour the time dragged. The little TV on the wall near the foot of her bed was definitely not as stimulating as being connected to the world had been. She was lonely – very lonely.
Hours turned around the clock once, night was over and day started again. Gabbie jumped a little when the phone rang beside her bed. Anxious to connect to someone – anyone – Gabbie answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Hi, Gabbie, it’s Anitia. I’m so sorry to hear about the accident. I just got the message this morning when I got into work. I’ll swing by after hours today, OK?”
“Is anyone else coming?”
“From here, no. Has anyone else from the family called?”
“No. Nobody since I woke up here yesterday. You’re the first.”
“Oh….. Well, you should see all the virtual cards that are pouring into your inbox. IT had to ramp up the server.”
“Swell…” Gabbie replied sarcastically as she sadly looked around at the empty white walls around her bed. She could see past the curtain all the cards and balloons and flowers her roommate had.
“Well, I need to get back to work, I’ll see you later. Bye….”
“… Bye.” Tears welled up in Gabbie’s eyes. All the friends she had. Where were they? Why hadn’t anyone come yesterday? Why is Anita the only one coming today? Where are her family members? Her co-workers? Her friends from the neighborhood and school? The people she saw everyday?”
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she tugged the curtain between the beds a little to one side and smiled warmly to the stranger on the bed beside her. “Hi, there, my name is Gabbie Grasshopper. What’s yours?”
- ESA
Anita would often walk around the neighborhood, stopping whenever she spied a neighbor out on their front porch or yard, and would wave to them as they went past in their cars. She always had a friendly smile and an open ear for anyone she came across, friend or stranger.
Gabrielle – Gabbie to her friends – spent all her spare time in the electronic world. If she was out for a walk, she had her cell phone to her ear and chatted with someone a great distance away. She also spent a great deal of time chatting with people online from around the world. She had many good friends online, almost more than the entire population in the small town they lived in.
One Monday, Anita saw Gabbie walking past her cubicle on the way to the restroom, she smiled and waved. Gabbie just walked right by obviously caught up in the conversation on her cell phone and she never saw the wave. Anita thought about this a moment and realized it had been weeks now since she actually traded more than two words with her cousin. She knew her cousin wasn’t mad at her or intentionally ignoring her, but was just caught up in her friends outside the town.
At lunch, Anita grabbed her plastic container from the pile of similar containers in the lunchroom fridge. She noted that Gabbie had yet to get her lunch. So she grabbed her cousin’s container and walked it back to her cousin’s cubicle. Gabbie was there, chatting online with three people via IM and holding a fourth conversation with someone on her cell phone. Anita placed the container to one side of the keyboard and patiently waited for her cousin to take a break and say “hi.”
The half hour passed quickly, and Gabbie didn’t even look up. She did nab the container, pulled a plastic fork from her drawer and started to eat, however. At the end of the lunch break, Anita, sighed and hoped that this wasn’t going to be the way her cousin behaved all the time.
As the days of the week passed, Anita realized that Gabbie treated all her co-workers the same way. Anita would take the time to get to know them and exchange news or stories with them during the breaks, but Gabbie was so wrapped up in people elsewhere, she had even stopped smiling and nodding greetings to her coworkers that saw her everyday.
Week by week, Anita realized this was also the case with people in the neighborhood and even when they both attended family gatherings. Gabbie was there physically but mentally she was in cyberspace or deep in conversation with someone miles away. Anita finally decided to bring this to Gabbie’s attention.
One Saturday morning – VERY early in the morning, Anita went over to Gabbie’s apartment and pounded on the door. She could hear a half-asleep Gabbie fumble around inside the apartment. The door swung wide and a disheveled head stuck out. She opened her mouth but only got out a startled “What the – ” before Anita jammed the door open with her foot and shoved a hot cup of coffee into her cousin’s hand.
“We really need to talk, Gabbie.”
Gabbie’s eyes widened in panic. “Someone died?”
Anita smiled. “Not quite, but close. You haven’t talked to anyone around here in almost two months now.”
“Whaddaya mean? I see you at work everyday?”
“See, yes. But we haven’t spoken in ages. You’re always on your cell phone and computer. Heck, girl, I even hear you in the bathroom stall! You really should take a moment and talk to the people around here too.”
“You’ve GOT to be kidding me, Anita! People around here are boring! Heck, we’ve all gone to the same school, had the same teachers, live the same lives. You and I even have the same jobs, for crying out loud! I want to connect with people from different backgrounds, different countries, different lives! The world is too wide to just keep yourself in one small town your whole life.”
“I agree with you there, I do go out online from time to time too. But I don’t sacrifice my life here, my contacts with those in this town. Gabbie, you didn’t even talk to anyone at Jimmy’s birthday party last weekend.”
“I was there, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, but you talked on that cell phone the whole time. You even had the laptop out a good part of the day. Couldn’t you have at least stopped talking on that cell phone long enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with the rest of us?”
“So you’re upset that I didn’t sing???”
“You’re not getting it at all, are you?!?” Anita’s temper flared. “I give up! I tried but I don’t think there’s a way I could get it through your thick skull!” Anita stormed out of her cousin’s apartment.
Gabbie, shrugged, sipped her coffee and opened the laptop to check her email and see who was online. Even at this hour, someone in the world was awake.
Weeks turned to months. Gabbie and Anita’s uncle passed away and willed the duplex he owned to the two girls. Both were thrilled as their rents were rising faster than their paychecks.
When the day came to move, most of the company where they worked and a good part of the neighborhood showed up at Anitia’s apartment early to help her move. With the number of hands and vehicles they had, they were able to haul all her belongings over in one collective convoy and had her settled within three short hours.
As they passed the pizza boxes, beer and soda, they noticed Gabbie pulling up before the duplex. Anita looked around, no one had offered to help her cousin move. She tried to encourage a few of her closer co-workers and neighbors to go out and help, but many offered excuses such as being tired or that they had other plans for the afternoon. Some offered no excuse at all but simply refused to help.
After thanking everyone for their help and encouraging them to eat up the pizza, Anita went out alone to help her cousin with the first of many carloads.
While the two girls were wrestling a mattress onto the car’s roof for the third trip, Anita huffed, “What happened to all the friends you have? Couldn’t any of them help?”
Gabbie laughed and nearly slipped off the curb from where she wrestled with a rope, “Are you kidding? They’re thousands of miles away! They’re not going to come out here just to help me move!”
Anitia looked sadly at her cousin, “Who else is there to help you then?”
Gabbie froze as if the thought had taken hold a moment. Then she shrugged and replied, “Well, I have you, so I guess I can always depend on my family. Right?”
Thus Gabbie didn’t change her ways. The months became years. One day on the way home from work Gabbie was talking on her cell phone and didn’t hear the nearby car out of control. The driver’s side door of Gabbie’s car was completely crushed. Her cell phone flew from her hand, completely destroyed upon impact.
Gabbie woke up in the hospital. No cell phone. No laptop. No visitors.
Doctors and nurses came and went. The administrator said that both her place of work and family had been notified.
Hour by hour the time dragged. The little TV on the wall near the foot of her bed was definitely not as stimulating as being connected to the world had been. She was lonely – very lonely.
Hours turned around the clock once, night was over and day started again. Gabbie jumped a little when the phone rang beside her bed. Anxious to connect to someone – anyone – Gabbie answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Hi, Gabbie, it’s Anitia. I’m so sorry to hear about the accident. I just got the message this morning when I got into work. I’ll swing by after hours today, OK?”
“Is anyone else coming?”
“From here, no. Has anyone else from the family called?”
“No. Nobody since I woke up here yesterday. You’re the first.”
“Oh….. Well, you should see all the virtual cards that are pouring into your inbox. IT had to ramp up the server.”
“Swell…” Gabbie replied sarcastically as she sadly looked around at the empty white walls around her bed. She could see past the curtain all the cards and balloons and flowers her roommate had.
“Well, I need to get back to work, I’ll see you later. Bye….”
“… Bye.” Tears welled up in Gabbie’s eyes. All the friends she had. Where were they? Why hadn’t anyone come yesterday? Why is Anita the only one coming today? Where are her family members? Her co-workers? Her friends from the neighborhood and school? The people she saw everyday?”
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she tugged the curtain between the beds a little to one side and smiled warmly to the stranger on the bed beside her. “Hi, there, my name is Gabbie Grasshopper. What’s yours?”
- ESA
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
A Smile Moment (True Story)
Hello, Folks,I have the attached image printed in 8-1/2x11 color on the wall right next to where my laptop screen is.
Yesterday, a DHL delivery man came to my office so I could sign for a package.
While I scrawled my signature, he looked around my office (like most people do), but instead of spying the huge poster-sized and framed Escher print on one wall or the blanket-sized tapestry on the opposite wall (most people ignore the three-state's worth and federal required HR posters plastering my main wall - LOL), his eyes were drawn to this little print beside my laptop screen.
Then he commented that he liked the image of Christ embracing the little girl.
When I opened my mouth to respond in the pause, he jumped back in and added, "You know, it's a nice image when you're down. But whenever you have an enemy or someone who's giving you trouble, you should also picture that person in Christ's embrace as well."
Then he smiled, took the correct spelling of my last name and walked out.
I believe this is a nice thought to pass on... :-D
- ESA
While I scrawled my signature, he looked around my office (like most people do), but instead of spying the huge poster-sized and framed Escher print on one wall or the blanket-sized tapestry on the opposite wall (most people ignore the three-state's worth and federal required HR posters plastering my main wall - LOL), his eyes were drawn to this little print beside my laptop screen.
Then he commented that he liked the image of Christ embracing the little girl.
When I opened my mouth to respond in the pause, he jumped back in and added, "You know, it's a nice image when you're down. But whenever you have an enemy or someone who's giving you trouble, you should also picture that person in Christ's embrace as well."
Then he smiled, took the correct spelling of my last name and walked out.
I believe this is a nice thought to pass on... :-D
- ESA
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Soup Story (Story)
Hi folks,
As we’ve now entered the time of year when what is planted and tended is finally harvested, I believe it’s time for a soup story…
There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs what paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green. Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.
Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.
Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?
The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.
Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.
Now, during this time, on a bright October day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.
It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.
Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”
The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”
The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”
The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”
The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”
The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”
“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”
The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.
“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.
Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first.
Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill.
After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.
With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.
By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.
The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”
The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.
The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”
“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.
“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.
In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.
In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.
A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”
The minister tapped the gauge of one tank -- just under a sixteenth of a tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”
The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”
The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”
By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.
A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”
“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”
The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”
The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”
The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.
An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”
The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”
“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”
The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”
“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”
The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”
The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.
Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the October grass.
In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. The lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.
Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.
When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.
“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”
“You’re right, Bob. It’s amazing how far so little food could go.”
The minister smiled to himself as he realized maybe he didn’t fail at all…
- ESA
As we’ve now entered the time of year when what is planted and tended is finally harvested, I believe it’s time for a soup story…
There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs what paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green. Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.
Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.
Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?
The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.
Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.
Now, during this time, on a bright October day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.
It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.
Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”
The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”
The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”
The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”
The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”
The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”
“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”
The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.
“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.
Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first.
Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill.
After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.
With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.
By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.
The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”
The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.
The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”
“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.
“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.
In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.
In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.
A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”
The minister tapped the gauge of one tank -- just under a sixteenth of a tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”
The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”
The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”
By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.
A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”
“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”
The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”
The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”
The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.
An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”
The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”
“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”
The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”
“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”
The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”
The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.
Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the October grass.
In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. The lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.
Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.
When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.
“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”
“You’re right, Bob. It’s amazing how far so little food could go.”
The minister smiled to himself as he realized maybe he didn’t fail at all…
- ESA
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Lion and the Little Mouse (Story)
One day a little white mouse was scurrying about trying to prepare for the cold dark winter days ahead. She was a tiny thing, even for a mouse, but she had a very big heart. Before making her own preparations, she stopped to help others first. By the time she started her own preparations, there wasn't much left in reach.
The little mouse ranged further and further from the safety of her home looking for what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. On one of these long journeys, she broke through the tall golden autumn grass and found herself practically nose to nose with a lion that had been resting there. Her whiskers quivered in fear and a piercing startled squeak leapt from her throat on its own volition.
Her squeak must have awakened the sleeping lion for he opened his golden eyes and gazed calmly at her. Realizing she had just disturbed the King of all the Animals, the little mouse hunkered down and lowered her round white ears. "I- I'm sorry, Your Great Majesty, for disturbing your rest," she timidly squeaked and quickly turned to scamper off.
The lion's quick paw came down gently but firmly on her little white tail pinning her there, regardless of how fast her paws scrambled against the ground. The poor little mouse was now terrified and she froze in horror with the realization that she was now trapped.
The lion smiled gently and picked the little mouse up by her tail and lightly placed her on his other paw, bringing her closer to his penetrating gaze. Though sunlight sparkled from his own whiskers, the little mouse couldn't peel her eyes from the sharp white teeth that were now clearly visible.
A gentle chuckle rose from the lion's broad chest. "Don't be afraid, little mouse. I am not hungry nor do I toy with you. What brings such a little mouse so far from her home?"
"Oh, please, Your Majesty! I was just preparing for the dark winter days ahead. All the supplies within reach were already gathered near my home so I had to go further out this year seeking what I need. Please just let me go and I'll be on my way. I did not wish to disturb you."
"And why did you not gather what you needed before now, little mouse?"
"I helped some of my friends and neighbors to make sure they were ready for the cold dark winter days ahead. That is why I had a late start. Again, kind Lion, please let me go and I'll be on my way."
"Not so fast, little mouse. Why did you not seek help of your friends and neighbors when you set out to gather your own supplies?"
"I am still young and able. I do not wish to be a burden to anyone as long as I am able to do for myself."
"Ah!" commented the lion. "But now you are far from home and alone. But you are not truly alone; for I am here. I will help you."
"You?!?" squeaked the mouse curling her tiny ears back along her head. "Why would the King of all the Animals want to help a little mouse like me?"
The lion smiled knowingly and lowered the mouse to the ground. "There may be a day when I need your help."
Puzzled the little white mouse tilted her head back to look up at the lion that towered over her; the sunlight danced in his noble mane so very, very far above her. "If there is ever a time when you need my help, I am willing to do so. But you do not need to help me now, Noble Lion."
The lion's smile broadened and his golden eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge. "Even if you believe that now, little mouse, I will help you. It will make your quest easier and you will be ready for the cold dark winter days ahead."
And so the lion helped the little white mouse, lifting her high so she could reach what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. He even carried the little mouse and her supplies back to her home.
"I thank you, friend Lion," squeaked the little mouse from her doorway. "And if you ever need any help that I can provide, I will gladly do so. But I still cannot think HOW a little mouse like myself will be able to help the King of all the Animals."
The lion smiled knowingly and nodded his acceptance of her thanks and timid offer of help. "We shall see what the future holds."
Some days later, the lion was out on patrol. The nearby man's village was growing and pushing the animal’s territory into a smaller and smaller area. It was near sundown on this day, and the construction site had been abandoned by the workers for the day. Curious as to what they were doing to the land that was once lived in by the animals he ruled, he wandered among the buildings and poked his whiskered white tipped nose here and there sniffing.
It wasn't long before his great forepaw came down on a small steel roofing nail. At first it didn't hurt as much, but the more he tried to work it out, the deeper the nail bit into his paw. At last the pain was too great and an agonized roar escaped his throat.
All the animals heard their King's roar of pain. They all ran, scampered and trotted toward the sound. But each and every one of the animals stopped at the edge of construction site. None would dare enter where humans have tread, even to help their King.
The lion by then was in such pain he couldn't walk the distance back to where the animals were. "Please, help me!" begged the lion. "The nail has bitten deep into my paw and I cannot get it out!"
None of the animals moved, but the crowd observing their King's pain grew as more and more animals arrived at the scene.
At last the little white mouse also arrived. She had to weave in and out of all the other animals to see what the commotion was about. When she saw her lion friend hurt in the middle of what man had made, she turned to the other animals. "Can't you see he's in pain? Why has no one gone to help him?"
"Foolish little mouse!" growled the black panther. "That's man's world. Even I will not go there. If that lion decided to enter into man's world, he's on his own. We will not risk own hides to help him."
The little mouse's whiskers quivered in rage. "How can you say that? Isn't he your King as well as mine? I don't care where he is, I'll go over there and help him." With a swish of her long white tail, she scampered over the embankment and entered the construction site.
In a few minutes she was once again before the lion, her sides heaving from the long run. The lion looked down at the little white mouse with pain in his golden eyes and he looked back across the way at all the gathered animals. "Why is it only you who has come to my aide?" he asked.
"They don't want to enter man's world; they're afraid." She looked around herself with wide panicked eyes. "I'm a bit frightened too, but I remembered my promise to you. I'll help if I can. But I'm so little I don't know if my services will do you any good."
"Yes, you can help, little friend." The lion stretched forth the forepaw. "There is a nail in my paw and it hurts something fierce."
The little mouse scurried over the great paw and tilted her white head as she studied the nail. "It's such a little nail. It's actually a bit smaller than I am." She stood up on her hindpaws and gripped the nail with both forepaws. Then she pulled with all her might.
The lion hissed a moment as the nail pulled free and then sighed greatly in relief. "Thank you, little friend. That is much better." He lowered his shoulder to the little mouse. "Get on my back, little mouse. I will carry you home. You have come a great distance to help me."
She gratefully hopped on his shoulder and climbed the rest of the way to his spine where she comfortably settled herself at the base of his golden mane. As she rode back through the construction site, she noted the look of all the gathered animals. They were not happy. Though they did not want to help the lion, they were not happy that she received special treatment because she did. She felt even more timid and her tummy started to flutter. "Friend Lion......" she began hesitantly.
"Yes, little mouse?" answered the lion as he gazed over his shoulder at her.
"Can I ask something of you... I'm very grateful for all your help before and for the ride now, but what I did was such a small thing. Please don't treat me any differently than the other animals."
The lion paused and fixed the little white mouse with his golden gaze. "But you are the one who came out to help me where no one else would go."
"To me it doesn't matter. I'd help you out of friendship, not for a reward. Please, Your Majesty, I'm just a little mouse, shy like all my kind. Don't you see the way the others glare in my direction. I'm not comfortable way up high like this. Just let me be me and free, that is what I desire."
"If you are certain, so shall it be, my little friend."
So once again, the lion carried the little mouse to her home and let her scamper down to her front door. "I shall not forget this, friend, even if everyone else does. Call on me if you ever need help again."
The mouse smiled warmly. "Thank you, friend Lion. And if I can ever help you again, don't hesitate to call on me."
And they were good friends ever since.
- ESA
The little mouse ranged further and further from the safety of her home looking for what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. On one of these long journeys, she broke through the tall golden autumn grass and found herself practically nose to nose with a lion that had been resting there. Her whiskers quivered in fear and a piercing startled squeak leapt from her throat on its own volition.
Her squeak must have awakened the sleeping lion for he opened his golden eyes and gazed calmly at her. Realizing she had just disturbed the King of all the Animals, the little mouse hunkered down and lowered her round white ears. "I- I'm sorry, Your Great Majesty, for disturbing your rest," she timidly squeaked and quickly turned to scamper off.
The lion's quick paw came down gently but firmly on her little white tail pinning her there, regardless of how fast her paws scrambled against the ground. The poor little mouse was now terrified and she froze in horror with the realization that she was now trapped.
The lion smiled gently and picked the little mouse up by her tail and lightly placed her on his other paw, bringing her closer to his penetrating gaze. Though sunlight sparkled from his own whiskers, the little mouse couldn't peel her eyes from the sharp white teeth that were now clearly visible.
A gentle chuckle rose from the lion's broad chest. "Don't be afraid, little mouse. I am not hungry nor do I toy with you. What brings such a little mouse so far from her home?"
"Oh, please, Your Majesty! I was just preparing for the dark winter days ahead. All the supplies within reach were already gathered near my home so I had to go further out this year seeking what I need. Please just let me go and I'll be on my way. I did not wish to disturb you."
"And why did you not gather what you needed before now, little mouse?"
"I helped some of my friends and neighbors to make sure they were ready for the cold dark winter days ahead. That is why I had a late start. Again, kind Lion, please let me go and I'll be on my way."
"Not so fast, little mouse. Why did you not seek help of your friends and neighbors when you set out to gather your own supplies?"
"I am still young and able. I do not wish to be a burden to anyone as long as I am able to do for myself."
"Ah!" commented the lion. "But now you are far from home and alone. But you are not truly alone; for I am here. I will help you."
"You?!?" squeaked the mouse curling her tiny ears back along her head. "Why would the King of all the Animals want to help a little mouse like me?"
The lion smiled knowingly and lowered the mouse to the ground. "There may be a day when I need your help."
Puzzled the little white mouse tilted her head back to look up at the lion that towered over her; the sunlight danced in his noble mane so very, very far above her. "If there is ever a time when you need my help, I am willing to do so. But you do not need to help me now, Noble Lion."
The lion's smile broadened and his golden eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge. "Even if you believe that now, little mouse, I will help you. It will make your quest easier and you will be ready for the cold dark winter days ahead."
And so the lion helped the little white mouse, lifting her high so she could reach what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. He even carried the little mouse and her supplies back to her home.
"I thank you, friend Lion," squeaked the little mouse from her doorway. "And if you ever need any help that I can provide, I will gladly do so. But I still cannot think HOW a little mouse like myself will be able to help the King of all the Animals."
The lion smiled knowingly and nodded his acceptance of her thanks and timid offer of help. "We shall see what the future holds."
Some days later, the lion was out on patrol. The nearby man's village was growing and pushing the animal’s territory into a smaller and smaller area. It was near sundown on this day, and the construction site had been abandoned by the workers for the day. Curious as to what they were doing to the land that was once lived in by the animals he ruled, he wandered among the buildings and poked his whiskered white tipped nose here and there sniffing.
It wasn't long before his great forepaw came down on a small steel roofing nail. At first it didn't hurt as much, but the more he tried to work it out, the deeper the nail bit into his paw. At last the pain was too great and an agonized roar escaped his throat.
All the animals heard their King's roar of pain. They all ran, scampered and trotted toward the sound. But each and every one of the animals stopped at the edge of construction site. None would dare enter where humans have tread, even to help their King.
The lion by then was in such pain he couldn't walk the distance back to where the animals were. "Please, help me!" begged the lion. "The nail has bitten deep into my paw and I cannot get it out!"
None of the animals moved, but the crowd observing their King's pain grew as more and more animals arrived at the scene.
At last the little white mouse also arrived. She had to weave in and out of all the other animals to see what the commotion was about. When she saw her lion friend hurt in the middle of what man had made, she turned to the other animals. "Can't you see he's in pain? Why has no one gone to help him?"
"Foolish little mouse!" growled the black panther. "That's man's world. Even I will not go there. If that lion decided to enter into man's world, he's on his own. We will not risk own hides to help him."
The little mouse's whiskers quivered in rage. "How can you say that? Isn't he your King as well as mine? I don't care where he is, I'll go over there and help him." With a swish of her long white tail, she scampered over the embankment and entered the construction site.
In a few minutes she was once again before the lion, her sides heaving from the long run. The lion looked down at the little white mouse with pain in his golden eyes and he looked back across the way at all the gathered animals. "Why is it only you who has come to my aide?" he asked.
"They don't want to enter man's world; they're afraid." She looked around herself with wide panicked eyes. "I'm a bit frightened too, but I remembered my promise to you. I'll help if I can. But I'm so little I don't know if my services will do you any good."
"Yes, you can help, little friend." The lion stretched forth the forepaw. "There is a nail in my paw and it hurts something fierce."
The little mouse scurried over the great paw and tilted her white head as she studied the nail. "It's such a little nail. It's actually a bit smaller than I am." She stood up on her hindpaws and gripped the nail with both forepaws. Then she pulled with all her might.
The lion hissed a moment as the nail pulled free and then sighed greatly in relief. "Thank you, little friend. That is much better." He lowered his shoulder to the little mouse. "Get on my back, little mouse. I will carry you home. You have come a great distance to help me."
She gratefully hopped on his shoulder and climbed the rest of the way to his spine where she comfortably settled herself at the base of his golden mane. As she rode back through the construction site, she noted the look of all the gathered animals. They were not happy. Though they did not want to help the lion, they were not happy that she received special treatment because she did. She felt even more timid and her tummy started to flutter. "Friend Lion......" she began hesitantly.
"Yes, little mouse?" answered the lion as he gazed over his shoulder at her.
"Can I ask something of you... I'm very grateful for all your help before and for the ride now, but what I did was such a small thing. Please don't treat me any differently than the other animals."
The lion paused and fixed the little white mouse with his golden gaze. "But you are the one who came out to help me where no one else would go."
"To me it doesn't matter. I'd help you out of friendship, not for a reward. Please, Your Majesty, I'm just a little mouse, shy like all my kind. Don't you see the way the others glare in my direction. I'm not comfortable way up high like this. Just let me be me and free, that is what I desire."
"If you are certain, so shall it be, my little friend."
So once again, the lion carried the little mouse to her home and let her scamper down to her front door. "I shall not forget this, friend, even if everyone else does. Call on me if you ever need help again."
The mouse smiled warmly. "Thank you, friend Lion. And if I can ever help you again, don't hesitate to call on me."
And they were good friends ever since.
- ESA
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Elephant Story (Story)
Hello folks,
There is a story I love to share with others, an elephant story. This is based on an oral story passed on to me.
__________________________________
Five blind men approached an elephant for the first time in their lives.
The first blind man reached out and touched the elephant's trunk. "The elephant," he described, "is like a long flexible hose with a tough hide."
The second man reached out and found the elephant's ear. He agreed that the elephant had a tough hide but he argued that the first man was wrong. "The elephant is NOT like a long flexible hose but rather like a large thick parchment."
The third man approached the elephants side and told the first two they were wrong. "Clearly," he debated, "the elephant is some huge immense beast for it goes on beyond my reach in all directions." When he placed he ear against the elephant, he could hear the elephant's thunderous breath. But, he conceded, the elephant had a tough hide.
The fourth man approached the elephant carefully, after hearing what the third had to say. He was a bit surprised when he found the elephant's leg. "The elephant isn't so huge," he laughed at the third man, "for I can wrap my arms around it. But the elephant is strong, feel the muscle under the tough hide."
By far the most curious now, the fifth and final blind man approached the elephant and stretched out his hand, completely uncertain what he would encounter. His hand touched and grasped the elephant's tail. Feeling it in detail, the man paused in wonder. "Why, this is no more than a flexible stick with a tuft of hair on it's end, not too different than a paintbrush."
Which blind man truly saw the elephant?
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Thus I believe it is with God and humanity. We all see God but from a different perspective. Only through collaboration can we all come to understand the God that works through all our world's religions. One Light. One Love. Many ways through which humanity is touched.
- ESA
There is a story I love to share with others, an elephant story. This is based on an oral story passed on to me.
__________________________________
Five blind men approached an elephant for the first time in their lives.
The first blind man reached out and touched the elephant's trunk. "The elephant," he described, "is like a long flexible hose with a tough hide."
The second man reached out and found the elephant's ear. He agreed that the elephant had a tough hide but he argued that the first man was wrong. "The elephant is NOT like a long flexible hose but rather like a large thick parchment."
The third man approached the elephants side and told the first two they were wrong. "Clearly," he debated, "the elephant is some huge immense beast for it goes on beyond my reach in all directions." When he placed he ear against the elephant, he could hear the elephant's thunderous breath. But, he conceded, the elephant had a tough hide.
The fourth man approached the elephant carefully, after hearing what the third had to say. He was a bit surprised when he found the elephant's leg. "The elephant isn't so huge," he laughed at the third man, "for I can wrap my arms around it. But the elephant is strong, feel the muscle under the tough hide."
By far the most curious now, the fifth and final blind man approached the elephant and stretched out his hand, completely uncertain what he would encounter. His hand touched and grasped the elephant's tail. Feeling it in detail, the man paused in wonder. "Why, this is no more than a flexible stick with a tuft of hair on it's end, not too different than a paintbrush."
Which blind man truly saw the elephant?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thus I believe it is with God and humanity. We all see God but from a different perspective. Only through collaboration can we all come to understand the God that works through all our world's religions. One Light. One Love. Many ways through which humanity is touched.
- ESA
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