Tempered by Fire (Story)

Of late, the sad news of the New Mexico/Colorado fires crosses all streams of media. There are literally hundreds of homes destroyed and thousands of people now homeless...

Yesterday, I found a website (Samaritan's Purse) with story and pictures of the recovery efforts already underway.

There was a photo in their story, though, of a woman holding up an intact ceramic figurine that survived the fire when there was nothing but ash and charred remains around her.

Yet on her face, there is this smile as she presents what she found.

This brought to mind another story, which I would like to share with my readers now. This was a story I heard on the radio back in 2009.

Tempered by Fire

A firefighter was going through a house that was completely destroyed by fire. Sifting through the warm ash, his fingers found these white ceramic figurines.

All it took was lightly dusting the ash from them, and they shown bright and beautiful, practically the same as the day they arrived at the house.

Everything else was gone. 

Moved by what was found, he asked the homeowner if he could keep one.

Surprised and still in shock over all she had lost... the homeowner mutely nodded her assent.

A few days later, that firefighter was speaking with some of his friends who were going through a very difficult period in their life. One had lost a job, the other ill, their roof leaked and the bills just kept piling up.....

The firefighter pulled the white ceramic figurine from his pocket and held it up for them to see. He explained how he came to find it. Then, he explained why it meant so much to him. 

"This was tempered in fire before it was ever brought into that house. While everything else in that house was destroyed by that terrible fire, these survived.

"If they hadn't gone through the fire first, they would have been destroyed."

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Sometimes we need to go through touch times to become strong enough for even greater challenges in life that would otherwise destroy us completely.

-ESA

Soup Story (Story)

Hi folks,

I'm re-posting a story I wrote around this time last year:

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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 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. They 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…

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- ESA

The SoCal Pigs (Story)

Once there were three little pigs who lived in beautiful southern California. Each decided they would build their homes to their own design.

The first pig decided to use local materials for his home. Once the grass had grown tall and turned a delightful golden brown, he harvested it from the nearby hills and wove it deftly into walls and roof. It was a pleasant little house, for it breathed with the gentle clime of the area, keeping off the occasional rain and plentiful sun. This pig lived happily in his house until the fall when the hot, dry Santa Anna winds howled down across the area. With the first few gusts, the little house scattered on the wind, leaving the first pig to watch his home disappear.

The second pig knew about the Santa Anna winds and he built his house of wood. He was in his home much earlier than the first pig, as he didn’t need to wait for the grass to grow. He listened to the occasional rain on his rooftop and stayed warm when the cool fog was long lifting. When summer came, his home was pleasantly cool as the breezes blowing from the ocean gently rocked the house and the roof eclipsed the hottest part of the day.

When the first pig lost his home to the Santa Anna winds, the second pig opened his door and called out to his neighbor, “Come into my home where it’s safe. For you see, I have built it better than yours. I have been here longer and my home is strong enough for all the seasons this fine land has to offer. I will let you stay here until you can build a better one for yourself too.”

So the two little pigs shared the little home and together they listened to the Santa Anna winds howl down from the mountains, swaying the wooden walls and rattling a few loose boards on the roof. But the house stood strong against the winds… until the brush fires broke out in the brush.

Day by day the two little pigs watched the news in dread as the fire lines moved closer and closer to their little home. One day the fateful knock came on the door – time to evacuate. Fighting back the tears and fears, the two took what they treasured most and left, still hoping that they would have a place to live when they returned.

The fire swept through the homes in the area, sparing none. The little wooden house’s walls and roof had grown dry through the summer and the fire licked the beams hungrily. In mere moments, the home was ablaze and then gone – ash blowing on the wind.

The third pig was saddened when he heard the news of his neighbors, and he opened his home to them, saying, “Stay with me a while until you can rebuild. Don’t fear the Santa Anna winds nor the fires that ride them. For you see, I read up on the weather in this area and prepared for it. Not only have I built my home of brick and stone and made my roof of clay tiles, I’ve also designed fire barriers around my property. No, the fires will not touch my house.”

Though crowded, the three pigs lived in the house of stone and watched the news closely. The fires continued to spread further and further. When the day that they had to evacuate, the third pig said, “I have confidence this house will survive.”

The fires raged, but the barriers slowed them down. Smoke billowed thick and blinding and darkened the gleaming white exterior. Tiles cracked and popped in the unyielding heat of the inferno… but the house stood.

The three pigs returned and scrubbed the smoke from the interior and exterior, glad they still had a home. The third pig was very proud of himself and his wisdom to research the clime before building. He instructed the other two pigs that when they rebuild they must use brick and stone as he had for surely that was the best way to build a home in that beautiful part of the world.

Through the mild winter months, the third pig continued to boast as he kept his home warm at night with his brick fireplace. The other two grew weary of this, but with nowhere else to live until they rebuilt in the spring, they had no choice.

In the early spring, the San Andreas fault shrugged its shoulders. The ground trembled beneath the little stone house, rattling the windows and dislodging loose items. The three pigs scrambled to flee, just as the clay tile roof fell.

When the gentle breeze came to lift the morning fog, it also cleared the dust in the air, giving them a good look at their home. Bricks and stone were scattered everywhere, not one wall remained standing. All their belongings were lost, crushed under the crumbled stone and heavy roof. As one the two pigs turned to the third and remarked, “You forgot about the earthquakes when you designed this home, didn’t you.”

The third pig just sat there mute, looking at the remains of his fine home. As his ego came crashing down, he swallowed his pride and turned to the other two. “It appears I have,” he grudgingly admitted.

They agreed then and there to collaborate and design a home together. The first pig provided insight about using local building materials. The second pig helped design a house that would give and sway without falling in high winds or earthquakes. The third pig put his knowledge of fire barriers to use, making this home as resistant to the fires as possible.

The year rolled through the seasons, summer followed spring and fall brought the Santa Anna winds on its tail. The new house rattled with the winds, but did not blow away. The fires came and the house survived with only some charring, which was easily repaired. That winter, the ground shifted again, and the house remained firmly upright.

At the end of that winter, the three little pigs rejoiced, they had survived a year and their combined efforts had seen them through it all. With the rain pattering down on their roof they felt secure and comfortable in their home.

And the rains continued to fall – heavily at times – day after day after day. The little pigs looked outside gloomily, wondering if they will ever see the sun that made that area a wonderful place to live. Then they felt the ground shift under their feet – just slightly. Thinking it was one of the local faults sending out a minor tremor, the little pigs just shrugged it off, confident their house would withstand it all.

The next morning, the shift was felt again – more prominent. When there was nothing reported on the news, they decided to visit with a friend who was a local seismologist. He checked the equipment and shrugged, there was nothing registering that they would perceive. He was a little concerned and suggested they have someone check into the ground stability.

Baffled, they drove back to their home only to find the way blocked. When the police officer walked up to the car window, he told them the road ahead was closed.

“But officer,” they argued as they showed their ID’s, “we live up there.”

He walked back to his fellows and they called over the man in charge. Then a small group walked back to the car, very somber. “You can’t get to your house, but we’ll let you go a little way in to survey the damage. We’ll escort you; then you have to leave.”

Pale-faced they followed the patrol car into the neighborhood. Fresh sandy soil washed in muddy cascades here and there. When the crested a neighboring hill, they saw their home – or where the house had once stood. It had slid down the hillside from where it once stood, the roofline and chimney the only parts visible above the river of mud that engulfed it.

They gathered at a nearby shelter, wondering what to do. Then an understanding came to them. Cooperation was how they survived everything else, but they lacked one thing – a good, solid foundation.

They tried together one more time and this time found a solid rocky ledge to build their house upon. Through cooperation and collaboration, they built themselves a fine home. The seasons spun in their annual dance, winds, fire, tremors and mudslides came and went and the house survived it all.

They still live there to this day.


- ESA

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