Tag Archive | children

A Little Girl’s Prayer

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Beside many comments directly in my blog, there are so many comments from non blogger friend sent to my email. Many of them ask me to post beautiful stories like for the first time I launch my blog. To meet their wishes, this evening I post one of my favorite stories. This story tells about How great God’s love to us.

 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.  By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:34-35

One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator) and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates.

“And it is our last hot water bottle!” she exclaimed.

As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. “All right,” I said, “put the baby as near the fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm.”

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.

During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. “Please, God,” she prayed, “send us a water bottle. It’ll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby’ll be dead, so please send it this afternoon.” While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, “And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love her?”

As often with children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, “Amen?” I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren’t there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home; anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses’ training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box.

From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas — that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the … could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out — yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle!

I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!”

Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted. Looking up at me, she asked: “Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?”

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God’s prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child– five months before — in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it “that afternoon.”

By Helen Roseveare

Photo credit: wikimedia

Busy Day

MOM“Mommy, look!” cried my daughter, Darla, pointing to a chicken hawk soaring through the air.

“Uh huh,” I murmured, driving, lost in thought about the tight schedule of my Day.

Disappointment filled her face. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” I asked, entirely dense.

“Nothing,” my seven-year-old said. The moment was gone. Near home, we slowed to search for the albino deer that comes out from behind the thick mass of trees in the early evening. She was nowhere to be seen. “Tonight, she has too many things to do,” I said.

Dinner, baths and phone calls filled the hours until bedtime.

“Come on, Darla, time for bed!” She raced past me up the stairs. Tired, I kissed her on the cheek, said prayers and tucked her in.

“Mom, I forgot to give you something!” she said. My patience was gone.

“Give it to me in the morning,” I said, but she shook her head.

“You won’t have time in the morning!” she retorted.

“I’ll take time,” I answered defensively. Sometimes no matter how hard I tried, time flowed through my fingers like sand in an hourglass, never enough. Not enough for her, for my husband, and definitely not enough for me.

She wasn’t ready to give up yet. She wrinkled her freckled little nose in anger and swiped away her chestnut brown hair.

“No, you won’t! It will be just like today when I told you to look at the hawk. You didn’t even listen to what I said.”

I was too weary to argue; she hit too close to the truth. “Good night!” I shut her door with a resounding thud.

Later though, her gray-blue gaze filled my vision as I thought about how little time we really had until she was grown and gone.

My husband asked, “Why so glum?” I told him.

“Maybe she’s not asleep yet. Why don’t you check,” he said with all the authority of a parent in the right. I followed his advice, wishing it was my own idea.

I cracked open her door, and the light from the window spilled over her sleeping form. In her hand I could see the remains of a crumpled paper. Slowly I opened her palm to see what the item of our disagreement had been.

Tears filled my eyes. She had torn into small pieces a big red heart with a poem she had written titled, “Why I Love My Mother!”

I carefully removed the tattered pieces. Once the puzzle was put back into place, I read what she had written:

Why I Love My Mother

Although you’re busy, and you work so hard You always take time to play I love you Mommy because I am the biggest part of your busy day!

The words were an arrow straight to the heart. At seven years old, she had the Wisdom of Solomon.

Ten minutes later I carried a tray to her room, with two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When I softly touched her smooth cheek, I could feel my heart burst with love.

Her thick dark lashes lay like fans against her lids as they fluttered, awakened from a dreamless sleep, and she looked at the tray.

“What is that for?” she asked, confused by this late-night intrusion.

“This is for you, because you are the most important part of my busy day!” She smiled and sleepily drank half her cup of chocolate. Then she drifted back to sleep, not really understanding how strongly I meant what I said.

http://www.heavensinspirations.com

Photo : footage.shutterstock.com

 

The Meaning of Sacrifice

This heart touching story came from a kind, friendly, and humble boy, named David. He was a student of a poor senior high school. Indeed, he got a scholarship to study there because he came from a poor family. He only lived with his father in a small hut. His father was just a construction worker. Because of that, his daily life was really difficult. He was very grateful to attend school even though it was poor.

 One time, it was raining. The rain fell so hard from late midnight till morning. At the moment, David should go to school. But, until almost the school started, David had not seen out of his hut. Apparently he was busy helping his father moved their goods to avoid from being submerged in water if flooding occurs. When finished, he said goodbye to his father and went out from his hut which was starting submerged. But, out there, the rain was still heavy. He knew that he would be late to the class, so he did not care about this rain. He rushed off to school which is about 2 kilometers from where he was now. No motorcycle, moreover a car, he went on foot and pass the rain lonely.
 When he was on the way to the school, he approached by his senior who brought an umbrella. She seemed in a hurry too. But, she was not an individualistic person. She lent her umbrella to be used together. They walked toward the school with only one umbrella which protected them from the rain.
 The rain got heavier. Wind blew on a muddy and crowded road. Suddenly a strong wind blew the umbrella. The umbrella loose and flew into the middle of the road. David’s senior chose to let her umbrella flown away. But, David tried to get it. He ran to catch the umbrella. From the other side, looked a car sped towards David. Look like David would be hit by the car. David’s senior ran toward David to save him. But, unfortunately they both got hit by the car.
 By the people, they were taken to the same hospital. A few minutes later, David’s father arrived at the hospital. Then, he waited in front of David’s room. He was confused and very worried. At the same time, a doctor ran with a strained face toward the room next to David. Suddenly, David’s father immediately stopped the doctor. He scolded the doctor.
 “Why are you so slow?! My son’s life cannot wait for your arrival! Quick! Save my son’s doc!!”.
“I’m sorry. I actually want to go to the next room, but well, I’ll look your son’s condition first”. The doctor tried to be professional.
“I do not want to hear your words, quick, save my son! He’s my only son! I don’t want to lose him!”. David’s father cannot be patient anymore. He kept cursing the doctor.
“Please calm down, sir. I’ll try to do my best”, Replied the doctor.
“How can I calm down! You must save my son, doc!! Don’t let my son die!!”, David’s father looked so emotional.
“My apologize, sir, but I am not a God that can make your son alive or die. I am just a doctor. Please trust me, sir. I’ll do my best”.
David’s father fell silent to hear it. He held his temper for a moment. Then, the doctor came in to check on David.
 Thirty minutes later, the doctor came out and said without an expression to David’s father, “your son is fine”. Then he immediately ran to the room next to David. David’s father was so happy to hear it. He ran after the doctor and wanted to say ‘thank you’ to the doctor. At the same time, a nurse came out from the room which next to David, and said to the doctor, “I’m sorry doc, she’s gone”. The doctor could only smile and shed a tear. David’s father was shocked and paralyzed after hearing that.
 Apparently, the senior of David who lends her umbrella was the daughter of the doctor who examined David. She’s dead now, and David would miss her when he awake.
 For parents, children are priceless. But, for a doctor, whether he/she is his son/daughter or not, patient safety is his priority. He saved the others life, but he could not save his lovely daughter.

The wooden bowl

 

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A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and a four-year old grandson. The old man’s hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.

The family ate together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather’s shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass often milk spilled on the tablecloth.

The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. “We must do something about grandfather,” said the son. I’ve had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather’s direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?” Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making the bowl for you and mama to eat.” The four-year-old smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather’s hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes ever observe, their ears ever listen, and their minds ever process the messages they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day that building blocks are being laid for the child’s future. Let us all be wise builders and role models. Take care of yourself, and those you love, … today, and every day!

 http://academictips.org

Photo source : purposechurch.blogspot.com

A box of kisses

 

Some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.” He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found the box was empty.

He yelled at her, “Don’t you know that when you give someone a present, there’s supposed to be something inside it?”

The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said,.”Oh, Daddy, it is not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you, Daddy.”

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.
It is told that the man kept that gold box by his bed for years and whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as humans have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, friends, family and God. There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

 http://academictips.org