(Erik's Webhome Online)

Note : This is a place where you can read compiled stories and poetry that I find truly reveal the truth in us. This is a place where emotions are honored as god-given rights. Feel free to delve deep into your inner being and learn that there is still peace within you. Most of the master pieces below have been obtained from Chicken Soup for the Soul : Home Delivery. I would like to take this opportunity to thank a special friend who subscribed me to this free service.

Index

Stories
A Brother Like That
Goodwill
True Forgiveness

    A friend of mine named Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it. "Is this your car, Mister?" he asked.

    Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas." The boy was astounded. "Boy, I wish..." He hesitated.

    Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.

    "I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."

    Paul was astonished. He asked the boy, "Would you like a ride?"

    After a short ride, the boy turned and his eyes aglow, said, "Will you stop where those two steps are?"

    He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car.

    "There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn't cost him a cent. And someday I'm gonna give you one just like it...then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I've been trying to tell you about."

    Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride. That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when He had said:

    "It is more blessed to give..."

By Dan Clark
from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Patty Hansen

    Annie leaned against her locker and sighed. What a day! What a disaster! This school year wasn't starting out the way she had planned it at all.

    Of course, Annie hadn't planned on that new girl, Kristen. And she definitely hadn't planned on the new girl wearing the exact skirt Annie was supposed to be wearing.

    It wasn't just any skirt. Annie had baby-sat three active brothers all summer to buy that skirt and its designer accent top. When she saw them in her Teen magazine, Annie knew they were meant for her. She had gone right to the phone and called the 800 number for the "outlet nearest" her.

    With price and picture in hand, she had set off to convince her mother.

    "It's great, hon," her mother agreed. "I just can't see spending as much on one outfit as I do for all your clothes." Annie wasn't surprised, but she was disappointed.

    "Well, if it's that important, we could put it on layaway," her mom said. "You'd have to pay for it, though."

    So she did. Every Friday, Annie took all her baby-sitting money and paid down the balance.

    She had made her final payment just last week and hurried home to try on the skirt and top. The moment of truth had arrived and she was afraid to look! She stood in front of the mirror with her eyes squeezed shut. She counted to three and forced herself to open them.

    It was perfect. From the side, from the back and even from the front, it was perfect. She walked, she sat and she turned. She practiced humbly taking compliments so her friends wouldn't think she was stuck up.

    The next day, Annie and her mother gave her bedroom the end of summer "good going over." They washed and ironed the bedspread and curtains, and vacuumed behind and under everything.

    Then they sorted through the closets and drawers for clothes to give away. Annie dreaded all the tugging on and pulling off, the laundering and the folding into boxes. They dropped the boxes off at Goodwill, then headed to her grandmother's for the weekend.

    When they got home Sunday night, Annie ran straight to her bedroom. Everything had to be just right for her grand entrance at school the next day.

    She flung open her closet and pulled out her top and her...and her...skirt? It wasn't there. It must be here! But it wasn't.

    "Dad! Mom!" Annie's search became frantic. Her parents rushed in. Hangers and clothes were flying everywhere.

    "My skirt! It isn't here!" Annie stood with her top in one hand and an empty hanger in the other.

    "Now, Annie," her dad said, trying to calm her, "it didn't just get up and walk away. We'll find it." But they didn't. For two hours they searched through closets, drawers, the laundry room, under the bed and even in the bed. It just wasn't there.

    Annie sank into bed that night, trying to figure out the puzzle.

    When she woke up the next morning, she felt tired and dull. She picked out something - anything - to wear. Nothing measured up to her summer daydreams.

    It was at her school locker that the puzzle became, well, more puzzling.

    "You're Annie, right?" a voice said from behind her.

    Annie turned. Shock waves hit her. That's my skirt. That's my skirt! That's my skirt?

    "I'm Kristen. The principal gave me the locker next to yours. She thought since we lived on the same block and I'm new here, you could show me around." Her voice trailed off, unsure. Annie just stared. How...? Where...? Is that my...?

    Kristen seemed uneasy. "You don't have to. I told her we didn't really know each other. We've only passed each other on the sidewalk."

    That was true. Annie and Kristen had passed each other, Annie to and from her baby-sitting job and Kristen in her fast-food uniform that smelled of onions and grease at the end of the day. Annie pulled her thoughts back to Kristen's words.

    "Sure. I'll be happy to show you around," Annie said, not happy at all. The entire day, friends gushed over Kristen and the skirt while Annie stood by with a stiff smile.

    And now Annie was waiting to walk Kristen home, hoping to sort this out. They chatted all the way to Annie's house before she worked up the nerve to ask the big question. "Where did you get your skirt, Kristen?"

    "Isn't it beautiful? My mom and I saw it in a magazine while we were waiting for my grandma at the doctor's office."

    "Oh, your mom bought it for you."

    "Well, no." Kristen lowered her voice. "We've had kind of a hard time lately. Dad lost his job, and my grandma was sick. We moved here to take care of her while my dad looked for work."

    All that went right over Annie's head. "You must have saved most of your paycheck then."

    Kristen blushed. "I saved all my money and gave it to my mom to buy school clothes for my brother and sister." Annie couldn't stand it. "Where did you get your skirt?"

    Kristen stammered, "My mother found it at Goodwill in a box that was dropped off just as she got there. Mom opened it, and there was the skirt from the magazine, brand new, with the tags still on it!" Kristen looked up.

    Goodwill? Brand new? The puzzle pieces finally fell into place. Kristen smiled, and her face glowed. "My mother knew it was meant for me. She knew it was a blessing."

    "Kristen, I..." Annie stopped. This wasn't going to be easy. "Kristen," Annie tried again, "can I tell you something?"

    "Sure. Anything."

    "Kristen." Annie took a deep breath. She hesitated for a moment. Then she smiled and said, "Do you have a minute to come up to my room? I think I have a top that would go great with your skirt."

By Cynthia M. Hamond
from Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul
Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Hansen and Irene Dunlap

    Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember the name of a mere acquaintance. I have duly forgotten the name of an old lady who was a customer on my paper route when I was a twelve-year-old boy in Marinette, Wisconsin back in 1954. Yet it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to pass on to someone else someday.

    On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady's house from a secluded spot in her backyard. The object of our play was to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled to the roof's edge and shot out into the yard like comets falling from the sky.

    I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for a ride. The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand as I let it go and headed straight for a small window on the old lady's back porch. At the sound of fractured glass, we took off from the old lady's yard faster than any of our missiles flew off her roof.

    I was too scared about getting caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady with the broken porch window. However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn't been discovered, I started to feel guilty for her misfortune. She still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to act comfortable in her presence.

    I made up my mind that I would save my paper delivery money, and in three weeks I had the seven dollars that I calculated would cover the cost of her window. I put the money in an envelope with a note explaining that I was sorry for breaking her window and hoped that the seven dollars would cover the cost for repairing it.

    I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's house, and put the envelope of retribution through the letter slot in her door. My soul felt redeemed and I couldn't wait for the freedom of, once again, looking straight into the old lady's eyes.

    The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was able to return the warm smile that I was receiving from her. She thanked me for the paper and said, "Here, I have something for you." It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her and proceeded to eat the cookies as I continued my route.

    After several cookies, I felt an envelope and pulled it out of the bag. When I opened the envelope, I was stunned. Inside was the seven dollars and a short note that said, "I'm proud of you."

By Jerry Harpt
from A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen