Inspirational Stories

All the Good Things

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's
School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark
Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that
happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mis-chieviousness
delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again
that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so
much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for
misbehaving - "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to
make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many
times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once
too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake. I looked at him and
said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"

It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is
talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch
Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had
to act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I
walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of
masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore
off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I
then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he
was doing he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class
cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape and shrugged my
shoulders.
His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."

At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math.
The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again.
He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen
carefully to my instructions in the "new math," he did not talk as much in
ninth grade as he had in the third.

One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard
on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning,
frustrated with themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop this
crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of
the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space
between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could
say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the
remainder of he class period to finish the assignment, and as the students left
the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Marked said,
"Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."

That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a
separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that
individual.
On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the
entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew
that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much!"
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they
discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The
exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with
themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I
returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were
driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the
weather, my experiences in general. There was a light lull in the
conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. "The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is." Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said.
"The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could
attend." To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark. I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin
before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment
was, Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you
would talk to me. The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister
sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the
day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor
said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who
loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy
water.

I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one
of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you
Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the
coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said. After the funeral, most of
Mark's former classmates headed to Chucks farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found
this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of
notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many
times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I
had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about
him. "Thank you so much for doing that" Mark's mother said. "As you can
see, Mark treasured it."

Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled
rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top
drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put this
in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my
diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out
her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry
this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think
we all saved our lists."

That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and
for all his friends who would never see him again.

- Sister Helen P. Mrosia

Special Orders

Horror gripped the heart of the World War I soldier as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle. Caught in a trench with continuous gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier asked his lieutenant if he might go out into the "No Man's Land" between the trenches to bring his fallen comrade back.

"You can go," said the Lieutenant, "but I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead and you may throw your own life away." The Lieutenant's words didn't matter, and the soldier went anyway.

Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulder, and bring him back to their company's trench. As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend. "I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Your friend is dead, and you are mortally wounded."

"It was worth it, though, sir," the soldier said.

"How do you mean, `worth it?' " responded the Lieutenant. "Your friend is dead!"

"Yes sir," the private answered. "But it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive, and I had the satisfaction of hearing him say, `Jim, I knew you'd come."

From This Little Light of Mine

Food for Thought !

"Life is illogical. It is wild. In life, contradictions are not contradictions but complementariness."

- Anonymous

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