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Inspirational
Stories
You
Don't Owe Me A Thing!
He
was driving home one evening, on a two-lane country road.
Work, in this small mid-western community, was almost as slow
as his beat-up Pontiac was. But he never quit looking. Ever
since the factory closed, he'd been unemployed. And with winter
raging on, the chill had finally hit home.
It
was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be
on it, unless they were leaving. Most of his friends had already
left. They had families to feed and dreams to fulfill. But
he stayed on. After all, this was where he buried his mother
and father. He was born here and knew the country.
He
could go down this road blind, and tell you what was on either
side, and with his headlights not working, that came in handy.
It was starting to get dark, and light snow flurries were
coming down. He'd better get a moving on.
He
almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the
road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed
help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out.
His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.
Even
with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped
to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her?
He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry. He could see
that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He
knew how she felt. It was that chill that only fear can put
in you. He said, "I'm here to help you ma'am. Why don't
you wait in the car where it's warm?
By the way, my name is Joe."
Well,
all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was
bad enough. Joe crawled under the car looking for a place
to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon
he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and
his hands hurt. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she
rolled down her window and began to talk to him. She told
him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing
through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.
Joe just smiled as he closed her trunk.
She
asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been
all right with her. She had already imagined all the awful
things that could have happened had he not stopped. Joe never
thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him.
This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were
plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived
his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act
any other way. He told her that if she really wanted to pay
him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she
could give that person the assistance that they needed, and
Joe added "...and think of me".
He
waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been
a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for
home, disappearing into the twilight. A few miles down the
road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite
to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg
of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside
were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to
her. The cash register was like the telephone of an out of
work actor--it didn't ring much.
Her
waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet
hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet
for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed that the
waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let
the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered
how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger.
Then she remembered Joe.
After
the lady finished her meal, and the waitress went to get her
change from a hundred-dollar bill, the lady slipped right
out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back.
She wondered where the lady could be, and then she noticed
something written on a napkin. There were tears in her eyes,
when she read what the lady wrote. It said, "You don't
owe me a thing, I've been there too. Someone once helped me
out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me
back, here's what you do. Don't let the chain of love end
with you."
Well,
there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people
to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That
night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she
was thinking about the money and what the lady had written.
How could she have known how much she and her husband needed
it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard.
She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping
next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and
low, "Everything's gonna be alright; I love you, Joe."
-
Author Unknown
What's
the miracle cost?
Tess
was a precocious eight years old when she heard her Mom and
Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew
was that he was very sick and they were completely out of
money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month
because Daddy didn't have the money for the doctor bills and
our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him now and
it was looking like there was no-one to loan them the money.
She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with whispered desperation,
"Only amiracle can save him now."
Tess
went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its
hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out
on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even.
The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes.
Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on
the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6
blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief
sign above the door.
She
waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention
but he was too intently talking to another man to be bothered
by an eight year old at this moment. Tess twisted her feet
to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat
with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good.
Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the
glass counter. That did it!
"And
what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed
tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago
whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting
for a reply to his question.
"Well,
I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered
back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick
... and I want to buy a miracle."
"I
beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist.
"His
name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his
head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So
how much does a miracle cost?"
"We
don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't
help you." the pharmacist said, softening a little.
"Listen,
I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will
get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."
The
pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down
and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does
you brother need?"
"I
don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. "I
just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs a operation.
But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money.
"How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.
"One
dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly.
"And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more
if I need to."
"Well,
what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and
eleven cents -- the exact price of a miracle for little brothers."
He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped
her and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see
your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the
kind of miracle you need."
That
well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing
in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed without charge
and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well.
Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events
that had led them to this place. "That surgery,"
her mom whispered. "was a real miracle. I wonder how
much it would have cost?"
Tess
smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar
and eleven cents....plus the faith of a little child.
-
Author Unknown
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Cosmos
of Happiness
