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The Santa Project


Mom struggled to make ends meet for many years after she divorced my dad and she often moved from town to town, state to state in hopes of finding "the" job that would take care of us financially. For about three years we lived in the town of Parkersburg, WV. The first Christmas that we lived there, it became apparent that we were not going to have a present filled holiday because mom just could not afford many gifts. My brother, Mike, and I were OK with this. Being 15 and 13 we probably realized better than the other two kids. But we were in for a surprise on Christmas Eve.

After we'd all gone to bed we were jolted awake by someone pounding on our front door and bellowing "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" We all jumped up out of bed and ran for the door to find no one there, but several boxes and bags filled with goodies! Not only were there gifts - many, many gifts, but there was food - turkey, canned goods, fruit, candy, cake mixes and clothes as well. Everything was labeled for each of us kids as well as for mom. And the clothes all fit us!

Another year went by and things were nearly the same for us financially, so were sort of curious to see if 'Santa' would visit us again. Christmas Eve came around again, we went to bed and sometime around midnight we heard it again! The same 'Ho, ho, ho!', the same 'Merry Christmas!' and when we ran to the door, again, there was no one to be seen, but there were boxes and bags full of goodies.

The next year we had moved. We were in the same town but clear across the other side. Mom was beginning to get on her feet, but we were still in binds for the holidays. Since we had moved and mom had a better job, we were relatively certain that 'Santa' wouldn't visit us that year.... We were wrong!

Those three years of Santa visits restored in me the goodness of mankind. To this day we don't know who our benefactor was, but we've decided to pass on the kindness.

Mom moved to Virginia but had some extra money close to Christmas one year, sent it to me and asked me to buy for some needy family that we might know of and let her know about everything. She also asked that we don't let them know who delivered the goodies. Let 'Santa' deliver them she said. So, we did. My husband and children had so much fun buying for this family, wrapping up the presents and boxing up the food. Then Christmas Eve came along and it was time for our secret mission! The kids were filled with excitement and we allowed them to stay up late in order to be a part of the 'Santa' project.

Such satisfaction there was in being able to pass on the gift of love to others who needed it. And the gift goes on!

contributed by Deneene Winters .


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That Autistic Child

I remembered when I got my first job working with individuals who are handicapped. I was in my second year of college going for a Recreational Therapy degree. I saw a job posting for a new facility that was opening up to house autistic children ages 5 to 20. I talked to my grandfather about it. He was a Recreational and Vocational Therapist. He encouraged me to apply. He said: "You will either love it or you will hate it. If you love it, you will make a difference in their lives, if you hate it get out!"

I applied and was hired on the spot. Since the facility was still being built, we had an opportunity to read up on the incoming children and prepare the beds, dressers and other odds and ends. I read about one little girl. , Her name was BECKY. I cried when I read her file. Her mother left her with her grandmother as she didn't know or care enough to find out how to effectively care for an autistic child. BECKY became violent and was placed in the only place in Rochester, NY that would take the handicapped. It was an adult mental hospital. BECKY was allowed to run the halls barefoot and was raped and abused by the adult male clients there. I sat in a corner and cried. I felt an amazing bond with her and I had never met her.

BECKY was the first child to arrive and I requested to be her one-on-one.

They readily agreed because she bit, scratched and smeared feces. I must tell you from the very first time I saw her, I knew she was special. I worked with BECKY one on one for 1 1/2 years. Through dedication and determination, BECKY learned not to bite, scratch nor smear.

I have many scars to show the time spent with her, but I can look at them and know that the scars I bear are nothing compared to the emotional scars she holds inside. I cried the first time she hugged me, the first time she smiled and the first time she used the toilet instead of her hand. I bawled when she signed "I love you."

BECKY is now 19 and I don't know where she is nor how she is doing, but she will always be a part of me and me a part of her. Someday when we enter in those pearly gates, I pray I will reunite with the child who opened my heart and helped me overcome my own autistic past.

God is so good to us, even when we don't realize it is His hand that is guiding us.

Contributed by Tamara


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Significant Moments

Grammy lives four hours away, and I don't see her nearly as often as I should. But I write her long letters and she sends me sweet cards in between visits. She understands the busy-ness of every day living, Grammy always understands. Short in stature and elf-like in appearance, her presence looms large in my life despite the distance.

The kind wrinkles on her face belie the strength of her convictions. Draw her into a discussion and she will debate politics, religion and baseball in one sitting. She's a wizened old pixie and I am grateful for the defining moments she's brought to my life.

While standing at the side of my Grampy's deathbed, I held her tight when the nurses urged her to speak to her unconscious husband. As she bent close to his ear, I held my breath, afraid the poignant moment would send me off in a wail of sobs. But before a tear was shed, she straightened up and uttered a feisty retort, "He can't hear me. He's not wearing his hearing aid." That spark in her broken spirit taught me to go through the grieving process without allowing sorrow to completely swallow me up.

A few short years later, we stood side by side once again. This time, in front of my brother's casket. In the face of my endless tears, she told me she had cried all her tears out when Grampy died, and apologized for not crying with me. The pain of her apology showed me I would need my tears in years to come and I didn't let my well run dry.

Grammy was at my side when I woke from surgery last year. In the midst of a post-operative haze, a handful of her soft spoken words parted the fog in my head. "I want you to know how very much I love you." When I turned toward her voice, I saw a glistening in her eyes. Was my medicated mind playing a trick? To this day, I don't know. The anesthetic pulled me back from consciousness before I could ask. However, I drifted off to sleep with the knowledge that nothing is carved in stone, and you're never too old to grow new feelings.

I catch slivers of Grammy's personality sneaking their way into mine. They are traits that enhance my character and fit comfortably inside my skin.

Contributed by Terri McPherson. WiseHearts... Weaving Small Wisdoms Through The Fabric Of Life Copyright © 1999 by Terri McPherson. All rights reserved.

Terri lives in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. She has two wonderful children, a five-year-old grandangel and a terrific husband. She works as a Writer / Web Designer / Production Assistant for a local production company and teaches advanced clogging classes for the Border City Cloggers. Her writing has appeared in numerous online publications.


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The Dancers That Touch
the Lives of Seniors

Quite some time ago I read about a lady who gave one day of her life to help seniors. It was a well written story and many readers responded to it with words of praise for the writer. One reply from all of the readers was outstanding and I knew I wanted to see if we could get her story for the “For Goodness Sake” Web page. The lady is Janet Hakey and she is a most special and caring woman.

Janet helped to form a Middle Eastern dance troupe called the Jewels of the Oasis and for the past 12 years she and her friends have been dancing almost every weekend in nursing and retirement homes. These energetic ladies also perform for charity benefits free of charge.

The dance troupe entertain but they don't stop there. They visit with the seniors and they stage a special time where they encourage the seniors to participate.

In describing the effect the event has on the seniors Janet writes, "I wish you could see them when they start dancing! Their eyes shine and their faces glow! They really come alive. Afterwards, we walk around and talk to the residents. I try to hold their hands or touch them in some way to let them know I care. I've found through the years that these wonderful people really crave attention and acknowledgement that they even exist!"

Janet first got involved just by signing up for a belly-dancing class. she says, "When I started taking classes, I had no idea the direction it would take me and some of the other students in the class. Some of us had a lot of experience with other types of dances and others had never danced in their life before. We were all there to learn to belly-dance and have fun. "

Janet and some of the other dance students were asked to do some dancing for a seniors centre. In the beginning the dancers performed and felt they were terrible dancers, yet each time they performed they recognized the improvement! Soon they couldn't wait to dance in a nursing home, just so they could improve their dancing.

Janet noted, "Even though we were entertaining the residents, we felt this was more for us than for them. We just did our thing and left. After about 2 years, we noticed that there were 6 of us that continually volunteered to dance in the nursing homes."

It wasn't long after that the six formed a dance group and increased their commitment to the seniors. They soon discovered that the more they gave of themselves, the greater their feelings of achievement and the better they felt about themselves in general.

Janet says that the Jewels of the Oasis, was formed in 1987. "We sat down one day and discussed what we wanted out of this group. We decided that we wanted it to be open to anyone who would like to have the opportunity to dance and to perform a community service free of charge. No auditions would be required. No matter how good or bad the dancers were, we were giving them the opportunity to dance."

The group began growing in popularity and were soon traveling long distances to entertain, always free of charge! Janet commented, "We've received calls from as far north as Northern Virginia and far south as North Carolina. We became so popular that we found ourselves dancing every weekend."

"Once we became more and more comfortable with our dancing, we then slowly started to notice the residents who we were supposedly dancing for. Because the activities directors would repeatedly call us back, we became familiar with some faces and names. We changed our dance program so that we could offer a more personal touch to the residents. We call our last dance a free for all. All of the dancers will dance around the room to music and if possible will take the hand of a resident and try to get him or her on the floor to dance with us. They absolutely love it!! You can see their enjoyment shining on their faces. Afterwards, we walk around the room and shake or hold their hands and ask how they are. Sometimes we pass out flowers and as a result, we have learned some fascinating life histories. We're always sorry to leave and the residents always beg us to come back. We all have learned to love entertaining these wonderful people. We had started out as dancers hoping to improve our dance skills and eventually we were awakened to the needs of our audiences. It is difficult to say who benefits the most from our visits. Perhaps it has become a mutual admiration society. We wanted to touch others by our dancing and we learned that in order to touch them we actually needed to do just that. Now we are not just dancers. We are listeners and dancers and just people who really do care and the more we give , the more we get!

Today there are 15 members in our troupe. Skill levels range from beginners to professionals. Most troupe members work and hold jobs such as teaching Spanish in high school to being doctors. We also have two senior citizens, the oldest being 78, that give the audience such a thrill! We also have one deaf dancer, yours truly!

Contributed by Janet Hakey.

I just wanted to leave you all with a footnote here. Janet tells me that one of their achievements was to inspire a young girl from Germany who had been in Richmond for a year. Janet says, "When she went back home, she took our ideas and suggestions and started her own troupe. She and her troupe have now been dancing in nursing and retirement homes the past year in Germany!


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Being stranded on a busy street can be a nightmare. This next story comes to us from someone who was in a bad situation.


Maybe It's You

by Scott Adams

It was one of those cold winter nights in the Haight district of San Francisco, the kind where the rain hurts, and your breath forms huge cotton balls that bounce on the pavement. I was driving an eyesore that could only be referred to as a "car" by someone who was either a shameless liar or a good friend.

Technically, the vehicle was totaled when I bought it from an unscrupulous neighbor, because it needed an engine overhaul that would have cost more than the car itself. I added a quart of oil before every journey. Most of it would leak out along the way. I tried to imagine I was driving a huge magical snail; that way I didn't mind the slow speeds and the slime trail it left.

The car's outer paint had transformed into a hideous mixture of rust and "something brown." The engine sounded like a lawnmower with tuberculosis. If anyone ever wondered what the inside of an automobile seat looked like, my car had the answers. It was a difficult car to drive because you had to keep your fingers and toes crossed to keep the engine running.

That night I must have uncrossed my fingers to scratch something. The car died in the middle of a four-lane stretch of Oak Street. I coasted as far as I could, hoping for a place to turn off, but the street was lined with parked cars and the nearest intersection was beyond coasting distance.

There I sat, in busy evening traffic, no lights, no locomotion, as tons of steel and plastic screamed by. In my rearview mirror I saw a pair of headlights pull up and stop behind me. I knew what was coming. Soon the horn would start and someone would be cursing at me.

In San Francisco, if you dawdle too long after a light turns green, you get the horn. If you dare to come to a full stop at a stop sign, you get the horn from the car behind you. I figured I was begging for trouble. But I was wrong.

A stranger got out of the car and came to my window. He shouted, "Do you want a push?"

I was stunned but must have nodded in the affirmative. He waved to his car and two teens piled out to apply themselves to my bumper. When I was safely delivered to a side street, they hopped back into their car and rejoined the sea of anonymous traffic. I didn't get to thank them.

Over the years I've realized something about the stranger who stopped to help. I've noticed that every time I'm in trouble, he appears. He never looks the same. Sometimes he's a woman. His age and ethnicity vary. But he's always there.

I've started to understand he's the best part of what makes us human beings. The one true thing in this world is an unasked kindness provided by a stranger. It's the invisible cord that binds us all together and makes life worthwhile.

This year, when you find yourself immersed in the clutter and bustle of the holiday season, annoyed by the long lines, baffled about how you'll get everything done, remember this:

One of the people in that crowd is the stranger. Today, maybe it's you.


By Scott Adams

Email Scott and let him know what you thought of his story! Scott Adams is the creator and author of the renowned Dilbert comic strip, and television show. The above story also appears in the Dilbert Newsletter, by Scott Adams. To subscribe to the Dilbert Newsletter, visit The Dilbert Zone or send e-mail to the Dilbert Newsletter. Visit The Dilbert Zone webpage.


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I was out to lunch with some clients one day and somehow I dropped a $20.00 bill on the floor of the restaurant. I didn't discover this until later and by then just hoped that whomever found it would be someone who really needed it. Chet wrote to me about a similar incident with an altogether different ending.

A Man Called Rafael

by Chet Chmura

One weekend when Millie's granddaughter, Rene was in town we all decided to head for the Hungry Fisherman after Mass. Millie, a good friend, didn't want me to buy dinner that night so she slipped me a one hundred dollar bill (rolled up) and I put it into the pocket of my trousers. Later I paid for the dinner with money out of my other pocket and when I got home, I couldn't find the C note. I looked and searched everywhere. I finally decided that it must have fallen out of my left pants pocket while at the restaurant.

I went to the restaurant Sunday at 11:00 A.M and asked about the money, and would you believe a fellow named Rafael came out and yes, he had found it, but had gone grocery shopping with it. Rafael said if I would please come back on Monday at 11:00 A.M., he would have it for me. UNBELIEVABLE!

I returned the restaurant the following day and while Rafael was not there, the Manager had the money for me in his office.

What an unbelievable experience! I was surprised and grateful and naturally, I left a $10.00 tip for Rafael. It is so refreshing to find that there are some honest people left in this world, after all!

Chet Chmura


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Holding On To What is Important

by Michael

There is a beautiful story I heard once about a child playing with a vase his mother had left on the table for a few moments. When the mother turned at the sound of her son crying she saw that his hand was in the vase and was apparently stuck. She tried to help him and pulled and pulled until the child cried out in pain. But the hand was stuck fast. How would they get it out? The father suggested breaking the vase but it was quite valuable and the child's hand might be cut in the process. Yet he knew that if all else failed there would be no other alternative. So he said to the boy, "Now, let's make one more try. Open your hand and stretch your fingers out straight, like I'm doing, and then pull!" "But Dad," said the boy, "if I do that I'll lose my penny!"

The boy had had a coin in his hand all the time and was holding it securely in his tight little fist. And he wasn't prepared to open his hand and lose the penny. But once he opened his hand it came out of the vase easily......

I know that I hold onto things in my life that I think are so important to me. Early in my marriage all I cared about was becoming the best volleyball player in the state of Wisconsin. One year, when Kristi was working 2nd shift at General Motors, I played in 1400 games, competing four nights a week and 40 out of 52 weekends. My team won over 1000 games, 32 of the 40 tournaments, and two gold medals at the Badger State Games. Success on the volleyball court, but a huge loss in my relationship with my Kristi.

I remember being so frustrated when she would ask me not to play on a certain weekend. When we would do things together, I would constantly be thinking about how I could be competing instead, and as I held so tightly to becoming a good player, I was losing my wife.......

Gradually God started getting my attention, and when we had Caleb, I started to realize how self-centered I was being, and how I was working so hard at something that in the whole scheme of life, meant two things: Didley and Squat!

When I finally let go, I looked back at what I had done and was ashamed. Not only did I show my wife she wasn't the most important thing to me, but I missed out on a lot of relationship building time. My life is so much richer now that I am not a slave to that drive to be the best player I could be.........

I still love to compete, and with all the great players I have surrounded myself with, we can still go anywhere in the tri-state area and expect to be in the finals. But now it's not the all-consuming fire.

What is it in your life that you are afraid to let go of? What has a hold on you, and is keeping you from enjoying the richness of life that God intended? Let go and watch how God moves in and frees you to be all He intended you to be........

Michael

P.S. And to think that my Kristi put up with all these things and still loved me, still had faith that I would become the man I should be, and stuck with me. A special lady indeed! I still have a ways to go, and some growing up to do, but I owe her more than I can ever repay!


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The Police to the Rescue

It was New Year's Day and I had just arrived back in the country after spending almost a month in the warm mountain valley of a large Mexican city. I had gone to spend Christmas with my husband who was teaching anthropology in the city of Oaxaca.

What a change to be back in the central part of Alberta, just in time to see the cold winds of winter bring in a colder front.

I work part time for an agency that provides support to adults who have mental disabilities and I was scheduled to be at work on New Year's Day at 9:00 am. I got up at 7:00 that morning and glanced outside, forgetting that at that time of day there would be little light to allow me to judge the weather conditions. I stepped outside and the warmth of Chinook winds assured me we were in for a good day. I checked our huge bird feeder then returned indoors to finish getting ready for work. Feeling secure I did not bother to retrieve my winter gloves from the van that my husband usually drives.

It felt so good to be back in Canada. I was born in the province of Alberta and I loved our change of seasons. I enjoyed seeing the countryside covered in hoar frost and I often felt like a princess in a beautiful and special land. Each year it was exciting to note the signs of spring and I loved driving back and forth to work over the graveled country roads in the fall to see the varied colors of the farmers' fields and to take in the beauty of our tiny valley.

My first day back at work went well and as night approached I remembered that the car needed gas. By 8:00 that night it felt a lot colder out as I rushed to the car to complete a few errands. One of the ladies I worked with was with me and we had agreed on picking up a video to watch. When the errands were done we headed for the only gas station that was open. I didn't want to use that particular station because you had to pump your own gas and by now I was well aware that the temperature was quickly dropping, a light wind was picking up and I did not have my gloves.

I drive a Cavalier. It is a great little car, but I always have a problem in getting the gas cap off - just another reason for using the stations that still have gas jockeys. And the truth of the matter is I always enjoy the friendliness at these stations!

By the time I had managed to get the gas cap off my hands woke up, felt the cold and begged to go indoors! Since I had no gloves with me, I thought I could put my hand in my pocket and squeeze the gas handle through my coat. This of course meant that I had to press up against the car in an awkward position. I knew I looked peculiar and I glanced around to see a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police force looking at me strangely. He was on the other side of the pumps and had just pulled in to fill his gas tank.

I felt I should provide an explanation. "I know I look silly, but my hands are so cold and I thought if I put my hands in my pocket I could use my coat for protection BUT that means I have to stand in this awkward position."

For a moment, he said nothing. 'He probably thinks I'm a real nut case,' I thought to myself. Then I heard a voice and saw a pair of gloves sticking out beyond his gas pump. "Could you use a pair of gloves?"

I shut off the pump and walked over to the extended brown leather "life savers". "Oh yes please." I replied, taking the offering and slipping my hands into their welcome warmth.

I went back and returned to filling my tank. Then I leaned over, still holding the handle and noticed that the officer was pumping gas with nothing to protect his hands from the cold. Then it hit me. The gloves I wore were not a spare pair that he had. He had given up the warmth to help me. I felt grateful, embarrassed, then worried. "But you need something for your hands too," I said.

"Oh, I get used to it," he responded. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

In minutes my tank was full and I thanked him, returned his gloves and went in to pay for my purchase. I felt so elated. I had just been the recipient of goodness! I was overwhelmed by good feelings and as soon as the gentleman came in I smiled at him and told him I sure owed him a hot cup of coffee or something.

He stood there and told me it was his pleasure and I knew he meant it. Yes, the gift was small yet to me the gesture was full of goodness. No life had been saved and nothing earth shattering took place, but the goodness of another human being surely touched my life that night. How wonderful the thoughtfulness of one Alberta R.C.M.P. officer.

What a lovely welcome back to the country I loved.

by Ellie Braun-Haley

I was corresponding with Jo Walker right after this incident and Jo was so excited to hear about how I felt regarding the glove incident. You'll see why as you read her story (below).


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Jo Walker writes that she is normally a reserved person, yet she moved out of her comfort zone at just the right time.


Warm the Hands/Warm the Soul

by JoWalker

It was a cold February in 1998. I was taking the transit bus home in the early afternoon. There was an man dressed in colorful but shabby clothes feeding the birds near the bus stop. I thought, "this man does not look well." He had a yellow pallor to his eyes and was thin, yet he loved those birds. He kept on rubbing his hands together. I could tell that he was cold, yet he was thinking of another of God's creatures.

I realized that I had an extra pair of ordinary green gloves in my bag. Just as the bus rolled up, even though I felt a little awkward around, I handed him these gloves. Our eyes made contact, my eyes welled. I hoped that I had helped him as he so willingly helped the birds that God created in love.

Jo Walker


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