Being stranded on the road can be both frustrating and frightening. It happened to a this lady one day on the way to work.

by Nila

Some twenty years ago I was working at an Insurance Agency. In order for me to go to work the only highway that we had to drive was closed down due to an accident on the bridge. A truck had hit the bridge and made it unsafe for any traffic to go over it. For awhile we were traveling through the country to bypass the bridge. This road had a bridge also and was okay for awhile but it too became unsafe. So in order for me to get to work I had to go a number of miles out of my way.

On the first day that I went this other way all went well on my way to work. At the end of the day I was rushing as I had a hair appointment. Not being that familiar with this road and not knowing where all the pot holes in the road were, I topped a hill and right in my path was a big pot hole. Well you guessed it I hit it. I felt and heard the familiar sound of a flat tire. I pulled as far to the right as possible and stopped. I knew how to change a tire but knew I would never be able to get the lug nuts loose as I had tried it several times with no success.

There I sat out in the country and no way to get in touch with anybody. Just about the time I finally decided I had to try and change the tire. I looked in my rear view mirror and a pickup was pulling out of a pasture behind me. I was relieved and scared at the same time. I kept thinking of all the bad things that had happened to other people. I wasn't about to let whoever it was think I was incapable of taking care of myself.

I jumped out of the car and opened the trunk. I was struggling to get the spare out when this man in the pickup pulled in behind me. He got out introduced himself and offered to help me. When he got the spare out we discovered that the spare is also flat. He told me he would take the tire and have it fixed and call my husband. Or as an alternative he said I could go with him and he would get the tire fixed. Then I could call my husband.

I know the man knew I was scared to death, but I finally decided to go with him. I wanted to make sure my husband was called. He took me back into town and made sure that I made the call and then he went on to see about the tire.

On the way into town he told me that he worked for the post office as a rural mail carrier. He was married and had a daughter. He farmed that land where he was coming out of the pasture. He went there everyday to check on his cattle and had just finished when he saw me.

We got the tire fixed and he took me back to my car. My husband was there when we got back waiting on us. The kind stranger stayed there and helped my husband change the tire. After they finished we both thanked him and offered to pay him for his trouble.

I will never forget his words, he said, " your thanks is more than enough pay and I just hope if this ever happens to my wife or daughter someone will be so kind as to help them."

Nila Hayes.

Nila is wonderful lady, full of talents and though making and creating with her hands is one of those talents, I would say that caring for people is her greatest talent! She is a very giving and thoughtful person. I know Nila would love to hear that you enjoyed reading her story. Why not quickly send her a little note?

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by Dianne

I was in a Revy store on the McLeod Trail searching for a protective piece I needed to replace on a halogen lamp. A salesperson set out to help me locate it but after some ten minutes I realized they didn't actually carry what I needed. The salesclerk was not daunted in her task. She began searching through parts from previously defective lamps to give me what I needed. I was so pleased by her attitude and helpfulness. So many others would have just said, "No we don't carry that!"

On another occasion I was in Walmart in Shawnessy in Calgary looking for three green coffee mugs to complete my set. I was more than pleasantly surprised by the courtesy and efforts of the service I received.

A young girl in housewares got on the phone to two other Walmart stores in the search for my coffee mugs. She kept a professional attitude when one of the stores left her on hold twice for a very long time only to have someone finally answer that they couldn't understand her initial request. The sales clerk was wonderful and during this time I watched her juggle her attention to help two other customers. I walked away from that store grateful to a most fabulous lady for all her efforts on my behalf. Customer service is alive and well in this city.

Dianne

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When huge changes occur in our lives, a death, a divorce, illness or disease, we are called on to draw on some inner source. In this next story, Mark talks about the things we all take for granted and the feelings involved when the illusion is shattered.

...an excerpt from Through the Perilous Fight by Mark Reiman

I am a long way from being dead....at least from A.L.S. (Lou Gehrig's Disease) killing me. Who knows what today or tomorrow holds? Not I. But I know that being diagnosed with A.L.S. not only forced me to face my own mortality, it was the death of my illusion. My Illusion. I'm talking about the illusion that I could count on living to a ripe old age, count on doing what I want to, physically and mentally, for as long as I want to....or at least as long as "normal people" do. The truth is, no one can count on what the next 6 years, 6 months, or 6 days will bring....but we think we can. We live with, no, we welcome The Illusion.

I had played the piano and guitar and sang as a performer, a good one I think, since I was in high school. I had been a pretty capable athlete all my life: 4 sport letterman in high school; captain of my college wrestling team; a bunch of running, triathlon, and bike riding events under my belt. My illusion that that kind of physical life would go on, pretty indefinitely, died. Playing driveway basketball with my kids...even the simple act of shooting a basketball...let alone "shooting a takedown" (that's wrestling lingo), was done with.

So, My Illusion died. And with that death came the stages of grief that Elizabeth Kubler-Ross described in her book On Death and Dying. We don't just grieve about death when a person physically dies. We grieve when relationships die. We grieve when ideas and dreams die. We grieve when we lose something that is precious to us. It's a normal and natural way of coming to terms with the end of something that we cherish. So, I started to grieve....and I'm still doing it.

I thought that people progress in a fairly orderly fashion through the stages of grief that Kubler-Ross laid out: shock, denial, negotiation, anger, acceptance. I should have known that few things in life are that straight-line simple. I've found myself moving in forward and reverse through these, sometimes fairly quickly....sometimes parking on one for quite a while. Just when I think that I am getting to a good, healthy place of acceptance, BOOM!...I find myself back dealing with denial again....or still negotiating. Certainly still angry that this is happening to me, my family, my friends...AND angry that My Illusion is gone.

And that's exactly what it is...an illusion. As nice as it feels, as comforting a thing as it is, it is still an illusion. And sometimes Id like to have it back. Definitely this is an "Ignorance is bliss" kind of thing. But one of the Laws of Life that I believe is: "You are responsible for what you know." And sometimes that's a not-too-enjoyable responsibility.

Ever wake up from a really wonderful, pleasure-filled dream...and want to go back to sleep and continue the dream? That's what I'm talking about. It was a really cool dream and sometimes Id like to have it back. I think that's only natural. But reality is, The Dream is over. The Illusion is toast and I know it. I could waste a heck of a lot of valuable time wishing I was still dreaming, but it would be just that, a big waste. A. L. S. woke me up and announced that its time to smell the coffee and go to work.......work on the next stage of my life. It is sometimes really hard work...the reality of life with A.L.S., which is really complicated, and at times, emotionally gut-wrenching.

You know, we all need rest and sleep to refresh ourselves for the work ahead. And dreaming is a part of that rest and sleep. So maybe a little dreaming...I think that truly lives in my life as great memories...actually helps get me ready to do my best with life as it really is...and my journey towards healing. And maybe curing, too. Who knows, right?

No one knows what tomorrow brings. At least no one that I know. Every day could be our last. Or it could bring the beginning of something entirely new and different and wonderful. New ways of thinking, perceiving, acting, believing,...loving.

by Mark Reiman

A little bit about Mark: Mark Reiman is a co-founder and publisher of Incredible People Magazine and is the editor-in-chief. He was diagnosed with A.L.S. (Lou Gehrig's Disease) in 1991. To create greater awareness of ALS and share a message of hope and determination, he became the first person in history to sing the national anthem in every major league baseball park in one season (1998), for which he now holds a certified Guinness World Record. One of his best memories of the anthem tour is getting to throw out the first pitch in Kansas City. The worst is hitting the 70-year old photographer with the ball. Along with writing for and publishing the magazine, Mark speaks to audiences around the U.S. and is the author of the book, Through The Perilous Fight: Living a Life of Challenge. Mark and his wife Julie belong to college age twins and a pug-dog named Murphy just a little north of Seattle.

If you are interested in ordering Mark's incredibly inspirational story, you can order his book directly from him via email, fax, or telephone. The cost is $15 + $2.50 s/h....and if you live in WA state, there's sales tax. Check out Mark's magazine called Incredible People! Incredible People Magazine If the above link doesn't work type the following into your browser: www.IncrediblePeople.com

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Joe Edwards, in this next story, takes us back in time to see the powerful love and goodness of one man for his wife.

by Joe Edwards

It was a time of Harry James and Betty Grable; a time of seams in the ladies stockings, of Rosie the Riveter, ration stamps for gasoline, shoes, fuel oil, sugar and tires. It was a time of the 35-mile per hour speed limit to conserve gasoline and tires, and a time when all the church bells rang in all the little towns for all the people to come to pray for the success of the Normandy invasion. It was a time when couples married hurriedly in order to have a few days of married bliss before he went off to war.

Such a marriage was that of Luther and Jenny. They had dated all through high school in the little town of Miller, Missouri. She was a cheerleader, and he was captain of the basketball team, both known and loved by all the townspeople in that little community of 600.

Then Luther got his draft notice. They married quickly and rented a tiny house at the north end of town, near the end of the railroad spur that came from Mt. Vernon, the larger town eight miles to the south.

The townspeople watched Luther off on the train, and Jenny went back to the little house to wait for his return. Luther's letters to her came daily at first, then sporadically after he reached Europe where he was a bombardier on a B-17 bomber. Jenny would carry his letters with her and read them not only to her friends, but to anyone in town who would listen, and everyone would. Jenny kept the little house clean, the lawn mowed, the flower garden cultivated - all in anticipation of Luther's return.

The telegrams began to arrive -- Will Johnson had been killed, Perry Abiattia had both hands blown off when he picked up a land mine, Herschel Sexton had been shot and had a plate in his head and his Purple Heart had been sent to his wife, Dixie, who showed it to all the townspeople and wept over it.

Still, Jenny said that Luther would come home safely -- she knew it. Two years went by. We little boys played our war games. We would run about holding our arms outstretched, making airplane noises and dropping imaginary bombs on imaginary targets. "I just bombed Hitler", one would say, "I just bombed Mussolini", another would say, and then the war was over in Europe and the letter came from Luther.

"My dearest Jenny," it said, "We will be ferrying our B-17s across the United States to California. I will ask my pilot to break formation and fly over Miller and your house. Be out front on April 3rd at 10am."

Now, none of us in that area had ever actually seen a B-17. We had seen that giant airplane only on recruitment posters and movie newsreels. The word flashed across Mt.Vernon, Aurora, Greenfield, Lockwood and several other little towns in the area, and on the appointed date, at least 6000 people had gathered in front of Jenny's house, many having left their cars parked nearly two miles away. The people left a large opening in front of Jenny's house where she stood awaiting this monumental event. I think I was about 7 years old then, and I stood holding onto my mother's hand, waiting.

We heard it long before we saw it. The roar of those giant engines began to build up until it nearly deafened us, and then there it was --just over the trees, from the east, nose high, flaps down, wheels down, bomb bay doors open, the huge propellers clawing the sky. It seemed to just hang there, and yes! We could see Luther in the bomb bay as he waved at us!

The gigantic war machine banked to the left, flew around the water tower and made another pass. This time Luther dropped a small supply parachute which opened just a few feet in front of Jenny. It had a small box attached. Jenny ran to it, picked it up and ran to the house. She later made a dress of the parachute -- it was of the camouflage type -- and wore it proudly around town.

Yes, that amazing scene took place over 50 years ago, and most of those who witnessed it are now dead, but Jenny and Luther's love for each other never died.

As a matter of fact, I just saw them last week. They are still together, enjoying a love that to this day is as big as that B-17 we stood and watched in awestruck wonder.

We may have come from a small town, but our memories and our feelings run very very deep.

Joe Edwards

Make sure you email Joe and let him know what you thought of his story!

Joe Edwards from Missouri is a semi-retired Jazz pianist now living in Springfield. Although he has played all over the country, his primary base was Kansas City, known as the home of good jazz. He still plays a few wedding receptions and has recently been joined by a top jazz guitarist. Joe writes about his little hometown of Miller, Missouri, and will have a book of his stories published by a major publishing house in the next year!

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by Dave Dack

When our grand daughter Talya was five years old and attending a preschoolers summer course at a Catholic church, her Grandma Vera picked her up at the end of the day.

Grandma Vera said, "are you having fun at the school? Do you like your teacher?"

Talya smiled at her grandma and responded with, "Yes, but she's old!"

Now Vera knew Talya's teacher and she knew that the teacher was 45 years old. She commented to Talya, "What about me? Do you think she's as old as I am?"

"Oh no." Then realizing she didn't know how old her grandmother was Talya added, "but grandma how old are you?"

Grandma Vera, who was in her 60s told her little grand daughter her true age and Talya gasped, "You haven't got much time left, have you?"

Then the little girl thought for a moment and reached over to pat her grandmother's hand in comfort. She said, "But grandma, we'll get old too!"

Thanks Dave for sending in that one!

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Have you ever noticed that the smallest of things can give you joyful feelings? In this next story an entire group of people become bonded for a moment in time as they learn that even the smallest gift has a powerful rebound effect.

by Ellie Braun-Haley

It was autumn in Canada so finding a summer blouse for a trip to Mexico was next to impossible. My sister and I decided to check out the Salvation Army thrift store while my other sister and mother both went to a doctor's appointment to have their respective hip replacements checked.

Sue and I found a couple of nice items and we were standing in line waiting to pay. In the lineup there were two people ahead of me. A young man was being waited on. He was buying a rather odd assortment of clothes. He was chatting with anyone who was interested and soon we learned that he had just picked out all he needed for costumes. He and his girlfriend were going to a kindergarten party (where his girlfriend taught) as Hanzel and Gretel. He held up all the different items for the people in the line-up to see. He had done a great job of putting together costumes and many of us in the waiting line ups commented to that effect.

I chatted a bit with my sister, while at the same time noticing that the young man was paying mostly with silver. It sort of indicated to me that he had robbed his piggy bank to do this shopping.

The cashier looked up at him after counting all the money and told him he was short. The young man thought for a moment and then pleaded with the lady to hold the one shirt. He said, "please hold the shirt for me and I'll come back with more money."

Well I think it was apparent to many that he had already scraped together all he could since his purchases had been paid for all in silver. He was short by $3.00. I stood there wondering if even had more money at home to get the shirt.

The lady in front of me, said ,"how much did you say he needed?" The clerk told us $3.00

"Oh, " she said. "That isn't fair. If it were me, I would just give him the shirt."

I agreed with her and looked to the clerk to see what the clerk would do. But the clerk did not seem to be moved by this statement.

Then the lady next to me said ,"Well I could come up with half of that." I tapped her shoulder and leaned over to tell the gentleman that I could pay the other half. We dug into our handbags however both of us only had five dollar bills and we needed the clerk to make change for us.

During this wee exchange other customers began digging into their pockets and wallets. While I was waiting for the clerk to take my money I started searching my pockets. Quickly I discovered a dime in one pocket, thirty five cents in the other pocket and a quarter rolling on the bottom of my hand bag. I quickly turned over each new find to the clerk, but in the meantime everyone waiting at the counter wanted to get into the act.

A man beside me said "I can give 75 cents" and he handed it to me and I passed it on. My sister, Susan had disappeared for a moment and suddenly was back and handed a two dollar coin to me to pass up to the counter.

It was amazing and touching as this crowd of strangers seemed to react with the same mind. All wanted to be a part of helping. And within minutes the clerk said "I have too much money." A dollar was passed back to my sister. Then the lady beside me, who had been the first to offer said, "Wait, I didn't even get a chance to give anything!"

I smiled at her and said, "Well you did your share, because it was your idea and you started all this."

The young man smiled at everyone and thanked them. We wished him the best and he left. There was this moment or two of wonder. What was it? I think it felt like a time of discovery when for a moment you see the beauty of another soul, except this was a group happening. I felt like I was among friends, good friends. I didn't want the unnamed feeling to end. Then I realized I was waiting for someone else to help. I hoped that someone else would show up needing help so I could get more of that great feeling.

I had only had the opportunity of giving seventy cents. It was the best bargain I had ever found. I was left with an overwhelmingly good feeling. I had seen the love and goodness of others all around me. That good feeling was almost tangible that autumn day in the thrift store. I am surprised that people didn't begin hugging. Isn't it just a wonder that you can receive so much for so little?

The man beside me grinned and said , "It sure feels good to give doesn't it?" I smiled back and said, "YOU BET!"

by Ellie

Ellie and her husband, Shawn, live in Alberta. They both enjoy a quiet country life and writing books. Ellie comes from a large family and realizes that the love and laughter that she experienced in her family growing up, was the richest beginning in life that any person could have. "Then I met Shawn, and discovered another great giver!" Ellie and Shawn are the authors of A Little Door, A Little Light, which can be seen in the book section of this web site.

The writers for this page all contribute their work for you to enjoy. Please take the time to contact them and tell them how you felt about their contributions. Just click on their names to e-mail them and thank them.

For more uplifting stories, stories of Heavenly Intervention, stories of angels and the power of prayer visit another of our Web sites: Angels On Earth

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