|
HIS LAST FLIGHT
| by Anita
|
| I have several heroes in my life, one of whom also became
a hero to some little children in Niagara Falls, New York.
Garland Flint was my cousin's husband a tall, good-
looking, intelligent man who loved his wife and little girl
above all else. Next to his family, Garland's number one
love was flying.
| A lieutenant in the Air Force, at the age of 26, he had flown
his fighter jet on 52 missions during the Korean conflict.
Now he was home and stationed in Niagara Falls.
| On that fateful spring day in 1953, as he climbed into the
cockpit of his jet to fly as the lead plane on a routine training
flight, I am sure he had no idea this would be his last flight.
Almost as soon as they were in the air, he radioed the pilot
flying as his right wing that his gears were locked and he
was in serious trouble. He wasn't up high enough to bail
out, but he spotted a school playground and radioed that he
thought he could put the plane down there.
| Just as he came in for a landing, the doors opened and
children poured out of the building for recess. Garland had
no time to think about it. He acted on instinct as he banked
his plane and crashed it in some trees. It exploded into a
million pieces, killing him instantly.
| This act of heroism was typical of Garland. He could not
have lived with himself if he had saved his own life at the
expense of all those children's lives. After his death, the
children of that elementary school wrote a letter to
Garland's two-year-old daughter about her hero Daddy.
| The epitaph on Garland's tombstone describes him
perfectly. It says, "He danced the skies on laughter-tipped
wings, even in sorrow we smile, remembering."
|
| FOOTNOTE
| Some 20 years later, that school in Niagara Falls contacted
my cousin. It seems they felt that they hadn't done enough
to honor Garland's selfless act of heroism. They invited
Merrilyn and her now grown daughter, Debbie, to come to
Niagara Falls for a tree planting ceremony in honor of
Garland. After a short speech recalling his bravery, a tree
was planted and then the sound of "Taps" wafted softly
through the air. Many of the people attending that day spoke
to Merrilyn of how they would not have been alive if it weren't
for Garland sacrificing his own life all those years ago.
|
| Anita Burney
|
| About this author:
| I am 63 years young and a retired consultant for Jostens
Printing and Publishing Co. I live in Topeka, Kansas with
my cat, Shadow. I have two grown children and two living
grandchildren. I lost my oldest grandson in an auto
accident at the age of 20. How I wish the car had been the
only thing demolished on that fateful night! My hobbies are
crocheting and reading. I love to write.
|
|
BABY IS DUE WHEN?
|
| Kimberly, who is expecting a baby this summer, was
showing her 5-year-old the video of her ultrasound. "That's
a picture of the baby that is inside Mommy's tummy,"
Kimberly said.
| "Right now?" her 5-year-old said.
| "Yes," Kimberly replied.
| "When will the baby come out?"
| "When you're done with school."
| "But what grade?" her 5-year-old asked.
|
|
Thanks to Grace Witwer for this story of Funny Things Kids
Say. Want more stories like this? Send a blank message
to: funnykids-subscribe@onelist.com
|
|
HAIRCUT
| by Sue
|
| I had just gone through life saving surgery. Brain surgery to
be exact. I came home from the hospital stay and surgery
with a bald head and metal sutures all around my skull. I
looked like Frankenstein and felt so low and depressed. I
would not let anyone see me without having a scarf or hat
on my head. To tell you the truth, I didn't want anyone to see
me or talk to me I was so depressed.
| Several days after being at home, I came out of my upstairs
bedroom to go to the bathroom across the hall and did not
have a hat on because I didn't think anyone was home. As I
came out of the bathroom, lo and behold there stood my
little three-year-old grandson. He looked at me and I looked
at him and all of a sudden he got a huge smile on his face
and put his arms around me and gave me the biggest hug.
He then looked at me again and said, "Bubba (that is what
the grandkids call me) you got a haircut!"
| I looked at him and said, "Yes I did."
| He asked who cut it and I said the doctor did. Well, that was
fine with him. He made me realize I was still loved no
matter what I looked like. It was then I held his little hand
and allowed him to take my downstairs to be with the rest
of the family. If it didn't bother him what Bubba looked like
then I knew everyone else could accept it.
| That little boy is eight years old today and I am still Bubba
but with a little more hair. He is my hero as he made me
realize that I was so loved beyond how I looked.
|
| Sue Pasztor
|
| About this writer:
| Sue was born in 1952 in northwest Ohio, United States and
is the mother of four children and five grand children. Sue
and her husband have been married for 25 years. Sue
says, "Until six years ago I was a full time nurse. Since the
surgery I have devoted myself to the loves of my life, my
family! I am doing well and enjoying life to the fullest. My life
is filled with much love, health and happiness." Sue is very
involved with church and family.
|
NORMA
| by Shawn
|
| Since 1995, I have spent several months a year in southern
Mexico teaching or so I thought. Now, as I think about it, I
was doing more learning than teaching. The people of
Oaxaca (pronounced WA-HA-CA) were in general less well
educated than I am. They are poorer and certainly less
traveled. However, they were able to teach me a great deal
about the important things in life, things like self-respect,
honesty, industry, generosity, the list goes on. Let me give
you an example.
| Norma is a poor woman from a mountain village and had
come with her young daughter to the city in the hopes of
making a better life. Unlike many others, she was lucky
enough to have a skill. She was a weaver, highly skilled
with the traditional back-strap loom, and yet with the fierce
competition from other weavers, she was barely making it.
She supplemented the income from the sale of her
weavings by teaching classes to foreign tourists who spent
more money on beer in a single evening than she made in
a whole week of teaching them how to weave.
| Norma knew that we foreigners were rich compared to
herself and most other Mexicans but that did not affect her
generosity. On the Day of the Dead (the biggest celebration
in the Oaxacan year), she invited my wife and I to her
house. She, her daughter, her mother, her brother and his
family (wife and two children) lived in a single-roomed
shack of cement blocks with a tin roof. The floor was dirt.
There was no electricity and the water they used came from
a tap in the yard that was shared by three or four other
families.
| We arrived and were immediately welcomed by Norma
and her family. We were given the only chairs they had to sit
on. They insisted. We had just sat down and Norma¼s
sister-in-law handed us each a bowl of stew and a spoon.
They ate plain tortillas while we ate the family¼s entire ration
of meat for the week. Ellie and I were embarrassed by this
but Norma and her family were not. They were clearly
pleased at being able to entertain their "important" guests
in proper style. The sacrifice they made was, for them, an
honor rather than a burden. I wonder how many of us
gringos would see it that way.
|
| The generosity of the Oaxacan people is, I think, legendary.
Even though by our standards they have nothing, they will
give you everything. In the village of Ejutla, just south of the
city of Oaxaca in southern Mexico, one of my assistants
was admiring a cross on the wall of a friend¼s house. In
fact, it was the only decoration on any wall but as soon as
my assistant said that she liked the cross, my friend¼s wife
snatched it off the wall and presented it to my assistant as
a gift. Neither she nor I knew what to say other than "thank
you" which, of course, is the only correct response in a
situation like that.
| | Shawn Haley |
|
YOUTH SECTION
| This next story was written by a fourteen-year -old
author. We invite other young people to share their stories of
heroes, random acts of kindness or unusual incidents.
|
|
Everybody's Friend, My Hero
| by Laura
|
| My hero is pretty hard to describe. He's my best friend,
actually, and he's always been there when I needed him. I
met my friend at the beginning of the seventh grade. I mean
REALLY met him. Until I got to know him, he was just an
ordinary person, like a passerby on the street. You're aware
that there are people walking past you, but you don't stop to
give them much thought, or care.
| When I met my friend, it was around the same time my
parents got separated. I was scared, upset, and looking for
someone to talk to. When I struck up a conversation with
him, I was very grateful for the peace that I found. He told
me he knew what I was going through, that he understood
me and accepted me completely, no matter what. It was
music to my ears. It was what I needed. I couldn't believe
that he even chose to be friends with me. Me? An
overweight under-confident seventh grader with low self
esteem? Why me? He could have chosen to be someone
else's best friend.
| I asked him about it and I knew the answer instantly: This
guy was EVERYONE'S friend!! He seemed really popular.
And he was.
| But strangely enough, there were people who didn't care
about him, people who actually wanted him dead. There
were horrible people, thousands of them, who couldn't care
less if my best friend was alive or not. It shocked me. It
puzzled me. When I asked why, he shrugged. He wasn't
sure himself. I assured him that no matter what, he'd
always be special to me. My whole family adored him. My
friends liked him too, for by that time, I'd finally made
friends.
| I didn't think anyone could love him the way I did. After all,
he was there for me whenever I needed to talk. Whenever a
happy occasion in my life was celebrated, he was there to
share in the joy. Whenever something sad happened that
seemed to rip my word apart, he became the "seams" that
held it together for me.
| By now, you might be wondering who this hero is. What his
name is, maybe? You'll be surprised to find out that you
know who he is already. He's a true hero in my eyes. His
name? Jesus Christ.
|
| Laura B
|
| Laura is a 14-year-old and lives in Canada. YOU MAY VISIT
HER WEB SITE at http://www.expage.com/page/god4me
|
|
|
| This story is dedicated to all those nurses who work the night
shift.
| |
| NIGHT SHIFT
by Irene |
|
| | Graveyard shift, night shift, third shift -- they all meant the
same thing to me -- 8 hours of no sleep.
| | I walked up the hill to the hospital entrance, each leg
feeling as if it was cast in concrete. Mulling over what a
nursing instructor had told me at graduation, I giggled
despite my exhaustion.
| | "You're working nights? Take lots of books to read because
you won't have anything to do."
| |
Hah! Little did he know that there weren't enough hours on
the face of the earth to finish all the tasks in a night. I barely
had my coat off my shoulders when patients started ringing
their call lights for instant attention. Medications needed
mixing, doctors were phoning in orders, and the evening
nurse was insistently trying to give report in the middle of
the chaos.
| | It was a typical night on a surgical unit. I took a deep breath,
grabbed my stethoscope, and began to jot down notes
about my assignment. Ten patients! How in the world
would I ever give the kind of care that they deserved? I could
feel the hysteria building. My pulse picked up a couple of
beats and the first cup of coffee was a mere memory by the
time I grabbed the medication cart parked in the nurse's
station and rolled it into the hall.
| | Already an hour had passed and I was overwhelmed. I told
myself to "chill" and to deal with one room at a time. Easier
said than done. It seemed that every patient had a
complication, a request, a need, or a complaint. Rushing
around like a whirling dervish, I pushed myself harder and
harder. Taunting me was the image of the paperwork to
tend to when I finished my care, and I tried to pick up speed
so I could beat the clock.
| | The last room was quiet and dark. It looked as though I
was in the clear. I could tiptoe in and out, then rush off to
attack the mountain of reports. Since the patient was being
discharged in the morning, he really didn't need me for
anything right then. He could be assessed more thoroughly
when he woke later in the night. No such luck!
| | "Nurse?" The timid voice reached my ears just as I was
about to close the door. "Nurse?"
| | Oh, how I wished I never heard that word! Why hadn't I
walked a little faster before he heard my rubber-soled
shoes? I turned towards the man under a twisted pile of
blankets and sheets and replied, "Yes? Is there anything I
can do for you?"
| | "I was wondering... I was diagnosed with cancer today, and
I was wondering if you have time to talk?" And so began his
cry from the soul. I sat at this gentle man's bedside and
listened while he bared his emotions and exposed his
fears. I prayed with him, forgetting about the work that I had
deemed so important just an hour before.
| | When he had nothing left to say, I held his hands and told
him that I wished I could wave a magic wand to cure him.
All I could do was to be there for him, to listen, and to pray
that he would receive the strength to deal with his illness.
We cried together, and I stood to leave the room. His final
words continue their echo in my mind.
| | "I prayed to God to send someone to me so I could talk. My
wife died a month ago and I have no one. Thank you for
being here with me and taking the time to listen. I know the
Lord sent you to me in the middle of the night."
| | That encounter was a God-tap on my shoulder to remind
me that He knows how much I can handle. My 8 hours of
work while the rest of the world sleeps is no longer work as
I knew it. It is reporting for duty, ready for whatever
assignment God deems necessary.
| | Mother Teresa understood that when she wrote, "It is not
how much you do but how much love you put into the doing
and sharing with others that is important."
| |
| | Irene Budd (Budzynski)
| |
| | Irene says: "I have been blessed with the opportunity to
become an adult learner, going back to school to study for
my R.N. at the age of 40. It was the best thing I ever did! My
patients give more to me than I do to them, and every day is
a fresh outpouring of blessings. I dedicate this story to all
those wonderful people whose lives I hope I have touched
in a positive way."
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|
INTERNATIONAL GENEROSITY
by Shawn |
|
| | In 1998, a photographer I had met in the city of Oaxaca only
recently asked if she and her husband could accompany
me to the village of Ejutla de Crespo where I do my
research. It was the Day of the Dead and the photographer
wanted to see what a village celebration was like. They
said that they would drive me to the village if I agreed and
since I normally take the bus, I said okay. It was during this
visit to Ejutla that the photographer and her husband
experienced first-hand the generosity of the people of
southern Mexico. Here is their story.
| | The couple dropped me off at the cemetery (where the
celebration was taking place) and went off to find a place to
park their relatively new vehicle. About two blocks from the
cemetery, they pulled onto the side of the dirt road and
parked under a tree. They were getting out when the owner
of the house they had parked in front of approached them.
| | "You cannot park here." He said and the couple figured they
were going to get a blast but they were wrong.
| |
"It is much too dangerous. Someone will steal such a new
jeep. Please, come. Bring your jeep into my yard." His son
who had been watching the exchange swung the driveway
doors open and gestured. The couple got back in the car
and drove it into the yard. The driveway was hard-packed
clay and the house had peeling paint. It felt run down but it
was clean.
| | The photographer explained what they were in the village
for and the man nodded. "Yes. To understand the real
celebration, you must come to the village. The city folks
have forgotten the truth." He proceeded to tell the gringos
that the celebration would not really start for an hour or so.
He invited them to have some food and drink and a little
rest. As they ate, they talked. The man and his wife told
them the history of the village and of the celebration. He told
of his family¼s past and its present.
| |
The hour passed quickly and as the photographer and her
husband rose to leave, the wife told them to wait a minute.
She disappeared into another room and came right back
carrying an enormous bouquet of marigolds and cock¼s
comb. She handed it to the photographer¼s husband.
| |
"It is not right you should enter the cemetery today without a
gift for the dead. These shall be your gift."
| |
The gringos must have looked somewhat confused since
the wife turned to her husband and son. "We will take them
with us." It was not a question. It was a statement that both
of the men responded to by nodding.
| |
The photographer, her husband, the man, his wife and their
son all walked to the cemetery. They spent the afternoon
together and participated in all of the rituals and activities
with the family. They were introduced to literally dozens of
relatives (dead and alive) and were welcomed by all. They
found themselves in the center of a huge celebration that
lasted until dusk.
| |
They returned to the home to get their car (they thought) and
ended up having supper with the local family and visiting for
several hours more. When I spoke to them later back in the
city, the photographer and her husband were aglow, as
they had experienced first-hand the Oaxacan family
celebration of the Day of the Dead that as a result had
taken on new meaning for them. I had to laugh when she
admitted that because they were having so much fun and
learning so much, she had forgotten to take very many
pictures.
| |
| | Shawn Haley
|
THE CANDLE
by Beverly |
|
| | In 1996 when we first went into e-business, the only
question for us was which one of our businesses would be
best for the Internet. But this past holiday season we
decided to go "mortar," due to customer requests. A lot of
our Internet shoppers asked us if we had a "real" store,
where the pots could be held, touched, turned over, set up
on a coffee table, etc. We rented kiosk space at a local
outlet mall, with all the hassles of rent, stock, employees,
schedules, being face to face with some very rude
customers -- all the things we hated.
| |
Then one night, two nights before Christmas and shortly
before closing, two girls under age ten and an adult came
in to our little set up. One of the pieces caught the attention
of one of the little girls. She asked me the price and I told
her. She frowned and told me that was way too much, but
that she really liked it and thought it would be perfect for her
mom. However, her mom really needed a new pair of
slippers and she could not get both with her small budget.
| |
I asked her how much she thought she needed for the
slippers and she told me. I then asked her how much she
had. I told her she could get her mom the pottery candle for
$2.00 (it was over $25) and she gleamed from ear to ear.
The little girl and I talked about how much her mom would
love the candle while I wrapped it up for her. They all left
very happy. And I was too.
| |
Three days after Christmas a woman came in and asked
me if I was Beverly. Getting ready for the worst, and a
possible refund, I said "yes." The woman started crying. I
became even more nervous. Then she went on to say how
excited her daughter was Christmas morning for her to
open her very special gift. The little girl could not stop
talking about how happy her mom would be when her mom
opened her gift, that she had to be very careful not to break
it, and on and on. Finally, the woman opened the gift while
wearing her brand new slippers and they both cried with
joy.
| |
The adult woman who had shopped with the girls turned
out to be the Mom's sister. She told the mom how the little
girls came to get the candle. The Mom just wanted to stop
by and tell me how happy she was, how special that
Christmas was and will be forever, and to thank me in
person. She started to cry again!
| |
"We lost money for that one candle, but I can tell you we will
do it again, and again."
| |
| |
Beverly
| |
| | About this writer:
| | Beverly Campbell specializes in home based businesses
for couples serious about changing their lives. If you would
be interested in launching your own dot com business ‚
complete with e-commerce capabilities ‚ visit:
www.im1ru2.com
| | This story originally appeared in a column( e-zine) by
Azriela Jaffe. You may visit her website at
http://www.isquare.com/crlink.htm
| |
| |
| |
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| |
| |
| |
|
LAME EXCUSES
by Nancy |
|
| |
On a beautiful spring day last year, I had an irritating pain in
my left side. It worried me, but I decided that I had simply
pulled a muscle. "It will heal with time," I thought. Instead
the pain continued to worsen. I finally broke down and went
to see my doctor. After many tests, he decided that
exploratory surgery was in order. To make a long story
short, he didn't find much wrong, but unfortunately my side
continued to hurt.
| |
I was experiencing a great deal of stress in my life and had
carried a heavy load for many years. During the follow-up
visit with my doctor, he discussed stress-reducing
techniques.
| |
"Walking would be your best bet," he informed me.
"Slowing down in the other areas of your life is mandatory,
as well" he further stated.
| |
With great intentions, my husband and I purchased a
treadmill. For a couple of weeks, I walked two to three
times a day. I was feeling better, but with all the
responsibilities on my shoulders, I felt that I didn't have the
time to continue my walking regimen. My exercise time
dwindled down to once a day and quickly became a weekly
activity. Eventually, dust began to cover the treadmill, when I
quit walking altogether. Apparently, I wasn't as dedicated to
the activity as I thought I was in the beginning.
| |
"Why aren't you walking anymore?" my husband asked me
one day when he noticed the accumulated dust on the
machine.
| |
"I just don't have the time," I stated, "and furthermore, it's
boring," I said, as I walked out the door to go to work. He
had the day off. When I returned home that afternoon, he
proudly met me at the door.
| |
"Come here," he shouted, as he led me to the exercise
corner in our bedroom. "Look!"
| |
That sweet man had mounted a television on the wall,
directly above the treadmill. "You won't be bored if you can
watch television," he said, as he climbed aboard the
treadmill. "You can even change the channels while you
walk," he said with a smile on his face.
| |
For a few days, I walked diligently. He was so proud of
himself. Another couple of weeks passed, however, and
again he noticed that my walking had ceased. "What now?"
he compassionately asked.
| |
"It's too hot, when I walk," I stated. "Even with the central air
conditioning running, it gets extremely hot," I complained.
| | The next day a brand new fan on a stand was positioned
beside the treadmill. I continued to come up with more
lame excuses for not fulfilling my walking goal. He
continued to "fix" them the best way he could. He helped
around the house, which allowed me more time to walk. He
took me to buy a new pair of walking shoes, one day, after I
complained about my aching feet.
| |
Suddenly, one morning I awoke and discovered that the
only real excuse I had was a lack of commitment on my
own part. As long as I looked for excuses, I could find them.
That day, I came home from work and dusted off my
treadmill. I turned on my television and my fan. I began to
change the channels on the television, in search of
something, which I wanted to watch. Once everything was
in order, I began to walk. I thought about how much my
husband must have loved me to try to "fix" all of my lame
excuses for not following the doctor's orders.
| |
"If he loves me that much," I thought, "I have got to keep
myself in shape." I realized that my life was obviously more
important to him than it was to me. "I'll walk for him," I said.
Sometimes we take for granted the most important things
in life -- our health and the love that another person has for
us.
| |
Today is the first day of the rest of our lives. Why not make
the best of it by putting the lame excuses for not taking care
of our health behind us? We should remember that there's
someone out there who loves us and wants us to live. If we
can't take care of our health for ourselves, we should take
care of ourselves for the ones we love. They need us and
would like for us to be around for a very long time.
| |
| |
Nancy B. Gibbs
| |
| | About this writer:
| | Nancy B. Gibbs is a weekly religion columnist and a
freelance writer, who resides in South Georgia. Her writing
has appeared in several books, periodicals and
newspapers. Her goal is to touch the lives of others
through her articles and stories. Her signature line says
"Writing touches the Hearts of Many Souls!" Her desire is
that hers always will. She is a pastor's wife and the mother
of three grown children.
| |
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| |
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| |
|
AREN'T MOMS GREAT?!
by Barbara |
|
| |
I was recently reminded of something my mother told me
when she and my father moved out of my childhood home
in the suburbs. They moved into a home in the country with
land. I spoke with her on the phone the day they moved the
last bit of furniture out of the house.
| |
I could picture the way it must have looked: empty, barren,
impersonal. I thought about my old bedroom and how it
wouldn't be my bedroom anymore, even though I had not
lived there for some time. I thought about the markings on
the closet wall downstairs near the bathroom where my
dad would mark off how tall each of us had grown on our
birthdays. I thought about the place in the sidewalk around
the swimming pool where my dad had picked each of us
five kids up to place our feet in the wet concrete, leaving our
footprints in a row.
| |
There were a lot of memories in that house, memories of
five kids growing up, moving out, coming back. Lots of
laughter, some tears. I asked my mom how she felt about
moving out now that the day had finally arrived. I asked her
if she would miss our home. Mom said that she wished
she could take the closet wall with the markings with her,
as well as the section of sidewalk where our footprints
were.
| |
As for the house, she said that once they got all of their stuff
out of there, took down the pictures, moved the furniture out,
packed up all the knickknacks and took out the personality
of the place, all that was left was a house. All that was left
were walls, floors, ceilings and fixtures and everything that
you need in a house. Nothing was left that you need in a
home. She said they would take that with them to their new
house, all the memories and the love of family. That is what
truly makes a home, all that stuff! Aren't moms great?!
| |
| | Barbara
| |
| | A bit about Barbara:
| | Barbara is very active in her church: singing in the choir,
making crafts for their annual Oyster Roast, teaching
Christian Education, and being an advocate for children.
She is the secretary for the PTA at the school her children
attend. Barbara enjoys singing, crafting, chatting, and being
with people in general. She says, " I have always
considered myself so fortunate to have the wonderful
mother that I do. I am 39 years old, married with two
wonderful children and living in Virginia Beach, VA. I am a
Speech Therapist in the Va Beach school system, working
with special needs children.
| |
|
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