Episodes
Monday Dec 28, 2009
The Little Match Girl
Monday Dec 28, 2009
Monday Dec 28, 2009
This is another episode of "Abundance" where Dane Allred reads Hans Christian Andersen's "Little Match Girl". This episode is also available as a blog at 1001Thanks.blogspot.com. Tune each week from 7 to 8 P.M. Mountain Standard Time (9 to 10 EST) or listen on any web browser at www.k-talk.com.
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast. One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing. She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing! The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought. In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand. She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house. Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire. "Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God. She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love. "Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God. But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece The Little Match GirlMonday Dec 28, 2009
Time Travel
Monday Dec 28, 2009
Monday Dec 28, 2009
Time Travel
I time travel all the time. So do you. Most of us set an alarm to get us up in the morning. Then the next morning, the alarm goes off because you have traveled to the future to remind yourself to get up.
My memory is getting so bad I need to leave myself notes. I’ll put a note on the seat of my car in the morning at work to remind me to do something after work. Many of you use planners to remind us what to do in the future.
What if we read a note from ourselves 50 years from now that said, “Don’t forget to be happy today.”?
I like reminders, except when I don’t want them. Like a reminder to get a colonoscopy, which I know I need but don’t want to be reminded about. I don’t like it when the dentist reminds me to come and get my teeth cleaned. I don’t want to be reminded I need to get my car inspected and registered, but that is a nice reminder.
When I travel in time, most days now it is back in time. I think I am much younger than I really am, and working with young people most of the time doesn’t help. The time travel machine called a mirror is one I really hate. When I walk past it I curse it for the wrinkles it adds to what I still consider my youthful face. But I wouldn’t trade the experiences I have gained for renewed youth.
Reminders can come in many forms. We learn to like our birthdays less and less as we get older, but they really shouldn’t cause us to mourn. We should be thinking about how lucky we are to make it to another landmark. I have some friends who didn’t.
I’ll be sharing another story about Dane Bromley in a minute, but I remember the day I was sitting in my drama class. I was called on the intercom to the office, and my mom was on the phone. She told me Dane had been hit by a truck and killed.
He was walking down the street and a truck hit him. I don’t know if the truck was too far off the road, or if Dane was walking too close to the road. All I know is he was dead, and I had a sickening, sinking feeling and broke out in tears. I hadn’t seen him in years, but we were as close as two guys with the same name could be. I composed myself and went back to class with red eyes.
The next week was a blur, as I went to the church, the funeral, acted as a pallbearer, and only remember a little about the whole thing. I only have a few things left to remind me about the great times we had together, but this memory is like travelling back to junior high.
Since we were both named Dane, not a really common name, we immediately struck up a great friendship. We must have terrorized the halls, because one day the vice-principal came up to both of us as we were sitting in the hall on the floor. He asked us why we had been tormenting our student teachers, who up until that point we both thought really liked us. That just shows how clueless we were, and probably is a good indication of what trouble-makers we were. We had caused her to cry, and we thought she really liked us.
But that’s the way guys are in junior high. We even used to slug girls we liked. What was that about? But time travel also works both ways. I try not to think about how my grandfather always carried a handkerchief and used to blow his nose pretty often. I now carry a handkerchief, and yes, I do blow my nose more often than I like. Leon Trotsky said it this way, “Old age is one of the most unexpected things to happen to a man.” I guess that includes women, too. I’m also guessing Leon Trotsky said this in the last part of his life, not the first.
The point of all the rambling is that we are on a journey where we get one day at a time, and most of us take it for granted. As Henry David Thoreau said, we should not get to the end of our life and discover we had never lived.
Let us live so when our daily reminder to get up in the morning goes off, whether it’s an alarm, the sun or something else, we acknowledge the fact. Let’s live, I mean really live, and recognize today is the only day we have been given. As Horace said, “Seize the day”.
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Time TravelWednesday Dec 23, 2009
Luke 2 verses 1-20
Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.
2 (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) 3 And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. 4 And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) 5 To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. 6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. 7 And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. 8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. 10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. 12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, 14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. 15 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. 16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. 17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. 18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. 19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Luke 2 verses 1-20Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus? "VIRGINIA O'HANLON. "115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET." VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge. Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world. You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa ClausWednesday Dec 23, 2009
Longfellow's Christmas Bells
Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
Wednesday Dec 23, 2009
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Christmas Bells
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece The Christmas BellsTuesday Dec 22, 2009
The Gift of the Magi
Tuesday Dec 22, 2009
Tuesday Dec 22, 2009
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The Gift of the Magi
by O. Henry
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. "Give it to me quick," said Della. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty." The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" Jim looked about the room curiously. "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first." White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
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The Gift of the MagiMonday Dec 21, 2009
My Favorite Christmas
Monday Dec 21, 2009
Monday Dec 21, 2009
My Favorite Christmas
One particular Christmas holds some of my best memories, not because of the presents I received, but because of the presents I gave. I wanted to give something to those who were needy in our neighborhood, so I collected some money from those in the area and ended up with a little over a hundred dollars.
When I visited with the single mother who seemed to need the most help, I asked what she would like us to use the money to buy. I’m not sure why I didn’t just give her the money, but I guess I wanted to do some of the shopping to make sure the donations went for presents instead of rent.
She humbly requested a turkey or a ham. She told me her son wanted moon boots. I also noticed they didn’t have a tree. I don’t remember much else, except for how I felt when a couple of us from the neighborhood delivered the stuff.
I used my own money to buy a Christmas tree, and the hundred dollars went a lot further than I imagined it would. I know I spent a lot more than this on my own family that same year, but I can’t remember anything our family received.
If she was embarrassed by our assumption she needed help, she never showed it. She was not too proud to refuse our offer, and I wondered how magnanimous I would feel delivering these few items later.
What a different feeling I had when we finally came back. I have never felt so humbled, so grateful for all I had, and so thankful I had an opportunity to help someone else.
This was a woman who had recently divorced and was living with her children in a basement apartment. It was cramped and dark, but you could tell this was a much better situation than the family had been in before. Apparently, the husband had been abusive, and it took all the courage this good woman could muster to leave him. They were a humble, happy and very poor family.
As I brought in a bag of flour and sugar, which she hadn’t asked us to bring, she began to cry. We gave her a turkey and the packages already wrapped for the children. It was such a small thing to do. Most of the neighbors had given five or ten dollars, and it wasn’t a great sacrifice for them.
But to see the happiness these few things brought to this family was incredibly satisfying. It was almost nothing, especially when contrasted with the bounty the rest of us would receive. It made me wish I had collected two hundred, or three hundred dollars.
But you could tell it wouldn’t have mattered if it had only been ten dollars. We had moved from our petty daily concerns, thought about someone outside of ourselves, and shared a little of the bounty we had been blessed with.
You would have thought we had delivered gold bars. We were thanked repeatedly, and embarrassed by the show of appreciation, had beat a hasty retreat. It was an incredible, satisfying, momentous occasion in my life. I had spent was a few dollars and some of my time collecting from others, done a little shopping, and delivered our paltry offerings.
But to be humbled by this act of service was the greatest gift I have ever received. I was able to get outside myself for a brief moment, and consider that someone else might benefit from a few simple acts of kindness.
English author and artists John Ruskin said this about humility:
“The first test of a truly great man is his humility. I do not mean, by humility, doubt of his own power. … [But really] great men … have a curious … feeling that … greatness is not in them, but through them. … And they see something Divine … in every other man …, and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful.”
It wasn’t me, the neighbors, the donations, the flour, the sugar, the turkey or the Christmas tree. It was the ability I was given, for just a moment, to see the divine in someone else, that other person who is just as important as I am, but who is receiving not from me, but through me.
There are few times in life when we are able to get outside ourselves and stop considering our petty problems and complaints. It is in these moments we are most alive and vibrant. They don’t happen every day, but they do happen often enough to remind us there are others on this planet. These moments occur when we stop the introspection, and begin to notice all of the wonderful people who are on this journey with us.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this pieceSunday Dec 06, 2009
Abundance accident Nov 29
Sunday Dec 06, 2009
Sunday Dec 06, 2009
This is the complete episode from November 29th.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
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Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece AccidentSunday Dec 06, 2009
Abundance Surprise Nov 15
Sunday Dec 06, 2009
Sunday Dec 06, 2009
This is the episode from November 15th.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Click on Amazon button to order
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece SurpriseSunday Dec 06, 2009
Running for Rolls
Sunday Dec 06, 2009
Sunday Dec 06, 2009
Running for Rolls
I went to an ancient high school, so old that it had four stories. When I was going to the old Jordan High School, the school district was building what was supposed to be the new high school. But then tremendous growth happened and both schools remained open. It was eventually torn down and a new Jordan High School was built, but it just isn’t the same. I’ve been to the new school and even sit at this moment wearing a hoody I bought there, but I still miss the old school. I guess it’s the same with any old building.
One of my favorite memories was when lunch was served. The bell would ring and a mad dash would begin to the lunchroom, which was formerly the basketball court. With four stories, that meant you had to hustle if you wanted to get some of the delicious, fresh rolls they served every day. I remember dashing down four sets of stairs as fast as my little legs could carry me. It probably wasn’t very safe, and in today’s risk management society, I’m surprised more people didn’t break their legs back then. Maybe we were just more coordinated.
As I sit wearing Jordan High School memorabilia proudly, I wonder what it was that made those rolls so good we would risk life and limb. One of my friends didn’t like the rolls, so each day he would throw his roll into the air for the rest of us to grab at. This means four or five people were fighting over the roll, and we would each end up with a smashed scrap. But we didn’t care. We were getting bonus bread, for free.
Once a school has reached a certain age, the additions begin. There were so many passages to the same place it really was easier to just take someone where they wanted to be. Telling them the directions would take twice as long. This is a building that lasted a hundred years, and besides having four floors and a basement, there were wings out to the side. There was a courtyard converted into some classrooms and a counseling center. We also had an ancient stage which I remember as especially small.
The best part of the school was the tradition my family had of attending there. Just before it was torn down, I was in a movie at the old school. I got to sit in the front office for several hours, and I wasn’t even in trouble. I used the time to thumb through several old yearbooks. I found myself, my dad and several of his siblings and took a picture with them all spread out on a desk.
Now that I teach high school, it’s hard to imagine I was as young as my students when I went to school. The guy who used to throw his roll in the air was prematurely bald, and so he looked like he was forty when he was a teenager. I saw him 30 years later and he still looked the same.
This is the same friend I tortured every year by making him squirt milk out his nose. All I had to do was wait until he was drinking his milk and deliver a well timed funny remark and out would come the milk. He had enough manners not to spit it out all over us; he would simply laugh it out his nose. I thought it was hilarious. He was cautious around me, trying to make sure he was drinking his milk at safe moments. But once every year, I was able to get him.
Then he started drinking pop. You may call it soda. I don’t know if you have ever snorted carbonation through your nose, it is not a pleasant experience. Milk is bad enough, and water hurts. But any carbonated drink passed through your nasal passages it excruciatingly painful. It hurts for quite a while.
For some reason, we feel ageless when we are in high school. I was talking to my father-in-law about this a while ago. Though in his eighties, he told me he still feels the same way he did when he was in high school. It’s such a defining time in the development of our personalities; it becomes our definition of ourselves.
I guess it can be good and bad. One of my students from a few years ago dropped by this week. When I asked him what he had been doing, he said he just got out of jail. He was a student who didn’t really like school, and probably felt he was being punished with an education. I wonder if my friend remembers the good old bad old times, and then is grateful not to be drinking anything at the moment.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Click on Amazon button to order