Jens
The Cost of a Miracle
Tess was a precocious eight-year-old when she heard her mom and dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment the following month because Daddy didn’t have the money for the doctor’s bills and the house. Only very costly surgery could save Andrew now, and it was looking like there was no one to loan them the money. She heard Daddy say to her tearful mother with whispered desperation, “Only a miracle can save him now.”
Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully, even three times. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to the pharmacy with a big red sign above the door.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the loudest sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
“And what do you want?” the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone. “I’m talking to my brother here whom I haven’t seen in ages,” he said, without waiting for a reply to his question.
“Well, I want to talk to you about my brother,” Tess answered back. “He’s really, really sick, and I want to buy a miracle.” “I beg your pardon?” said the pharmacist. “His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?”
“We don’t sell miracles here, little girl. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” the pharmacist said, softening a little. “Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.”
The pharmacist’s brother was a well-dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, “What kind of a miracle does your brother need?”
“I don’t know,” Tess replied with tears welling up in her eyes. “I just know he’s really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my daddy can’t pay for it, so I want to use my money.”
“How much do you have?” asked the man. “One dollar and eleven cents,” Tess answered barely audible. “And it’s all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.”
“Well, what a coincidence,” smiled the man. “A dollar and eleven cents, the exact price of a miracle for little brothers.” He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said, “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the kind of miracle you need.”
That well-dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon specializing in microsurgery. The operation was completed without charge, and it wasn’t long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. “That surgery,” her mom whispered, “was a miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost.”
Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost—one dollar and eleven cents—plus the faith of a little child.
Copyright © 2004 Motivated
A Beautiful Long Life
This month my mom turned 99 and my dad is 101 and they just celebrated their 75th marriage anniversary (Crown Jewels)! They survived 2 world wars and had 9 children. Two of them, twins, were born right after WW 2 and went back to heaven at birth. My parents, being good old Catholics, didn’t believe in artificial birth control. Now they also have 19 grandchildren and 18 great grandchildren.
They are definitely getting older and weaker now, but everybody who knows them is amazed at how they keep going living in their own house, since 2 years with a helper and my brothers and sisters doing the shopping, mowing the lawn etc. Everybody knows they love God. They have a beautiful statue of Mary, the Mother of Jesus, built into the front wall of their house (photo) and on the entrance door my dad as a medical doctor had Moses’ rod with the snake embroidered in it. In the back of their house at a veranda they had an artist build into the wall a colorful stone mosaic of the first miracle of Jesus, turning water into wine .
My parents used to drink wine every evening, living in one of the best wine areas along the Rhine. When my grandpa was still alive, they would go to the winemaker to buy and taste wines with their friends. Everyone would get a little glass of wine and tell which area and year it was from, which type of grape etc. down to as many details as they could guess without seeing the label of the bottle.
When my dad retired at 70, he started to study history. He said he had to do something to keep his brain functioning. Because he was collecting coins about the popes and has a complete stamp collection of the Vatican, he decided to study the popes’ history. To keep his body moving he worked every day in the garden and still does. He says: “If it wouldn’t be for my garden, I’d be dead a long time ago.”
My mother would go for daily walks, lately with her walker, to get her exercise, and she reads books every day. One time a close friend of our family asked her: “With such a big family, you must be facing a lot of problems. How do you handle that?” My mother replied: “At home I have a chest of drawers. One of them I call my ‘tolerance drawer’. If a problem comes up I just stick it into that drawer and move on.” Then her friend said: “But after some time that drawer is full, isn’t it? Then what do you do?” Her reply: “It always settles, and then there is room for more!”
I admire my mother. She had a lot of work with 7 kids and the crazy things some of us would do, but I cannot remember a single time she’d yell at us 5 rowdy boys when we were small and rambunctious. We would ‘inherit’ the Lederhosen from our older brothers, right down the line to the youngest. And we wouldn’t waste food and give God thanks for it! I remember when we’d cut a new loaf of bread, mother would first sign 3 crosses on the back of the loaf with the knife and then we’d cut it.
My parents believed in Jesus all their lives and I’m sure it was He who helped them survive wars, hardships, deprivation etc. My dad would always give God the credit for his faith. He’d say: It’s just His grace!
A few years ago I asked them if they had a chance would they have liked to change something in their lives. Both of them immediately answered: “Nothing”. To which my dad added: “We have 7 kids who get along with each other. What do we want more?!”
He says nowadays many people don’t want to have children anymore, but when they get older, they regret it. On the other hand, as a former gynecologist who still got up many times during the night to deliver babies without inducing labor, he says, every woman deep in her heart wants to have children. My parents love kids and as we adopted our abandoned Congolese baby, they immediately accepted her and liked the idea.
They still love each other a lot. Their last wish in life is that when one goes, that the other can follow soon after. Isn’t God’s love amazing? Admirable, after 75 years of marriage! My mother’s golden marriage ring is so worn out from the many years, it’s thin like a needle.
Although it wasn’t easy for them to let one of their sons go and be a missionary, after some time they were happy for it and supported me in it. Surely their prayers helped me out of many a messy situation. They like to help financially. My dad says money is filthy! Still in the days of the German Mark he’d say: “You can’t even take one tired Mark with you when you have to go”. When they pass on to the other side, he doesn’t want people to spend a lot of money on wreathes and flowers for their grave. “Why?” he says, “we’ll be in heaven! We don’t need those flowers anymore.” Already years ago he said: “My suitcase is packed, I’m ready to go.”
People admire, how they still keep smiling and are happy so much. My dad loves to tell jokes, one after another, even if he told it to you before. After all, he comes from and lives in a city which is famous for its humor (and the birthplace of Gutenberg).
Recently when I noticed how difficult it was for him to put on his jacket and I tried to help him, he said “No thanks, I need to do it myself.” When I mentioned that it’s not easy for him, he replied: “I have no choice. I have to get into it.” Makes me want to fight until the end! May we all have a heavenly perspective on our lives down here! — Wolfgang Schmidt
Copyright © 2015 Aktive Direkt Hilfe e.V.
Joy in Living
When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive—to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. — Marcus Aurelius.
The subway train sways back and forth, its wheels screeching more fiendishly than ever against the tracks. Outside the window the freezing cold of winter rules and the dreary bay looks like a yawning abyss as the train rumbles across it. The carriage is filled with frozen, self-centered, bored passengers. Good morning!
Suddenly a little boy pushes his way in between discourteous grown-up legs—the kind that only grudgingly make room for you. While his father stays by the door, the boy sits next to the window, surrounded by unfriendly, morning-weary adults. What a brave child, I think. As the train enters a tunnel, something totally unexpected and peculiar happens. The little boy slides down from his seat and puts his hand on my knee. For a moment, I think that he wants to go past me and return to his father, so I shift a bit. But instead of moving on, the boy leans forward and stretches his head up towards me. He wants to tell me something, I think. Kids! I bend down to listen to what he has to say. Wrong again! He kisses me softly on the cheek.
Then he returns to his seat, leans back and cheerfully starts looking out of the window. But I’m shocked. What happened? A kid kissing unknown grown-ups on the train? To my amazement, the kid proceeds to kiss all my neighbors.
Nervous and bewildered, we look questioningly at his father, “He’s so happy to be alive,” the father says. “He’s been very sick.”
The train stops and father and son get off and disappear into the crowd. The doors close. On my cheek I can still feel the child’s kiss—a kiss that has triggered some soul-searching. How many grown-ups go around kissing each other from the sheer joy of being alive? How many even give much thought to the privilege of living? What would happen if we all just started being ourselves?
The little boy had given us a sweet but serious slap in the face: Don’t let yourself die before your heart stops! — Dag Retsö.
It’s not too late to plot and plan —
Do all the secret good you can!
Take young and old folk by surprise,
And scatter stardust in their eyes.
You’ll find there’s greater joy in living
As you share in the thrill of giving.
— Author unknown.
For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don’t enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then the chances are that you’re not going to be very happy. If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that person isn’t going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink, or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness.— Andy Rooney.
When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself.— Tecumseh.
Excerpts from an Anchor article, Copyright © 2014 Anchor