Well, today’s blog is number 900. It’s hard to believe that it has been slightly over 4 years ago that I decided to begin a blog “Good Time Stories.” I thought that it would be a terrific idea to write, find, and discover shorts stories, tales, pictures, and other interesting tidbits that would serve as an encouragement to the heart and soul of people. Little did I know that it would ever have over 900 posts!
I have always been an individual that has always enjoyed making people smile, laugh, and generally feel good about themselves and the life that they have. It’s sort of funny when people find out that I am not only a blogger but also a coach, they are sometimes stunned and say, “Wow! You’re a coach? I didn’t know that coaches had a tender and sensitive side like you do.” I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, but regardless, I have thoroughly enjoyed working on this project over the years.
Life, at times, can be a struggle. It is my hope that I can continue to find new heartwarming, inspiring, and motivational stories that will lift up a person’s spirit, touch their soul, and brighten their heart in the days and years to come.
Remember…”A word of encouragement during a failure is worth more than an hour of praise after a success.” ~ Author Unknown
“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” ~Leo Buscaglia
Throughout a lifetime, there are many times and situations that people that can have either a positive or negative effect on their pursuit of accomplishing a goal. Some individuals get discouraged, disheartened, or dispirited when some obstacles get in their way and they simply give up or lose focus on attaining their desired objective. Other people take a bad circumstance and decide to make “lemonade out of lemons.”
Today’s little poem is a story about an oyster that will serve as a reminder of how we can successfully accomplish our goals that we set in our life despite some things may cause us pain along the way.
The once was an oyster whose story I tell,
Who found that sand had gotten under its shell:
Just one little grain, but it gave it much pain,
For oysters have feelings although they’re so plain.
Now, did it berate the working of fate,
Which had led it to such a deplorable state?
Did it curse out the government,
Call for an election?
No. As it lay on the shelf,
It said to itself,
“If I cannot remove it,
I’ll try to improve it.”
So the years rolled by as the years always do,
And it came to its ultimate destiny – stew.
But this small grain of sand which had bothered it so,
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
One day, a little boy wanted to meet God. He packed his suitcase, brought a bag of some drink and cookies then started his journey. He walked a long, long way until he began to get hungry and tired.
He soon came to a park and decided to sit down and rest. He opened his bag, took out his food and began to eat. As he was eating, he noticed an old woman sitting on the bench next to him would not only looked very sad but hungry as well. Looking at the cookie that he was eating, he decided to offer her a piece of his tasty morsel.
She gratefully accepted it with a wide look of thankfulness and gratitude then smiled at him. Her smile was so beautiful that the boy longed to see it again. After some time, he offered her another piece of his cookie. Again, she accepted it and smiled at him.
The boy was delighted! They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.
As it grew dark, the boy became frightened, so the boy decided to leave and go home. As he up got to leave he had gone only a few steps, when suddenly, he turned around, ran back, and gave the poor lady a hug. She hugged him back, gave him a kiss on the cheek then once again, flashed the nicest smile that he had ever seen.
After a long while, the little boy finally returned home.When the boy opened the door, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked him, “What did you do today that made you look so happy?”
He replied,” I had lunch with God.”
Before, his mother could respond, he added, “You know what? She’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my life!”
Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to her home. Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and asked, “Mom, what did you do today that made you so happy?
“She replied, “I ate cookies in the park with God.” Before his son could respond, she added, “You know, he’s much younger than I expected.”
Remember, nobody knows what God will look like. People come into our lives for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime. Accept all of them equally!
Today’s picture is a beautiful image that demonstrates the wonderful circle of life. It reminds us that someday we will all come to the end of our journey of life, while at the same time, there are individuals that are just beginning theirs!
All of us have dreams…dreams of what we might want to become, a dream of something that we always wanted, or maybe even a dream that we were someone else. It is sort of sad to say, that when I was a kid, I had so many dreams of things that wanted to be, do, or have when I got older…it was amazing. As I got older, I found that some of my dreams turned to reality, some disappeared, while others are still in the making (I hope 🙂
The one thing about dreams is this: they are the hope in things that we would all like to experience. The worse thing that anyone can ever do to another person is to crush those dreams and discourage the individual’s desires to accomplish them.
That’s why, when I read the following story written by an unknown author, I found it to be very motivating and heartwarming. It is my hope that it will encourage you to keep your dreams and the belief that someday they will become true.
I have a friend named Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs.
The last time I was there he introduced me by saying:
“I want to tell you why I let Jack use my horse. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.”
“That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch.”
“He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F with a note that read, `See me after class.’”
“The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, `Why did I receive an F?’”
“The teacher said, `This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you’ll have to pay large stud fees. There’s no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, `If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’”
“The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, `Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’ Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all.
He stated, ‘You can keep the F and I’ll keep my dream.’”
Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, “I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace.”
He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week. When the teacher was leaving, the teacher said, ‘Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on yours.’”
“Don’t let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart…no matter what.”
I recently came across a heartwarming story written by Charles Rogers, that I thought would be a beautiful tale to share. It shows us once again, how sometimes, despite millions of people that celebrate Thanksgiving each year, there are still untold numbers of people that are lonely and hurting.
But it can also be a time of sharing and helping others…and sometimes, one act of kindness can have an impact on someone’s life that could last a long time!
There was a time when old-time Canarsien Ned Caro, who is now 85, celebrated Thanksgiving Day just like the rest of us: with turkey and trimmings and family, and even giving a friendly toast to those pilgrims of long ago. Thanksgiving was a happy event – then.
However, things changed two years ago when his wife of sixty years passed away. “Things will never be the same,” he said, rightfully in the depths of depression. The loneliness was almost unbearable, but Ned knew his religion would see him through. “The Lord has a way of helping people like me,” he said. “I know it now because of what He did for me.”
A long time ago, Ned was the owner of a popular bar at the corner of Rockaway Parkway and Glenwood Road, right in the heart of Canarsie, so he was used to listening to stories (“It goes with the job,” he would say). He was also used to telling stories (“That went with the job too, if you came into my place,” he added).
He then proceeded to tell his Thanksgiving story, preceding it with the notation that his late wife’s name was Rose. “Rosie,” he called her.
“My beautiful Rosie was kinda sick about six or seven years ago,” he said. “She was in her seventies and I was almost eighty and getting around wasn’t too easy, so we were getting Meals on Wheels at the time.
“Well, one day the Meals on Wheels person delivered the food and Rosie opened the Styrofoam containers the lunch was packed in and found a note in one of the boxes from the person who packed them, a six-year-old girl by the name of Erin Cohen from West-chester. The note said, ‘Whoever receives this box…please write to me. I am six years old and I would like to hear from you and I will write back.'”
Ned said Rose was “happily surprised” and sat down and read the note over and over, finally saying to him, “I think I’ll write to her.”
Rose took up her pen and note paper and sent off a thank you note to six-year-old Erin Cohen of Westchester, telling her who she and Ned were, where they were from and few insignificant details. She didn’t necessarily feel she’d get a reply, but nevertheless, she asked for one.
“And don’t you know? An answer came the very next week,” Ned said. “Rose was as pleased as she could be and that very night she sat down and answered the nice letter she got from Erin. She told her about me and our son and about how things were here in Canarsie. You know. All the basic stuff.”
She sent off the letter and nervously waited to see if the youngster would continue the correspondence.
Needless to say, she did, and sent along a photo of herself, leading to more exchanges and, eventually, a few phone calls.
Unfortunately, they never met face-to-face, though. According to Ned, the drive was “just too much” for him to try. And Erin’s parents – her father, Lawrence, is a veterinarian and her mother, Diane, an interior decorator- couldn’t make it either. Both parties promised they’d get together “soon”…and the time just went…
On March 27, 2004, at the age of 79, Rosie passed away. Ned was devastated, and, after a reasonable period, called Erin’s parents, telling them, “I really don’t know how to tell Erin that her corresponding friend is gone.” They said they would take care of it for him.
“And what do you think if I continue the correspondence from now on?” he asked.
“That would be wonderful!”
In the summer, as Ned and Erin wrote to each other, Erin’s father invited Ned to join them for dinner at a restaurant near Canarsie where he met Erin, now 12 years old.
“We talked for hours and really hit it off,” he said, excitedly. “We had a beautiful day together.”
As time went on, Ned met with the family every now and then for lunch or dinner on a weekend.
Last September, the family sent him a special invitation to Erin’s bat mitzvah, which he had to turn down.
“I don’t drive now,” Ned answered when they called him.
“I’ll pick you up, take you to our house in Westchester and take you home,” said Mr. Cohen. “How would that be?”
“Just about perfect,” was the answer.
“The story doesn’t end there,” Ned Caro said. “Hopefully, the story will continue for a long, long time because this year they invited me to come to share Thanksgiving dinner with their whole family. This year Thanksgiving will be something special to remember. Again they’ll pick me up and take me home. I mean, last year I was pretty lonely, but this year – especially at this time of year – I’ll break bread with Erin and my ‘other’ family. It’ll be almost like it used to be.
Years ago a John Hopkin’s professor gave a group of graduate students this assignment: Go to the slums. Take 200 boys, between the ages of 12 and 16, and investigate their background and environment. Then predict their chances for the future. The students, after consulting social statistics, talking to the boys, and compiling much data, concluded that 90 percent of the boys would spend some time in jail.
Twenty-five years later another group of graduate students was given the job of testing the prediction. They went back to the same area. Some of the boys – by then men – were still there, a few had died, some had moved away, but they got in touch with 180 of the original 200. They found that only four of the group had ever been sent to jail.
Why was it that these men, who had lived in a breeding place of crime, had such a surprisingly good record? The researchers were continually told: “Well, there was a teacher…” They pressed further, and found that in 75 percent of the cases it was the same woman.
The researchers went to this teacher, now living in a home for retired teachers. How had she exerted this remarkable influence over that group of children? Could she give them any reason why these boys should have remembered her? “No,” she said, “no I really couldn’t.” And then, thinking back over the years, she said amusingly, more to herself than to her questioners: “I loved those boys…”