The house with the golden windows

The little girl lived in a small, very simple, poor house on a hill and as she grew she would play in the small garden and as she grew she was able to see over the garden fence and across the valley to a wonderful house high on the hill – and this house had golden windows, so golden and shining that the little girl would dream of how magic it would be to grow up and live in a house with golden windows instead of an ordinary house like hers.

And although she loved her parents and her family, she yearned to live in such a golden house and dreamed all day about how wonderful and exciting it must feel to live there.

When she got to an age where she gained enough skill and sensibility to go outside her garden fence, she asked her mother is she could go for a bike ride outside the gate and down the lane. After pleading with her, her mother finally allowed her to go, insisting that she kept close to the house and didn’t wander too far. The day was beautiful and the little girl knew exactly where she was heading! Down the lane and across the valley, she rode her bike until she got to the gate of the golden house across on the other hill.

As she dismounted her bike and lent it against the gate post, she focused on the path that lead to the house and then on the house itself…and was so disappointed as she realized all the windows were plain and rather dirty, reflecting nothing other than the sad neglect of the house that stood derelict.

So sad she didn’t go any further and turned, heart broken as she remounted her bike … As she glanced up she saw a sight to amaze her…there across the way on her side of the valley was a little house and its windows glistened golden …as the sun shone on her little home.

She realized that she had been living in her golden house and all the love and care she found there was what made her home the ‘golden house’. Everything she dreamed was right there in front of her nose!

via The house with the golden windows.

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Story of being

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

“Your son is here,” she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the patient’s eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man’s limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man’s hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.

He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital – the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

“Who was that man?” he asked.

The nurse was startled, “He was your father,” she answered.

“No, he wasn’t,” the Marine replied.

“I never saw him before in my life.”

“Then why didn’t you say something when I took you to him?”

“I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn’t here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed.

via Story of being.

Story of passion

While waiting to pick up a friend at the airport, I had one of those life-changing experiences that you hear other people talk about — the kind that sneaks up on you unexpectedly. This one occurred a mere two feet away from me.

Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.

First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other’s face, I heard the father say, “It’s so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!” His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, “Me, too, Dad!”

Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten) and while cupping his son’s face in his hands said, “You’re already quite the young man. I love you very much, Zach!” They too hugged a most loving, tender hug.

While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother’s arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, “Hi, baby girl!” as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.

After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared, “I’ve saved the best for last!” and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed. “I love you so much!” They stared at each other’s eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands.

For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn’t possibly be. I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm’s length away from me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, “Wow! How long have you two been married?

“Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those.” he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife’s face. “Well then, how long have you been away?” I asked. The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile. “Two whole days!”

Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he’d been gone for at least several weeks – if not months. I know my expression betrayed me.

I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), “I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!”

The man suddenly stopped smiling.

He looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me, “Don’t hope, friend… decide!” Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, “God bless!”

Story of the last date

After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, “I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you.”

The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie. “What’s wrong, are you well?” she asked.

My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news. “I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you,” I responded. “Just the two of us.” She thought about it for a moment, and then said, “I would like that very much.”

That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel’s. “I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed, “she said, as she got into the car. “They can’t wait to hear about our meeting.”

We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips. “It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small,” she said. “Then it’s time that you relax and let me return the favor,” I responded. During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation – nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other’s life. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, “I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you.” I agreed.

“How was your dinner date?” asked my wife when I got home. “Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined,” I answered.

A few days later, my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn’t have a chance to do anything for her. Some time later, I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: “I paid this bill in advance. I wasn’t sure that I could be there; but nevertheless, I paid for two plates – one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you, son.”

At that moment, I understood the importance of saying in time: “I LOVE YOU” and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off till “some other time.”

Story of unknown caller part 2

We live in very technologically advanced times, so what if, one day, you found someone else’s phone in your house and you didn’t have any visitors for a while…what would you do…would it be a simple case of figuring it out or what? So here’s my story…

Ah-achoo! Always the dust up my nose on the monthly Monday housecleaning. If you cared to look in the lounge window as you passed our city-slick dwelling, parked in a close-knit community of upmarket overpriced semi-detached houses, you would see me bent over in a paroxysm of dust mite explosions.

This particular Monday, my sneezing began as I put hand to our velvet-clad couch and thrashed the dust into life. Tears acted like magnifiers as my eyes caught a square of silver peeping through the large soft black cushions. Surprised, I extracted the shiny object. A cell phone! I turned it over and tried a few buttons to access the contacts. I almost dropped it as a loud fanfare of orchestral music from Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’ signalled a call.

‘Unknown’ showed on the screen. Not daring to answer, I placed the phone on the coffee table, where it vibrated in a dance of unanswered rage. I felt guilty for some unknown reason. Whose phone was it?

via Wit&Wisdom4u.

Story of unknown caller

I lived alone, now that my youngest daughter had moved nearer her college several months before. I had no visitors I could recall for the last few months. People I knew seemed busy and distracted and declined invitations to visit our house. Was it one of my daughter’s many ‘lost’ phones? I searched through ‘contacts’ again. None seemed familiar. I dialled a number at random.“Hello,” I said hesitatingly. What could I say to persuade the person I wasn’t some idiot fooling about? A female voice answered and declined to know anything about how her number was included in the phone list. She cut me off abruptly. I tried several more to no avail. Puzzled, I saw that the battery was running low and searched in my box of collected phone items for a suitable battery recharger. This collection was due to the continuous stream of missing phones on my daughter’s part. I was in luck and thanked the standardization of modern technology and the need to keep the items in a closed box.I sent my daughter and son a text, asking if they knew the phone’s owner. My son’s text came back, immediately curious about the phone, but with no information about its owner. There was no text from my daughter, who was usually the world’s promptest text writer. I sent her another text, to no avail. She was obviously busy. I wondered if I would keep the phone as part of my collected phone items. It was password protected, so I could never turn it off and on again. A bit of a waste and so much for finders keepers!Monday dusting now forgotten, I decided to make some coffee, this being my day-off from the busy downtown private detective agency I ran with a long-time partner. I was half tempted to disturb his busy day with a request for a code to unlock the password, but I decided to leave it. He might drag me into some work.Searching once again through the phone contacts for some clue, I gasped when I saw my own number on the screen. What was it doing there? A sudden soft noise behind me drew my attention back into the room. I turned around and faced down the cold muzzle of my own black double action revolver. At the other end of the gun, I looked into a pair of dark eyes staring out from a black hooded face.“Don’t move lady or you’ll get it here and here,” a man’s low voice growled at me.“What do you want?” I managed to say without stuttering.“Gimme that phone,” he growled. Snatching it from my outstretched hand, he dropped it into an open sports bag at his feet. My eyes widened, as I saw the open bag’s contents. “That’s my jewellery,” I muttered at him.“That’s right lady and now it’s mine. Turn around,” he commanded.Strong hands gripped my wrists and with a push I fell off balance, face down on the floor, where he bound my hands and feet together. No counter- attack here!“Stay quiet lady or you’ll get it.” His soft footsteps moved to the lounge door.“Why is my name on your phone? And how did your phone get in my couch?”My questions fell on deaf ears. The front door slammed shut. With plenty of time to think things through, one question persisted. Who was the unknown caller?

via Wit&Wisdom4u.

Story of essay to God! I Want to be a Television

A Primary School teacher asked her students to write an essay about what they would like God to do for them. At the end of the day, while marking the essays, she read one that made her very emotional. Her husband, who had just walked in, saw her crying and asked her: ‘What happened?’
She answered: ‘Read this. It is an essay written by one of my students.’
‘Oh God, tonight I ask you something very special: Make me into a Television. I want to take its place and live like the TV in my house. Have my own special place, and have my family around me. To be taken seriously when I talk. I want to be the centre of attention and be heard without interruptions or questions. I want to receive the same special care that the TV receives even when it is not working. Have the company of my dad when he arrives home from work, even when he is tired. And I want my mom to want me when she is sad and upset, instead of ignoring me. And … I want my brothers to fight to be with me … I want to feel that family just leaves everything aside, very now and then, just to spend some time with me. And last but not least, ensure that I can make them all happy and entertain them. Lord I don’t ask you for much. I just want to live like a TV.’
At that moment the husband said: ‘My God, poor kid. What horrible parents!’
Primary School teacher looked up at him and said: ‘That essay is our son’s!

STORY OF PAID IN FULL.


A young man was getting ready to graduate college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer’s showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted. As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation his father called him into his private study.

His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Holy book of wisdom. Angrily, young man raised his voice at his father and said, “With all your money you give me a Holy book?” and stormed out of the house, leaving the holy book.

Young man never contacted his father again for long long time. Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He had not seen him since that graduation day.

Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things. When the young man arrived at his father’s house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search his father’s important papers and saw the still new holy book, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the holy book and began to turn the pages. As he Read those words, a car key dropped from an envelope taped behind the holy book. It had a tag with the dealer’s name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words PAID IN FULL.

Moral : How many times do we miss God’s blessings because they are not packaged as we expected?
http://witandwisdom4u.blogspot.in/2012/03/paid-in-full.html

Story of Priorities


Deb Graham writes about a very important experience in her life that made her learn a very significant lesson for her own life. When she was a little girl, her mom liked to make breakfast food (breakfast items) for dinner every now and then. And she remembers one night in particular, when her mother had made breakfast-dinner after a long, hard day at work. On that evening her mother placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and extremely burned toast in front of them. She remembers waiting to see if anyone noticed or reacted! Yet all that her dad did was reach for his toast, smile at her mother and ask Debbie how her day was at school.
Debbie does not remember what she told him that night, but she remembers watching him smear butter and jelly on that toast and eat every bite!  When she got up from the table that evening, she remembers hearing her mom apologize to her dad for burning the toast. And Debbie will never forget what he said: “Baby, I love burned toast.”
Later that night, Debbie went to kiss her Daddy good night and asked him if he really liked his toast burned.  He wrapped her in his arms and said, “Debbie, your momma put in a hard day at work today and she’s real tired.  And besides-a little burnt toast never hurt anyone!” In bed that night, she thought about that scene at dinner and the kindness her daddy showed to her mom.   

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