Find heart warming, short inspirational stories for your enjoyment. Relax, take a break and feel the love in these short inspirational stories that will touch your soul, or inspire your spirit.
Short Inspirational Stories
Inspirational Stories - #1
The Cab Ride
by Kent Nerburn
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life,
a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it
was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a
moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity,
and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed
me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part
of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers,or someone
who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift
at some factory for the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single
light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers
would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen
too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means
of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to
the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned
to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear
something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door
opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print
dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a
1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as
if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with
sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on
the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos
and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase
to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked
slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's
nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want
my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in
the cab, she gave me and address, then asked, "Could you drive through
downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't
mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".
I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have
any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you
like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me
the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove
through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they
were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that
had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes
she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would
sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said,
"I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low
building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a
portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They
were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have
been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman
was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she
asked, reaching into her purse."Nothing," I said. "You have to make a
living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost
without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me
tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank
you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me,
a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost
in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that
woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven
away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more
important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve
around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully
wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Inspirational Stories - #2
Just A Few Drops
Author Unknown
It was one of the hottest days of the dry season. We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying. Cows had stopped giving milk. The creeks and streams were long gone back into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt several farmers before it was through. Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we didn't see some rain soon... we would lose everything.
It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes. I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my six-year old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He wasn't walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort...trying to be as still as possible.
Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house. I went back to making sandwiches, thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for an hour. He would walk carefully to the woods, run back to the house. Finally I couldn't take it any longer and I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen...as he was obviously doing important work and didn't need his Mommy checking up on him).
He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked, being very careful not to spill the water he held in them...maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. I sneaked close as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much higher purpose. As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site. Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. I almost screamed for him to get away. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. But the buck did not threaten him...he didn't even move as Billy knelt down. And I saw a tiny fawn laying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful boy's hand.
When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house and I hid behind a tree. I followed him back to the house, to a spigot that we had shut off the water to. Billy opened it all the way up and a small trickle began to creep out. He knelt there, letting the drip, drip slowly fill up his makeshift "cup," as the sun beat down on his little back. And it came clear to me. The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. The reason he didn't ask me to help him.
It took almost twenty minutes for the drops to fill his hands. When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him. His little eyes just filled with tears. "I'm not wasting," was all he said.
As he began his walk, I joined him...with a small pot of water from the kitchen. I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away. It was his job.
I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life. As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, they were suddenly joined by other drops...and more drops...and more. I looked up at the sky. It was as if God, himself, was weeping with pride.
Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence. That miracles don't really exist. That it was bound to rain sometime. And I can't argue with that...I'm not going to try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm...just like the actions of one little boy saved another.
I don't know if anyone will read this...but I had to send it.... To honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon.... but not before showing me the true face of God, in a little sunburned body.
(More Inspirational Stories follow these reflective questions.)
Do I believe there is a real heaven and hell?
When I die where will I go?
What do I need to do to live forever?
Why do I believe what I do?
If what I believe isn't true, would I want to know it?
Who has the answers?
Click here
Inspirational Stories - #3
Ice Cream For The Soul
Author Unknown
Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son
asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank
you for the food, and I would even thank you more if mom gets us ice cream
for dessert. And Liberty and justice for all! Amen."
Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a
woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't
even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream! Why, I never! "Hearing this,
my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at
me?" As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table.
He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know that God thought that was a
great prayer." "Really?" my son asked. "Cross my heart."
Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose
remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice
cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."
Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal.
My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will
remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a
word walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he
told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul
sometimes, and my soul is good already.
Inspirational Stories - #4
The Empty Egg
Author Unknown
Jeremy was born with a twisted body and a slow mind. At the age of 12
he was still in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris
Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat,
drool, and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly
and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his
brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher.
One day she called his parents and asked them to come in for a
consultation. As the Forresters entered the empty classroom, Doris said
to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to
him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there
is a five year gap between his age and that of the other students."
Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke.
"Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a
terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We
know he really likes it here." Doris sat for a long time after they had
left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into
her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all,
their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him
in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a
distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write. Why waste any more time trying?
As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. Here I am
complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family,
she thought. Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy. From
that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares.
Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him.
"I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole
class to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris' face burned red. She
stammered, "Wh-why that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your
seat."
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of
Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg.
"Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back
tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss Miller," the children responded enthusiastically-all except
for Jeremy. He listened intently. His eyes never left her face. He did not
even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about
Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps
she should call his parents and explain the project to them.
That evening, Doris' kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord
and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she
still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse, and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.
The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as
they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk.
After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In
the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign
of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that
spring is here." A small girl in the first row waved her arm. "That's
my egg, Miss Miller," she called out. The next egg contained a plastic
butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a
caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that's
new life, too." Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one
is mine." Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that
moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom,
"My daddy helped me," he beamed.
Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty.
Surely it must be Jeremy's she thought, and of course, he did not understand her
instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents.
Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and
reached for another. Suddenly, Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't
you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "But Jeremy, your
egg is empty." He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus'
tomb was empty, too."
Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you
know why the tomb was empty?" "Oh, yes," Jeremy said, "Jesus was killed and
put in there. Then His Father raised Him up."
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the
schoolyard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the
mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket....... all of them
empty.
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