Find short inspirational writings that may cause you to take a moment and just stop and think about love, life, and God.
Short Inspirational Writings
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Inspirational Stories - #6
The Window
Author Unknown
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One
man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help
drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only
window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and
families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military
service, where they had been on vacation.
And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit
up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things
he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live
for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and
enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played
on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm
in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced
the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the
distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the
man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the
picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing
by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in
his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with
descriptive words.
Days and weeks passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths
only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died
peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital
attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the
other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was
happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she
left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow
to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the
joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out
the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased
roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.
The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the
wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue. . . .There is tremendous happiness in making others happy,
despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but
happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count
all of the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift,
that's why it is called the PRESENT".
Inspirational Stories - #7
A Touching Story
Author Unknown
A few years ago at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants, all physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100 yard dash. At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run the race to the finish and win. All, that is, except one boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times and began to cry. The other eight heard the boy. They slowed down and looked back. They all turned around and went back. Every one of them. One girl with Down's Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said,"This will make it better." All nine linked arms and walked across the finish line together. Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes. People who were there are still telling the story. Why? Because deep down we know one thing. What matters most in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What truly matters in this life is helping others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course.
Inspirational Stories - #8
A Simple Prayer
By Peggy Porter
My son Gilbert was eight years old and had been in Cub Scouts only a
short time. During one of his meetings he was handed a sheet of paper, a block of wood and four tires and told to return home and give all to"dad."
That was not an easy task for Gilbert to do. Dad was not receptive
to doing things with his son. But Gilbert tried. Dad read the paper
and scoffed at the idea of making a pine wood derby car with his
young,eager son. The block of wood remained untouched as the weeks passed.
Finally, mom stepped in to see if I could figure this all out. The
project began. Having no carpentry skills, I decided it would be best
if I simply read the directions and let Gilbert do the work. And he did. I read aloud the measurements, the rules of what we could do and what we couldn't do. Within days his block of wood was turning into a pinewood derby car.A little lopsided, but looking great (at least through the eyes of mom).
Gilbert had not seen any of the other kids cars and was feeling
pretty proud of his "Blue Lightning," the pride that comes with knowing you did something on your own.
Then the big night came. With his blue pinewood derby in his hand
and pride in his heart we headed to the big race. Once there my little one's pride turned to humility. Gilbert's car was obviously the only car made entirely on his own. All the other cars were a father-son partnership, with cool paint jobs and sleek body styles made for speed.
A few of the boys giggled as they looked at Gilbert's, lopsided,
wobbly, unattractive vehicle. To add to the humility Gilbert was the
only boy without a man at his side. A couple of the boys who were from single parent homes at least had an uncle or grandfather by their side, Gilbert had "mom."
As the race began it was done in elimination fashion. You kept
racing as long as you were the winner. One by one the cars raced down
the finely sanded ramp. Finally it was between Gilbert and the sleekest, fastest looking car there. As the last race was about to begin, my wide eyed, shy eight year old ask if they could stop the race for a minute, because he wanted to pray.
The race stopped.
Gilbert hit his knees clutching his funny looking block of wood
between his hands. With a wrinkled brow he set to converse with his
Father. He prayed in earnest for a very long minute and a half. Then
he stood, smile on his face and announced, 'Okay, I am ready."
As the crowd cheered, a boy named Tommy stood with his father as
their car sped down the ramp. Gilbert stood with his Father within his heart and watched his block of wood wobble down the ramp with
surprisingly great speed and rushed over the finish line a fraction of a second before Tommy's car.
Gilbert leaped into the air with a loud "Thank you" as the crowd
roared in approval. The Scout Master came up to Gilbert with
microphone in hand and asked the obvious question, "So you prayed to win, huh,Gilbert?" To which my young son answered, "Oh, no sir. That wouldn't be fair to ask God to help you beat someone else. I just asked Him to make it so I don't cry when I lose."
Children seem to have a wisdom far beyond us. Gilbert didn't ask
God to win the race, he didn't ask God to fix the out come, Gilbert
asked God to give him strength in the outcome. When Gilbert first saw the other cars he didn't cry out to God, "No fair, they had a fathers help." No, he went to his Father for strength. Perhaps we spend too much of our prayer time asking God to rig the race, to make us number one, or too much time asking God to remove us from the struggle, when we should be seeking God's strength to get through the struggle. "I can do everything through Him who gives me strength." Philippines 4:13
Gilbert's simple prayer spoke volumes to those present that night.
He never doubted that God would indeed answer his request. He didn't
pray to win, thus hurt someone else, he prayed that God supply the grace to lose with dignity. Gilbert, by his stopping the race to speak to his Father also showed the crowd that he wasn't there without a "dad," but His Father was most definitely there with him. Yes, Gilbert walked away a winner that night, with his Father at his side.
Inspirational Stories - #9
The Alphabet Prayer
Author Unknown
Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged with man. Now the story goes, a little shepherd boy was watching his sheep one Sunday morning and he heard the bells of the church ringing. And watching the people walk along the pasture where he was, he happened to think to himself, "I would like to communicate with God! But, what can I say to God?"
He had never learned a prayer. So, on bended knee, he began to recite the alphabet. Repeating this prayer several times, a man passing by, heard the boy's voice and peaked through the bushes. He saw the young boy kneeling with folded hands, eyes closed, repeating the alphabet.
He interrupted the boy. "What are you doing, my little one?" he asked. The boy replied, "I was praying sir." The man seemed surprised and said, "But why are you reciting the alphabet?" The boy explained, "I don't know any prayers, sir. But I want God to take care of me, and to help me care for my sheep. And so I thought, if I said all I knew, He could put the letters together into words, and He would know all that I want and should say!"
The man smiled and said, "Bless your heart, God will!" And he went on to church knowing full well that he had heard the finest sermon he could possibly hear that day.
Maybe if we thought like little children and let God put together the letters, what we should want, and what we should say, things would probably work out a lot better than we planned!!!
Inspirational Stories - #10
Allow The Children
Author Unknown
One evening in September I took my 13-year-old son to see a St. Louis Cardinal's baseball game. I was given 2 free tickets for bleacher seats from my work, what a blessing! So I picked up my son at home and hurried back to the ballpark. We we're going early to watch batting practice. I told Nathaniel that from the bleachers, we might be able to get a souvenir baseball hit to us.
Well, there were a lot of balls falling around us, but that's just it, around us. Some on the left, some on the right, some in front of us, but nothing we could reach. And then it happened! A batted ball landed right at my feet. It did a double ricochet between the ground and the seat and blasted out from under there about 8 feet high right into the boy's glove. Unfortunately for me, the boy wasn't Nathaniel. The ball had bounced about 10 rows in front of us. At the very moment the ball hit, I was distracted and looking to my right. I didn't even see it!
Well, that's it, I thought. You don't get another chance like that at the same game. So I settled in with just about 10 minutes left of batting practice content with the game we were about to see. But there was another home run ball hit in the section to the right of us some 25 feet away. An elderly attendant got the ball when it landed, and signaled pointing with his finger that he wanted Nathaniel to have the baseball.
I was delighted and perplexed. We hadn't been talking with this man. He wasn't an attendant for our section. And there were about 10 kids all excited and hopping up and down hoping for the ball. Nathaniel wasn't even close enough to be with the other kids. He was another 6 feet in back of them. But the attendant picked Nathaniel. I thought to myself, what luck! We have our souvenir!
It wasn't until the middle of the 3rd inning that the significance of what I had just witnessed hit me. It was then that Nathaniel leaned over to me and said, "You know dad, I prayed before we got here that I would be able to get a baseball." Whir . Bang! My head must've made that noise as all at once my brain suddenly comprehended what my eyes had seen. What I had dismissed as a bit of good luck surely had a divine design!
This event has reinforced for me that God hears our smallest of prayers. Maybe even that's wrong, maybe there's not any such thing as a "small" prayer to God. And no request seems too trivial when asked in sincerity with the heart of child. Nathaniel has the proof! It weighs 5 ounces and has a leather cover sewn with double stitch 10/5 red thread.
Matt 11:25
Inspirational Stories - #11
He's My Only Son
Author Unknown
The day is over, you are driving home. You
tune in your radio.You hear a little blurb about a little village in India
where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has
never been seen before. Its not influenza, but three of four people are dead,
and its kind of interesting, and they are sending some doctors over there
to investigate it.
You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home
from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say its not three
villagers, its 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area
of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb. People
are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this
disease strain has never been seen before.
By Monday morning when you get up, its the lead story. For its not just India. Its Pakistan, Afghanistan,
Iran and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and they
have coined it now as "the mystery flu." The President has made some comment
that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there.
But everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?" That's when
the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is
closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the
countries where this thing has been seen.
And that's why that night you are
watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest
when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English.
There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. It
has come to Europe. Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it you
have it for a week before you know it. Then you have four days of
unbelievable symptoms. And then you die.
Britain closes its borders, but its
too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton and it's Tuesday morning when
the President of the United States makes the following announcement. "Due
to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have
been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come
back until we find a cure for this thing." Within four days our nation has
been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are talking about "What if it
comes to this country"? And preachers on Tuesday are saying "It's the scourge
of God."
It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting
when somebody runs if from the parking lot and yells, "Turn on a
radio, turn on a radio!" And while the church listens to a little transistor
radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made.
Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery
flu. Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country.
People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is
working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though
it's just sweeping in from the borders. And then all of a sudden the news
comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can
be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been
infected and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those
channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple
thing. Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken.
That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in
your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly and safely,
to the hospitals.
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late
on that Friday night, there is a long line and they've got nurses and
doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels
on it. Your spouse and your kids are out there, and they take your blood
type and they say, "wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name you
can be dismissed and go home." You stand around, scared, with your
neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on and if this is the end of
the World.
Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital
screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it
again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says," Daddy, that's me."
Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute. Hold
on!" And they say, Its okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure.
We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got
the right type. Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses
crying and hugging one another-some are even laughing. It's the first
time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you
and says, "Thank you sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is
pure, and we can make the vaccine."
As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and
laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife
aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the
donor would be a minor and we need.....we need you to sign a consent form."
You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to
be taken is empty. "H-h-h-ow many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's
smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We
weren't prepared. We need it all!"
"But-but. . . .I don't understand. He's my
only son!"
"We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We-We
need it all!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?" "If we had clean
blood we would. Please, will you please sign?"
In numb silence you do. Then
they say, "would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?" Could
you walk back? Could you walk back to that room where he sits on a table
saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Could you take his hands and
say, "Son, your mommy and I love you and we would never ever let anything
happen to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?"
And
when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've got to get
started. People all over the world are dying." Could you leave? Could you
walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Dad? Why. . . .why have you forsaken
me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your
son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even bother
to come because they have better things to do, and some folks come
with just a pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you want to
jump up and say, "EXCUSE ME! MY SON DIED FOR YOU! MY ONLY SON! DON'T YOU EVEN CARE? DOES
IT MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?"
I wonder, is that what God wants to say?
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