Miracles Don't Cost Much
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 complex next month because Daddy didn't have the money for the
doctor's bills and our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him
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 jelly jar from its hiding
place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and
counted it carefully. Three times, even. 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 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief
sign above the door. She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some
attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to
make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most
disgusting 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 of voice. I'm
talking to my brother from Chicago 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 in the same annoyed tone. "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 you brother need?" "I
don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. "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 from
Chicago. "One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly.
"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 neuro-surgery. 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 real
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.
A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a
higher law . . . (A TRUE STORY)
I know you'll keep the ball moving! Here it goes. Throw it back to
someone else who means something to you!
The Friendship Ball
A ball is a circle, No beginning, no end. It keeps us together Like our
Circle of Friends But the treasure for you to see is the treasure of
friendship you've granted to me. Today I send the friendship ball to you.
Pass it on to someone who is a friend to you.
MY OATH TO YOU . . .
When you are sad . . . I will dry your tears.
When you are scared . . . I will comfort your fears.
When you are worried . . . I will give you hope.
When you are confused . . . I will help you cope.
And when you are lost . . . And can't see the light.
I shall be your beacon . . . Shining ever so bright
This is my oath . . . I pledge till the end.
Why you may ask? . . . Because you're my friend.
~ Author Unknown
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 complex next month because Daddy didn't have the money for the
doctor's bills and our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him
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 jelly jar from its hiding
place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and
counted it carefully. Three times, even. 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 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief
sign above the door. She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some
attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to
make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most
disgusting 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 of voice. I'm
talking to my brother from Chicago 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 in the same annoyed tone. "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 you brother need?" "I
don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. "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 from
Chicago. "One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly.
"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 neuro-surgery. 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 real
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.
A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a
higher law . . . (A TRUE STORY)
I know you'll keep the ball moving! Here it goes. Throw it back to
someone else who means something to you!
The Friendship Ball
A ball is a circle, No beginning, no end. It keeps us together Like our
Circle of Friends But the treasure for you to see is the treasure of
friendship you've granted to me. Today I send the friendship ball to you.
Pass it on to someone who is a friend to you.
MY OATH TO YOU . . .
When you are sad . . . I will dry your tears.
When you are scared . . . I will comfort your fears.
When you are worried . . . I will give you hope.
When you are confused . . . I will help you cope.
And when you are lost . . . And can't see the light.
I shall be your beacon . . . Shining ever so bright
This is my oath . . . I pledge till the end.
Why you may ask? . . . Because you're my friend.
~ Author Unknown
The House Guest
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."
He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.
"No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.
He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch.
He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."
He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I told him he was welcome to come again.
And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00
a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles
to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.
I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"
My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one,"
God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago -- and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand!
The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7b)
Friends are very special. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear and they share a word of praise.
Show your friends that you care...Pass this on, and brighten someone's day. Nothing will happen if you do not decide to pass it along.
The only thing that will happen if you DO pass it on, is that someone might smile (or cry) because of you.
Share this wonderful story with a friend...
~ Author Unknown
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."
He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.
"No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.
He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch.
He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."
He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I told him he was welcome to come again.
And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00
a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles
to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.
I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"
My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one,"
God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago -- and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand!
The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7b)
Friends are very special. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear and they share a word of praise.
Show your friends that you care...Pass this on, and brighten someone's day. Nothing will happen if you do not decide to pass it along.
The only thing that will happen if you DO pass it on, is that someone might smile (or cry) because of you.
Share this wonderful story with a friend...
~ Author Unknown