Christian / Inspirational Stories

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 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, specialising 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......

by John Deru

(i just love this story (despite the sentence structure and grammar errors) no matter how many times i read it.)

I cried for my brother 6 times.

I was born in a secluded village of a mountain.
Days by days my parents plowed the yellow dry soil with their backs facing the sky.
I have a younger brother, 3 years younger than me.

Once, to buy a handkerchief which all girls around me seemed to have, I stole 50 cents from my father's drawer. Father known about it right away. He made my younger brother and me kneeled against the wall, with a bamboo stick in his hand.

"Who stole the money?" he asked.

I was stunned, too afraid to talk.

Father didn't hear any of us admit, so he said,"Fine, if nobody wants to admit, you two should be beaten!"

He lifted up the bamboo stick.

Suddenly, my younger brother gripped father's hand and said," Dad, I was the one who did it!"

The long stick smacked on my brother's back repeatedly. Father was so angry that he kept on whipped my brother until he lost his breath.

After that, he sat down on our stone bed and scolded my brother, "You have learnt to steal from your own house now, what other embarrassing things you will do in the future?? You should be beaten to death! You shameless thief!"

That night, mother and I hugged my brother. His body full of injuries, but he didn't shed a single tear. In the middle of the night, all of sudden I cried out loudly.

My brother covered my mouth with his little hand and said, " Sis, now don't cry anymore. Everything has happened."

I still hate myself for didn't have enough courage to admit what I had done. Years gone by, but the incident still looked like it just happened yesterday. I will never forget my brother's expression when he protected me.

That year, my brother was 8 years old; I was 11 years old.

When my brother was in his last year of his lower secondary school, he was accepted in an upper secondary school in the central. At the same time, I was accepted into a province's university.That night, father squatted in the yard, smoking, packet by packet.

I could hear him said, "Both our children have good results? very good results?"

Mother wiped off her tears and sighed," What is the use? How can we possibly finance both of them?"

At that time, my brother walked out, he stood in front of father and said, "Dad, I don't want to continue my study anymore, I have read enough books."

Father swung his hand and slapped brother on his face."Why do you have a spirit so damn weak? Even if it means I have to beg for money on the streets, I will send you two to school until you both finish your study!"

And then, he started to knock on every house in the village to borrow money. I stuck out my hand as soft as I can to my brother's swollen face, and said, "A boy has to continue his study; If not, he will not be able to leave this depths of poverty."

Me, on the other hand, had decided not to further my study to university. Who knows on the next day, before dawn, my brother left the house with a few pieces of worn-out clothes and a few dry beans.

He sneaked to the side of my bed and left a note on my pillow; "Sis, get into an university is not easy. I will go find a job and send money to you."

I held the note while sitting on my bed, and cried until I lost my voice.That year, my brother was 17 years old; I was 20 years old. With the money father borrowed from the whole village, and money my brother earned from carrying cement on his back at construction site, finally, I managed to get to the third year of my study in the university.

One day, I was studying in my room, when my roommate came in and told me, "There's a villager wait for you outside!"

Why is there a villager looking for me?

I walked out, and saw my brother from afar, His whole body is dirty, covered by dust, cement and sands.

I asked him, "Why don't you tell my roommate that you are my brother.?'

He replied with a smile," Look at my appearance, what will they think if they know that I am your brother? Don't they laugh at you?"

I felt so touched, and tears filled my eyes.

I swept away dusts from my brother's body. And said with a lump in my throat, " I don't care of what people say! You are my brother no matter what your appearance is?"

From his pocket, he took out a butterfly hair clip.

He wore it on me, and said, "I saw all the girls in town are wearing it. So, I think you should also have one."

I could not hold back myself anymore. I pulled my brother into my arms and cried and cried.
That year, my brother was 20 years old; I was 23 years old.

The first time I brought my boyfriend home, the broken window had been repaired. And it looked so clean inside the house.

After, my boyfriend went home, I danced like a small girl in front of my mother, "Mom, you don't have to spend so many time cleaning the house!"

But she said with a smile," It was your brother who went home early to clean the house. Didn't you see the wound on his hand? He was injured while replacing the window."

I went into my brother's small bedroom.

Looking at his thin face, I felt like there are hundreds of needle pricked in my heart. I put some ointment on his wound and bandaged it, "Does it hurt? " I asked him.

"No, it doesn't hurt. You know, when I was working in the construction site, stones falling on my feet all the time. Even that could not stop me from working and?"

In the middle of the sentence, he stopped. I turned my back on him and tears rolling down my face.
That year, my brother was 23 years old; I was 26 years old.

After I got married, I lived in the city. Lots of time my husband invited my parents to come and live with us, but they didn't want. They said, once they left the village, they didn't know what to do.

My brother also didn't agree, he said, "Sis, you just taking care of your parents-in-law. I will take care of mom and dad here."

My husband became the director of his factory. We wanted my brother to get the job as the manager in the department of maintenance. But, my brother rejected the offer. He insisted on starting to work as a reparation worker. One day, my brother was on the top of a ladder repairing a cable, when he got electrocuted, and was sent to the hospital. My husband and I visited him.

Looked at the white gypsum on his leg, I grumbled, "Why did you reject to be a manager? Manager will not do something dangerous like this. Look at you now, such a serious injury. Why you didn't want to listen to us?"

With a serious expression on his face, he defended on his decision, "Think of brother-in-law? He just became the director, and I almost uneducated. If I became the manager, what kind of rumors will fly around?"

My husband's eyes filled up with tears, and then I said, "But you lack in education also because of me!"

"Why talking about the past?" My brother held my hand.

That year, he was 26 years old and I was 29 years old.

My brother was 30 years old when he married a farmer girl from the village.

In his wedding reception, the master of ceremonies asked him, "Who is the one you respect and love the most?"

Without thinking, he answered," My sister."

He continued by telling a story I could not even remember.

"When I was in primary school, the school was in different village. Everyday, my sister and I walked for 2 hours to go school and go home. One day, I lost one of my pair of gloves. My sister gave me one of hers. She only wore one glove and walked for so far. When we got home, her hand was so trembled because of the weather that was so cold that she could not even hold her chopsticks. From that day on, I swore that as long as I live, I would take care of my sister and be good to her."

Applause filled up the room. All guests turned their attentions to me.

Words were so hard to come out from my mouth, "In my whole life, the one I would like to thank the most is my brother."

And in this happy occasion, in front of the crowd, tears rolling down my face again.

Love and care for the one you love every single days of your life. You may think what you did is just a small deed, but to that someone, it may mean a lot.

Contributed by: Weili

This poem was nominated poem of 2005 for the
best poem, written by an African kid!!!

When I born, I Black,
When I grow up, I Black,
When I go in Sun, I Black,
When I scared, I Black,
When I sick, I Black,
And when I die, I still black..
And you White fella,
When you born, you Pink,
When you grow up, you White,
When you go in Sun, you Red,
When you cold, you Blue,
When you scared, you Yellow,
When you sick, you Green,
And when you die, you Gray..
And you calling me Colored ??

Aly El Sahly

contributed by: Pei Hua

A little boy was spending his Saturday morning playing in his sandbox. He had with him his box of cars and trucks, his plastic pail, and a shiny, red plastic shovel. In the process of creating roads and tunnels in the soft sand, he discovered a large rock in the middle of the sandbox.

The lad dug around the rock, managing to dislodge it from the dirt. With no little bit of struggle, he pushed and nudged the rock across the sandbox by using his feet. (He was a very small boy and the rock was very huge). When the boy got the rock to the edge of the sandbox, however, he found that he couldn't roll it up and over the wall.

Determined, the little boy shoved, pushed, and pried, but every time he thought he had made some progress, the rock tipped and then fell back into the sandbox.

The little boy grunted, struggled, pushed and shoved. But his only reward was to have the rock roll back, smashing his chubby fingers.

Finally he burst into tears of frustration. All this time the boy's father watched from his living room window as the drama unfolded. At the moment the tears fell, a large shadow fell across the boy and the sandbox. It was the boy's father.

Gently but firmly he said, "Son, why didn't you use all the strength that you had available?"

Defeated, the boy sobbed back, "But I did, Daddy, I did! I used all the strength that I had!"

"No, son," corrected the father kindly. "You didn't use all the strength you had. You didn't ask me."

With that the father reached down, picked up the rock, and removed it from the sandbox.

In the early dawn, a young gardener was pruning his trees and shrubs. He had one choice currant bush which had gone too much to wood. He feared therefore that it would produce little, if any, fruit.

Accordingly, he trimmed and pruned the bush and cut it back. In fact, when he had finished, there was little left but stumps and roots.

Tenderly he considered what was left. It looked so sad and deeply hurt. On every stump there seemed to be a tear where the pruning knife had cut away the growth of early spring. The poor bush seemed to speak to him, and he thought he heard it say:

"O, how could you be so cruel to me; you who claim to be my friend, who planted me and cared for me when I was young, and nurtured me and encouraged me to grow? Could you not see that I was rapidly responding to your care? I was nearly half as large as the trees across the fence, and might soon have become like one of them. But now you've cut my branches back; the green, attractive leaves are gone, and I am in disgrace among my fellows."

The young gardener looked at the weeping bush and heard it's plea with sympathetic understanding. His voice was full of kindness as he said, "Do not cry; what I have done to you was necessary that you might be a prize currant bush in my garden. You were not intended to give shade or shelter by your branches. My purpose when I planted you was that you should bear fruit. When I want currants, a tree, regardless of it's size, cannot supply the need."

"No, my little currant bush, if I had allowed you to continue to grow as you had started, all your strength would have gone to wood; your roots would not have gained a firm hold, and the purpose for which I brought you into my garden would have been defeated. Your place would have been taken by another, for you would have been barren. You must not weep; all this will be for your good; and some day, when you see more clearly, when you are richly laden with luscious fruit, you will thank me and say, `Surely, he was a wise and loving gardener. He knew the purpose of my being, and I thank him now for what I then thought was cruelty.'"

Some years later, this young gardener was in a foreign land, and he himself was growing. He was proud of his position and ambitious for the future.

One day an unexpected vacancy entitled him to promotion. The goal to which he had aspired was now almost within his grasp, and he was proud of the rapid growth which he was making.

But for some reason unknown to him, another was appointed in his stead, and he was asked to take another post relatively unimportant and which, under the circumstances, caused his friends to feel that he had failed.

The young man staggered to his tent and knelt beside his cot and wept. He now knew that he could never hope to have what he had thought so desirable. He cried to God and said, "Oh, how could you be so cruel to me? You who claim to be my friend - you who brought me here and nurtured and encouraged me to grow. Could you not see that I was almost equal to the other men whom I have so long admired? But now I have been cut down. I am in disgrace among my fellows. Oh, how could you do this to me?"

He was humiliated and chagrinned and a drop of bitterness was in his heart, when he seemed to hear an echo from the past. Where had he heard those words before? They seemed familiar. Memory whispered:

"I'm the gardener here."

He caught his breath. Ah, that was it - the currant bush! But why should that long-forgotten incident come to him in the midst of his hour of tragedy? And memory answered with words which he himself had spoken;

"Do not cry ... what I have done to you was necessary ... you were not intended for what you sought to be, ... if I had allowed you to continue ... you would have failed in the purpose for which I planted you and my plans for you would have been defeated. You must not weep; some day when you are richly laden with experience you will say, `He was a wise gardener. He knew the purpose of my earth life, ... I thank him now for what I thought was cruel.'"