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Short Stories
"I refuse to allow a disability to determine how I live my life. I don't mean to be reckless, but setting a goal that seems a bit daunting actually is very helpful toward recovery," -- the late Christopher Reeve. Posted here as a tribute to his courage.
MOMMA’S TEACUP
By Donna Caudill
The cup is part of a set of dishes my Mom received as a present on Christmas day, 1960. The brown cup with is light brown border grew to be her favorite cup. Mom was a tea drinker. One of my earliest memories is being awakened in the morning, Mom standing beside my bed with her favorite cup in hand, the hot tea steaming, and the teabag string hanging on the outside of the cup. The cup is with me now. Mom passed on in July, 2004. I had to watch as my dear mother, a caring compassionate human being deteriorate due to the disease. I asked God to let me see Him and His ways even though I was hurt, bitter, and angry. As the deterioration progressed, the ability to sequence the tasks to make her tea was gone. Although the ability to make tea was gone, she learned how to get her tea. She would walk to the cupboard, get her cup, and take it to Dad. I saw this take place time after time. It was sad, but at the same time, precious. One Sunday morning as I rested and waiting for the time to arise for the day, I looked at my night stand. I reached for my Bible, let it opened where it may, and started to read. It had turned to Psalm 23 verse 5 …. “Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies, thou anointeth my head with oil; my cup runneth over.” I could recite the 23rd Psalm when I was five years old. I have read it, heard it recited, and spoke the verse numerous times. That morning I saw verse 5 in a brand new way. Just as Mom knew how to get her tea, we can do the same with our heavenly Father. We know what we need and/or want, but we have no idea how to go about getting it. It can be a clouded mind, confusion, distress, or not knowing what it is that we do need. Just like my Mom, all she had to do was get her cup and take it to Dad … we can do the same with God. Reach down in the cupboard of your heart, get your cup and take it to Him. He will make sure you will have whatever it is you need or desire.
THE TURTLE By Donna Caudill He's part of the Caudill household. I say he because I don't know how to see if the critter is male or female. We found him roaming along a creek bank. My boys captured him and brought him home to stay with us. He's a painted turtle. "You'll not have him very long; turtles don't last very long when they're not in the wild." We heard the same comment over and over. He was the size a half dollar. He now measures four inches across the back of his shell, and still growing. He has been a part of us for twelve years. When we talk to him he acts like he understands every word that is said. His main diet is reptile food obtained at the local pet store, but he gets an occasional treat of bugs and flies. Shake the container of reptile food and immediately he'll turn his head to the direction of the sound. It is mealtime and he is ready to eat. Plop, splash, splash, splash, are the sounds that come from the aquarium as he jumps into the water. He knows what is in store. Sprinkled into the water the food floats just waiting for the turtle to partake. He'll jump and splash in the water asking for more even though his food is all around him. On more than one occasion I have looked at the turtle and remarked, " I have already given you what you asked for. It's as much as you need - all you need to do is look around you.” For the turtle to see his food I have to walk away. In a little while I'll venture back to the aquarium and check on him. I'll find him on top of his rock. His tummy is full and life is wonderful until time to have his feast again. Haven't I done the same with you?" I was quickened by those words one day as I was trying to show the turtle where is food was. I would point at the food, but he would try and bite my finger through the glass. Knowing God speaks through everyday circumstances I replied, "Well, Lord, since you have asked me that means you probably have." Remember the dark days and fearful nights when you asked me why I have turned my back on you. I didn't leave you. I just stepped back. I wanted you to see what I had given you." Just as the turtle depends on the Caudill household for his entire existence I am learning to look around me and see that God has already given me more than I need. His Word says that nothing can separate me from his love, he knows my need before I ask. I know He will see to all I need the same as the Caudill household takes care of our turtle.
ARE YOU JESUS ?? Author Unknown A few years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago. They had assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday night's dinner. In their rush, with tickets and brief-cases, one of these salesmen inadvertently kicked over a table which held a display of baskets of apples. Apples flew everywhere. Without stopping or looking back, they all managed to reach the plane in time for their nearly missed boarding. All but one. He paused, took a deep breath, got in touch with his feelings, and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned. He told his buddies to go on without him, waved goodbye, told one of them to call his wife when they arrived at their home destination and explain his taking a later flight. Then he returned to the terminal where the apples were all over the terminal floor. He was glad he did. The 16 year old girl was totally blind! She was softly crying, tears running down her cheeks in frustration, and at the same time helplessly groping for her spilled produce as the crowd swirled about her, no one stopping, and no one to care for her plight. The salesman knelt on the floor with her, gathered up the apples, put them into the baskets, and helped set the display up once more. As he did this, he noticed that many of them had become battered and bruised; these he set aside in another basket. When he had finished, he pulled out his wallet and said to the girl, "Here, please take this $20 for the damage we did. Are you okay?" She nodded through her tears. He continued on with, "I hope we didn't spoil your day too badly." As the salesman started to walk away, the bewildered blind girl called out to him, "Mister...." He paused and turned to look back into those blind eyes. She continued, "Are you Jesus?" He stopped in mid-stride, and he wondered. Then slowly he made his way to catch the later flight with that question burning and bouncing about in his soul: "Are you Jesus?" Do people mistake you for Jesus? That's our destiny, is it not? To be so much like Jesus that people cannot tell the difference as we live and interact with a world that is blind to His love, life and grace. If we claim to know Him, we should live, walk and act as He would. Knowing Him is more than simply quoting Scripture and going to church. It's actually living the Word as life unfolds day to day. You are the apple of His eye even though we, too, have been bruised by a fall. He stopped what He was doing and picked you and me up on a hill called Calvary and paid in full for our damaged fruit. Let us live like we are worth the price He paid.
CONFESSIONS OF A CONTROL FREAK The tables were turned, my daughters quickly grew tired of helping me put my clothes on, bring my lunch, bring water, the phone or pick up the magazine I dropped. Luckily for them, I was heavily medicated for the first two weeks after surgery so not only was I unusually agreeable I also slept for most of the day. I was barely able to sit, stand, bend or walk. To their dismay I’d be temporarily unable to drive to the mall, to dance lessons, make dinner, or do the sorts of endless errands and favors that all devoted moms unwittingly do for their kids. About the only thing I could do well was lie down and nag from my bedroom about the ever-accumulating little piles, messes, spills and misplaced objects that were irking me to no end. But with three able bodied teens in the house with nothing to do all summer I deluded myself that this would be the perfect opportunity to teach my kids how to cook and clean for when they are grown, “It will be very educational for them” I decided. Excitedly, I made a detailed list of what needed to be done with whom, how and when this should happen. But shortly after implementing my plans things went awry because anyone who has a teenager knows what happens when you have the audacity to ask them to pick up their own mess let alone someone else’s! But I didn’t cave in that easily. Instead, I cracked down on those whiners, those eye rollers and door slamming slackers. It wasn’t long before an all out civil war was unleashed and even hubby was sick of the fighting and told me he’d rather have a dirty house (gasp!) than deal with the hostility. “Is it me?” or is it just that the dishwasher should be stacked this way because more dishes will fit and therefore less wasteful of resources. The fridge and freezer are loaded that way because food doesn’t get wasted. When you open the cupboard you should always find things in the same place, right? The car is cleared of trash and personal belongings every time you leave it, and if you would just put the twist tie back on the cereal bag when you are done eating-I educated them on, and on. But I was starting to realize I’d have to let some things go if we were all to get through the summer alive. Oddly, this terrified me. After all, what would happen if I didn’t tell them to squeeze the kitchen sponge out carefully and not leave it in a pile of bacterial waste at the bottom of the sink? But I did it! I surrendered. I resigned myself to the motto “if I can’t see it, then it won’t bother me.” I tried really hard not to come out of my room for a while. And a funny thing happened! The dishes got done, the floors were swept and the toilets cleaned. I felt so peaceful, and this peace quickly spread to the rest of the family! Shortly after this I was standing in the kitchen next to my youngest child who is twelve and going through that clumsy stage where her body is growing too fast for her brain to catch up. She’s still a little kid on the inside and tried to childishly swing her legs up by placing one palm on the counter and the other on the center isle (you get the idea). But she didn’t notice the bowl of sweet orange sauce right where she was placing her hand on the corner of the island. The bowl tipped completely to the side and spattered its sticky contents out onto the kitchen rug and hardwood floors, spilling over the edge of the counter, down under the island and on her. It was everywhere! Still unable to bend down to help her, I quickly left the kitchen in order to keep my mouth shut. She started cleaning the floor…first, all the while the sauce continued to drip and ooze downward from the counter. So she had to keep cleaning it over and over using gobs of paper towels. I tried really hard not to stop her and tell her how it’s done, but I could see her from the living room. I could no longer restrain myself so I started barking out instructions about cleaning the counter first and the important use of soap with a sticky substance. After this the angry remarks started to fly so my exasperated husband went in there to help out and the two of them cleaned it up together…entirely without the use of soap or water. Only paper towels. Still feeling as if I could really use some ducked tape for my mouth I attempted to think things through carefully before blurting anything else out. I figured, “I’ll have to go in there and finish heating dinner,” and, “I’ll have to step through that sticky mess.” I could feel my tension rising. So I’ve got two options here the way I see it, I’ll get some slippers on (but then it’ll get tracked all over the carpet), or I’ll refuse to finish cooking dinner until the floor gets a good wipe down with soapy water. I fall off the wagon here and opt for the latter because this one is just too much for this newly recovering controller, “yuck!” I can finally see what my family has been trying to tell me for years, that I’m a controller. If accused of this in the past I would surely defend myself “You just don’t want to pick up your stuff,” or “you’re trying to get out of doing the dishes.” Now I’m trying to allow people to do things their way. Even if it’s not as efficient as mine. I realize it’s better to allow others the freedom to make mistakes and learn on their own whenever possible than for me to always have things done my way. By keeping my family from the consequences of their actions I was robbing them of valuable life lessons. And best news of all? My kids can’t wait for school to start! Can you believe it?
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