Priceless Historical Anecdote... 1892

This happened in 1892, a true and part of a biography

A man of about 70 years was travelling on a train, having beside him a young University man that was then reading a Science book .  The gentleman, on the other hand, was reading a book with a black cover.   The young man noticed that it dealt with the Bible and it was opened on the words of Saint Mark, the Evangelist.

Without further ado, the lad interrupted the reading of the old man and asked:

- Sir,  do you still believe in that book full of fables and stories?

- Yes, and besides, it is not a storybook, it is the Word of God.  Am I right? - Well, of course it is.    Sir, I think that you should read the Universal History. You would see that the French Revolution, that happened more than 100 years ago, demonstrated the shortsightedness of religion.  Only the people without culture, are still believing that God made the world in 6 days.  Sir, you must know a little more what our Scientists say about all that.

- And... is that the same as what our scientists say about the Bible?
- Well, since I am getting off in the next stop, I have no time to explain it to you, but give me your card with your address so I can mail you  the scientific materials by post  as soon as possible.  The old man, therefore, with a lot of patience, opened carefully the right pocket of his bag and handed the card to the young man. As soon as he read what was written thereof, he left with his head down, feeling worse than an ameoba.  The card read:

Professor Doctor Louis Pasteur
Director General of the Institute of Scientific Investigations
National University of France

A little of science separates us from God.
A lot, keeps us close to Him.

... Dr. Louis Pasteur (1822-1895)

P.S.:  The best pleasure of an intelligent person is to appear like an idiot, before an idiot that looks intelligent.

Louis Pasteur was the 19th century giant of microbiology who proved the germ-theory of disease and invented the rabies vaccine. His humility certainly did not hinder his greatness and his commitment to science did not preclude his belief in God.

Whether this story is true or not, I cannot tell, but it was written about him that:

Louis Pasteur did not deny religion, but was compelled to say that, "religion has no more place in science than science has in religion." The role of religion in his mind was clear:

"In each one of us there are two men, the scientist and the man of faith or of doubt. These two spheres are separate, and woe to those who want to make them encroach upon one another in the present state of our knowledge! "  Source:  Pasteur Brewing.

A Soldier's Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and he lived all alone

In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney with presents to give

And to see just whom in this home did live.

I looked all about and a strange sight did I see

No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stocking by the mantle, just boots filled with sand

On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds

A sober thought came to my mind

For this house was different, dark and dreary

It was the house of a soldier, I now could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone

Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle, the room in disorder

Not how I pictured a United States soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I had read?

Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families I saw on this night

Owed their lives to this soldier who was willing to fight.

Soon ‘round the world the children would play

And grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom, each month of the year

Because of the soldiers like the one laying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone

On a cold Christmas Eve in a land from home.

The very thought brought a tear to my eye

And I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice

”Santa, don’t cry, this life is my choice.

I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more

My life is my God, my Country, my Corps.”

The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep

And I couldn’t control it, I started to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still

And we both shivered from the cold night’s chill.

I didn’t want to leave on that cold, dark night

This Guardian of Honor so willing to fight.

The soldier rolled over and with a voice soft and pure

Whispered, “Carry on, Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all is secure.”

One look at my watch and I knew he was right

Merry Christmas, my friend, and to all a Good Night.

This poem was submitted by a Soldier stationed in Iraq.

The following is his request. I think it is reasonable.....

"PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor

of sending this to as many people

as you can? Christmas will be coming

soon and some credit is due to our

service men and women for our being able

to celebrate these festivities."

Let's try in this small way to pay a

tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and

think of our heroes, living and dead,

who sacrificed themselves.

Please pass it on to all your friends and family...

Source: Net Hugs.com

The Little Match Girl - Hans Christian Andersen

Source of Image:  El Mundo.es

Once upon a time . . . a little girl tried to make a living by selling matches in the street.

It was New Year's Eve and the snowclad streets were deserted. From brightly lit windows came the tinkle of laughter and the sound of singing. People were getting ready to bring in the New Year. But the poor little matchseller sat sadly beside the fountain. Her ragged dress and worn shawl did not keep out the cold and she tried to keep her bare feet from touching the frozen ground. She hadn't sold one box of matches all day and she was frightened to go home, for her father would certainly be angry. It wouldn't be much warmer anyway, in the draughty attic that was her home. The little girl's fingers were stiff with cold. If only she could light a match! But what would her father say at such a waste! Falteringly she took out a match and lit it. What a nice warm flame! The little matchseller cupped her hand over it, and as she did so, she magically saw in its light a big brightly burning stove.

She held out her hands to the heat, but just then the match went out and the vision faded. The night seemed blacker than before and it was getting colder. A shiver ran through the little girl's thin body.

After hesitating for a long time, she struck another match on the wall, and this time, the glimmer turned the wall into a great sheet of crystal. Beyond that stood a fine table laden with food and lit by a candlestick. Holding out her arms towards the plates, the little matchseller seemed to pass through the glass, but then the match went out and the magic faded. Poor thing: in just a few seconds she had caught a glimpse of everything that life had denied her: warmth and good things to eat. Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her gaze to the lit windows, praying that she too might know a little of such happiness.

She lit the third match and an even more wonderful thing happened. There stood a Christmas tree hung with hundreds of candles, glittering with tinsel and coloured balls. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the little matchseller, holding up the match. Then, the match burned her finger and flickered out. The light from the Christmas candles rose higher and higher, then one of the lights fell, leaving a trail behind it. "Someone is dying," murmured the little girl, as she remembered her beloved Granny who used to say: "When a star falls, a heart stops beating!"

Scarcely aware of what she was doing, the little matchseller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother.

"Granny, stay with me!" she pleaded, as she lit one match after the other, so that her grandmother could not disappear like all the other visions. However, Granny did not vanish, but gazed smilingly at her. Then she opened her arms and the little girl hugged her crying: "Granny, take me away with you!"

A cold day dawned and a pale sun shone on the fountain and the icy road. Close by lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches. "Poor little thing!" exclaimed the passersby. "She was trying to keep warm!"

But by that time, the little matchseller was far away where there is neither cold, hunger nor pain.

Source: Kaboose

Christmas to many consists of a lot of buying, spending and eating, however there are a lot more of those who can only look at windows to see what they cannot have and much less eat. Let us remember the sadness in some other people hearts this Christmas and help to make some needy people smile in our own way and make a difference. These people can be nameless just like the story of Hans Christian Anderson, because they can be anybody around us waiting for a chance to have a different day.

A Meaningful Christmas Tradition

Image from photobucket

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending...the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears.

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."

Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.

On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.

His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal it's contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.

You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.

Source:  Bienvenido E. Estipona

Every family keeps its Christmas tradition, but in as much as we all would like to stick to our own tradition, sometimes there are occasions when we cannot do so by force of circumstances.  All we can do is to look forward to the next Christmas hoping that by then, things will work out just as we want them to be and be able to get back to tradition.

A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote

Image courtesy of Random House

A Christmas Memory" is a short story by Truman Capote. Originally published in Mademoiselle magazine in December 1956, it was reprinted in The Selected Writings of Truman Capote in 1963. It was issued in a stand-alone hardcover edition by Random House in 1966, and it has been published in many editions and anthologies since.

The largely autobiographical story, which takes place in the 1930s, describes a period in the lives of the seven-year-old narrator and an elderly woman (in her 60's)  who is his distant cousin and best friend. The evocative narrative focuses on country life, friendship, and the joy of giving during the Christmas season, and it also gently yet poignantly touches on loneliness and loss.

Now a holiday classic, "A Christmas Memory" has been broadcast, recorded, filmed, and staged multiple times, in award-winning productions.

"A Christmas Memory" is about a young boy, referred to as "Buddy," and his older cousin, "Sook". The boy is the narrator, and his older cousin — who is eccentric and childlike — is his best friend. They live in a house with other relatives, who are authoritative and stern, and have a dog named Queenie.

The family is very poor, but Buddy looks forward to Christmas this year nevertheless, and he and his elderly cousin save their pennies for this occasion. Every year at Christmastime, Buddy and his friend collect raisins and buy whiskey — from a scary American Indian bootlegger named Haha Jones — and many other ingredients to make fruitcakes. They send the cakes to acquaintances they have met only once or twice, and to people they've never met at all, like President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

This year, after the two have finished the elaborate four-day production of making fruitcakes, the elderly cousin decides to celebrate by finishing off the remaining whiskey in the bottle. This leads to the two of them becoming drunk, and being severely reprimanded by angry relatives.

The next day Buddy and his friend go to a faraway grove, which the elderly cousin has proclaimed the best place, by far, to chop down Christmas trees. They manage to take back a large and beautiful tree, despite the arduous trek back home.

They spend the following days making decorations for the tree and presents for the relatives, Queenie, and each other. Buddy and the older cousin keep their gifts to each other a secret, although Buddy assumes his friend has made him a kite, as she has for the last three years. He has made her a kite, too.

Come Christmas morning, the two of them are up at the crack of dawn, anxious to open their presents. Buddy is extremely disappointed, having received the rather dismal gifts of old hand-me-downs and a subscription to a religious magazine. His friend has gotten the somewhat better gifts of Satsuma oranges and hand-knitted scarves. Queenie gets a bone.

Then they exchange their joyful presents to each other: the two kites. In a beautiful hidden meadow, they fly the kites that day in the clear winter sky, while eating the older cousin's Christmas oranges. The elderly cousin thinks of this as heaven, and says that God and heaven must be like this.

It is their last Christmas together. The following year, the boy is sent to military school. Although Buddy and his friend keep up a constant correspondence, this is unable to last because his elderly cousin suffers more and more the ravages of old age, and slips into dementia. Soon, she is unable to remember who Buddy is, and not long after, she passes away.

As Buddy says later: "And when that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing me from an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying towards heaven."

Source: Wikipedia

No matter where we live or how old we are, Christmas memories from our childhood have a special glow about them.  It can be a longed-for gift we finally received, or gave to someone special. Christmas ornaments and decorations, the songs we play and sing, and even when we open our presents, these all form lasting memories and traditions. Whatever it is, we all try to remember  only the fond memory.

May you all cherish  beautiful Christmas memories  and pass them on.

The Story of Two Angels

Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family.

The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion's guest room.
Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement.
As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it.

When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied,
"Things aren't always what they seem"

The next night the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but very hospitable farmer and his wife.

After sharing what little food they had the couple let the angels sleep in their bed where they could have a good night's rest.

When the sun came up the next morning the angels found the farmer and his wife in tears.

Their only cow, whose milk had been their sole income, lay dead in the field.

The younger angel was infuriated and asked the older angel how could you have let this happen?
The first man had everything, yet you helped him, she accused.

The second family had little but was willing to share everything, and you let the cow die..

"Things aren't always what they seem," the older angel replied.

"When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall.

Since the owner was so obsessed with greed and unwilling to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he wouldn't find it."

"Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the angel of death came for his wife, I gave him the cow instead.

Things aren't always what they seem."

Sometimes that is exactly what happens when things don't turn out the way they should. If you have faith, you just need to trust that every outcome is always to your advantage. You just might not know it until some time later...

Author Unknown

Source: Net Hugs.com

The Old Lady and One Euro, Short Story

Yesterday, as I opened the locker where I kept my things before I entered the supermarket in the city,  I dropped my coin of 1 Euro.  I looked for several seconds, minutes maybe while people kept passing by unmindful of my dilemma.  I kept on looking around on the floor, moving around and about, but the floor was of different shades and with a peculiar design which did not make it easy for me at all to find my coin. I was about to give up and let it go thinking that somebody will eventually find it and make good use of it, when an old lady (probably in her 80's) came by to ask me:

"What is the matter? Maybe I can be of some help".   I thanked her for the offer and mentioned about the missing coin while thinking  "if I cannot find my coin with my eyes, how can you at your age?"  She probably read my mind because she said: "Well, I may not be able to bend to pick up the coin, but I can help you to locate it, four eyes are better than two".

I smiled at her and extended my gratitude again.   But as if by magic and almost simultaneously, as I turned to the spot near me, where I looked and looked before and did not find the coin, I heard the sound of the drop of a coin, and alas!  there it was, too close not to have been noticed before, but seemed to have been dropped out of nowhere. I looked at the old lady again and gave her another smile of gratitude, wanting to give her a big hug, but afraid it would probably be too much for her fragile body, as she returned my smile and walked away.

One Euro, only one Euro, bu enough to give me a joyful day!

The Story Of A Backpack

A backpack was lost in the midst of a rush to watch the coming of Pope Benedict XVI as he passed by Paseo de Castellana, the biggest central avenue of Madrid, the Spanish capital.  It was a backpack containing a crucifix, the gospel, a cell phone, personal souvenirs, and 26 Euros, the hard earned savings of Pepe, a 13 year-old boy.

But luckily and somewhat difficult to believe in the times that we are in,  it did not take too long before it found its way back to its lawful owner, but not without having travelled from hand to hand of the JMJ crowd in a busy day of August, 2011.

While already at home, in that same evening, Pepe received a phone call informing him of the whereabouts of his backpack which he was able to recover with all of its contents intact, including the 26 Euros.

This brings a real ray of hope for the youth represented by what they called themselves as "La Juventud del Papa",  the Pope's youth as they shouted constantly in the recent assembly with the Pope in celebration of the World Youth Event in Madrid. 

Source:  El Mundo - August 23, 2011

United We Stand, Divided We Fall

Title:      The Old Man and His Sons
Author:  Ambrose Bierce (USA 1842-1914)

AN Old Man, afflicted with a family of contentious Sons, brought in a bundle of sticks and asked the young men to break it. After repeated efforts they confessed that it could not be done. "Behold," said the Old Man, "the advantage of unity; as long as these sticks are in alliance they are invincible, but observe how feeble they are individually."
Pulling a single stick from the bundle, he broke it easily upon the head of the eldest Son, and this he repeated until all had been served.

-THE END-
Ambrose Bierce's short story/fable: The Old Man and His Sons

Image from: Tu amigo te tiene ganas

Be A Freesia

A king went to his garden and discovered that his trees, bushes and flowers were dying. The Oak told him that it was dying because it could not be as tall as the Pine. Getting back to the Pine, he found it drooping because it could not produce grapes as the grapevine. The Grapevine was dying, because it could not bloom as a Rose. The Rose was crying because it could not be as tall and solid as the Oak. Then he found a plant, a Freesia, in bloom and as fresh as ever.

The king asked:
- How is it that you grow healthily in the midst of this withered and gloomy garden?
- I don't know.  Maybe because I always assumed that when you planted me, you wanted freesias.  If you would have wanted an Oak or a Rose, you would have planted those.  At that moment, I told myself:  "I will try to be a Freesia the best way I can".

Now it is your turn.  You are here to contribute with your fragrance.  Simply look at yourself.  There is no possibility that you can be another person.  You can either enjoy being you and grow watered by your own love for yourself, or wither  condemned by your own sentence...

Source:  Translation from Short Story of Jorge Bucay
Image from:  Google

The Visit

From the blog of La Caja de Pandora, Pandorha wrote the following story which I have translated:

In the beginning of the 1st century of our era, there were two  schools headed by two prestigious wise men, Hilel and Shamal. Each school was devoted to the study of Torah (the first five books of the Bible) and the students were of promising talent. However, there was a problem of rivalry among the two groups of students and they took every opportunity to discredit one another.

One day, the students of Shamal thought that the best way to discredit the students of the other school, was to humilliate  the wise man Hilel and so they made up a strategy.

They thought of catching a butterfly and carrying it alive in the hand of one of them to the house where Hilel lived and upon arrival they would ask him:

Professor Hilel, this butterfly that I have in my hand is it dead or is it alive? If Hilel  should reply that it is alive, then the one carrying it will close his fist and demonstrate that it is dead.  But on the contrary,  the butterfly will be set free upon opening his hand,  and prove that the butterfly is alive.

The idea was infallible and they did as planned. They caught a butterfly and one of the students of Shamal took it in his hand. They went to the house of Hilel and knocked on his door. The wise man asked them:

-What made you come?
 The students replied:
-We want to find out how intelligent you are.
 Hilel then asked.
-And how do you intend to do that?
 We will ask you a question.
-Go ahead.
-This butterfly inside my hand, is it dead or is it alive?
 Hilel looked at them slowly and replied:
-The decision lies in your hands.