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Category: Stories

Stories

Having Faith

Having Faith I was trying to explain faith to a man who had no faith. “How can you believe in something you can’t see?” he asked me. It was a fair question. I placed my hand upon my chin like the famous statue, “The Thinker.” Glancing back and forth, I tapped my foot for a moment. Then turning toward him, I pointed my finger as if about to respond. I stopped and returned my hand to my chin. He smiled that kind of smile that said, “I’ve stumped you.” Then looking back I said, “There’s something about the wind.” He...

Stories

How Was Your Life?

How Was Your Life? He was a most remarkable man. A man of years clearly mapped out upon his face. Clean, well kept but not pretentious in his style or dress. I shook his hand and felt a mix of gentle wear and hardened, callus, leather-like skin. I would guess he labored most of his life, perhaps forced to stop long enough now to heal somewhat. His egg white eyes with movie star blue pupils slips you into a momentary trance, transfixed as they seem to cut into your heart. He wouldn’t notice you staring at him for he is...

Stories

Keep On Singing

Keep On Singing Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They find out that the new baby is going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sings to his sister in Mommy’s tummy. The pregnancy progresses normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee. Then the labor pains come. Every five minutes… every minute. But complications arise during delivery. After hours of labor...

Stories

A Little Bird Told Me…

A Little Bird Told Me… “Oh, there you are, Jack,” I said as I looked up from planting a geranium. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for awhile and I was wondering about you,” I said as I washed off my hands with the hose and dried them on a rag. I walked toward the bench to rest and visit with Jack for a while. I had left my tea and toast on the table next to the bench that I had brought out for breakfast. “Care for some toast, Jack?” I asked as I offered to share...

Stories

The Bicycle Daddy Made

The Bicycle Daddy Made I didn’t know bikes sold in stores in shiny red and blue; My bike was made of junk yard parts my daddy sorted through. My brother and my sisters all had bikes that Daddy also made; And learning to ride my own bike was something that I craved. My Daddy promised me a bike when I reached six years old; As that birthday loomed ahead, my begging grew more bold. Finally he went to the basement to build a bike for me, Using all those rusted parts he picked up nearly free. The bike he built...