Stories for the heart
These are stories close to my heart. Whether lived or dreamed, sometimes both, they are the words from a soul who laughs and cries.
My Great Grandmother was a Cherokee Indian. Her name was Almeda Gabbard. I never met her but my father told me many stories about her life. She was very devoted to God.
Here in the United States, we spend 17 billion dollars a year on missing and abused children. We spend 45 billion dollars a year on the care of our pets.
I was digging a hole to repair a water main break. Richmond Indiana was my home then. While wiping the sweat from my brow...I saw and faintly heard him.
An old black man sitting on his porch can teach the world more than all religions combined. We need to be ourselves and love this old world along with each other. I still believe he was right.
A father and son were walking down the sidewalk one day behind two men. One man had a black shirt on, the other blue. The two men were in a deep conversation as they began to cross the street.
" Norma Lee Almen, Norma Lee Almen, you quit this right now!", the teacher was screaming. Norma Lee just kept dancing until the Mrs. Jobe grabbed her arm.
God...it is so cold by this window.....but it's just as cold everywhere in this old house. My poor flowers have died. Two sweaters and three coats...I'm still so cold Lord.
She kept having the same dream over and over, ever since childhood. Louise was nineteen years old now...she was still dreaming about the dirty angel.
I sat in my car.... looking at the old red brick building that my Grandpa had helped construct when his was a young carpenter. I was the third shift Foreman of the plastics factory.
She ran to him crying as he dropped his duffel bag and opened his arms. For an instant...he envisioned a woman he had seen in the battle smoke running to a fallen enemy soldier.
She watches the pink sunset through the dirty window. She thinks of the man who came into her life and spun her world into chaos.
He'd agreed to apply her makeup...yet...he had never done anything like it before. She lay there waiting on the white table...so beautiful in the morning light of the kitchen sky windows.
Purdy the plaster pumpkin had decorated the Kingsley's front porch since 1965.