Uplifting Stories

Image by Kalalani

We all receive uplifting stories through the email. Rather than forwarding them to people who may not want to take the time to read them, I will share them here. Most of them have been written anonymously. 

      THE SPARROW AT STARBUCKS

      The song that silenced the cappuccino machine.

      by John Thomas Oaks

      It was chilly in Manhattan but warm inside the Starbucks shop on 51st
Street and Broadway, just a skip up from Times Square. Early November
weather in New York City holds only the slightest hint of the bitter chill
of late December and January, but it's enough to send the masses crowding
indoors to vie for available space and warmth.

      For a musician, it's the most lucrative Starbucks location in the
world, I'm told, and consequently, the tips can be substantial if you play
your tunes right. Apparently, we were striking all the right chords that
night, because our basket was almost overflowing.

      It was a fun, low-pressure gig - I was playing keyboard and singing
backup for my friend who also added rhythm with an arsenal of percussion
instruments. We mostly did pop songs from the '40s to the '90s with a few
original tunes thrown in. During our emotional rendition of the classic, "If
You Don't Know Me by Now," I noticed a lady sitting in one of the lounge
chairs across from me. She was swaying to the beat and singing along.

      After the tune was over, she approached me. "I apologize for singing
along on that song. Did it bother you?" she asked.

      "No," I replied. "We love it when the audience joins in. Would you
like to sing up front on the next selection?"

      To my delight, she accepted my invitation.

      "You choose," I said. "What are you in the mood to sing?"

      "Well. ... do you know any hymns?"

      Hymns? This woman didn't know who she was dealing with. I cut my teeth
on hymns. Before I was even born, I was going to church. I gave our guest
singer a knowing look. "Name one."

      "Oh, I don't know. There are so many good ones. You pick one."

      "Okay," I replied. "How about 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'?"

      My new friend was silent, her eyes averted. Then she fixed her eyes on
mine again and said, "Yeah. Let's do that one."

      She slowly nodded her head, put down her purse, straightened her
jacket and faced the center of the shop. With my two-bar setup, she began to
sing.

      Why should I be discouraged?
      Why should the shadows come?

      The audience of coffee drinkers was transfixed. Even the gurgling
noises of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped what they
were doing to listen. The song rose to its conclusion.

      I sing because I'm happy;
      I sing because I'm free.
      For His eye is on the sparrow
      And I know He watches me.

      When the last note was sung, the applause crescendoed to a deafening
roar that would have rivaled a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall.
      Embarrassed, the woman tried to shout over the din, "Oh, y'all go back
to your coffee! I didn't come in here to do a concert! I just came in here
to get somethin' to drink, just like you!" But the ovation continued. I
embraced my new friend. "You, my dear, have made my whole year! That was
beautiful!"

      "Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn," she said.

      "Why is that?"

      "Well . ..." she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite
song."

      "Really!" I exclaimed.

      "Yes," she said, and then grabbed my hands. By this time, the applause
had subsided and it was business as usual. "She was 16. She died of a brain
tumor last week."

      I said the first thing that found its way through my stunned silence.

      "Are you going to be okay?"

      She smiled through tear-filled eyes and squeezed my hands. "I'm gonna
be okay. I've just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing his songs, and
everything's gonna be just fine."
      She picked up her bag, gave me her card, and then she was gone.

      Was it just a coincidence that we happened to be singing in that
particular coffee shop on that particular November night? Coincidence that
this wonderful lady just happened to walk into that particular shop?
Coincidence that of all the hymns to choose from, I just happened to pick
the very hymn that was the favorite of her daughter, who had died just the
week before? I refuse to believe it.

      God has been arranging encounters in human history since the beginning
of time, and it's no stretch for me to imagine that he could reach into a
coffee shop in midtown Manhattan and turn an ordinary gig into a revival. It
was a great reminder that if we keep trusting him and singing his songs,
everything's gonna be okay.

      The next time you feel like GOD can't use you, just remember...
      Noah was a drunk
      Abraham was too old
      Isaac was a daydreamer
      Jacob was a liar
      Leah was ugly
      Joseph was abused
      Moses had a stuttering problem
      Gideon was afraid
      Sampson had long hair and was a womanizer
      Rahab was a prostitute
      Jeremiah and Timothy were too young
      David had an affair and was a murderer
      Elijah was suicidal
      Isaiah preached naked
      Jonah ran from God
      Naomi was a widow
      Job went bankrupt
      John the Baptist ate bugs
      Peter denied Christ
      The Disciples fell asleep while praying
      Martha worried about everything
      The Samaritan woman was divorced, more than once
      Zaccheus was too small
      Paul was too religious
      Timothy had an ulcer...AND
      Lazarus was dead!
      No more excuses now!!
      God can use you to your full potential.
      Besides you aren't the message, you are just the messenger.

      God bless

A Cab Driver's Hospice Story

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.  One night I took a fare at 2:30 am, when I arrived to collect, the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once.

But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.  

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.  

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.  

By her side was a small nylon suitcase The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.  

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.  

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.  

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.  

She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".  
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"  

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.  

"Oh, I don't mind," she said "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".  

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.  

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.  

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.  

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.  

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.  

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I' m tired. Let's go now".  

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.  

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.  

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.  

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said

"You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.  

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.  
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?  

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.  
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.  

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.  

LIVE SIMPLY,
LOVE GENEROUSLY,
CARE DEEPLY,
SPEAK KINDLY,
LEAVE THE REST TO GOD

Story or Truth?

The following scene took place on a BA flight between Johannesburg and London. This is a true story.

A White woman, about 50 years old, was seated next to a Black man. Obviously disturbed by this, she called the air Hostess.

“Madam, what is the matter,” the Hostess asked.

“You obviously do not see it then?” she responded.
“You placed me next to a Black man.
I do not agree to sit next to someone from such a repugnant group.
Give me an alternative seat.”

“Be calm please, ” the Hostess replied.
“Almost all the places on this flight are taken.
I will go to see if another seat is available.”

The Hostess went away and then came back a few minutes later.

“Madam, just as I thought, there are no other available seats in the Economy class.
I spoke to the Captain and he informed me that there is also no seats in the Business class. All the same, we still have one seat in the First class.”
Before the woman could say anything, the Hostess continued:
“It is not usual for our company to permit someone from the Economy class to sit in the First class. However, given the circumstances, the Captain feels that it would be scandalous to make someone sit next to someone so disgusting.”

She turned to the Black guy, and said,
”Therefore, Sir, if you would like to, please collect your hand luggage, a seat awaits you in First class.”
At that moment, the other passengers who were shocked by what they had just witnessed stood up and applauded.

(from http://cederling.multiply.com/journal?&page_start=20)