Archives For Stories

Stories about life that we have found Inspirational and Motivational shared with you on our blog

Story – Ugly

Shane —  June 10, 2012 — Leave a comment

UglyStory, ugly, cat

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love.

The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail has long ag0 been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch.

Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat!!”

All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave.

Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If ever someone picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end. Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front.

As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear. Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring.

Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.

story, uglyUgly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly.

Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be Ugly.

– Unknown

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Two Quarters or a Dollar Billstory, quarter, quarters, dollar bill

A young boy enters a barber shop and the barber whispers to his customer, ‘This is the dumbest kid in the world.  Watch while I prove it to you.’  The barber puts a dollar bill in one hand and two quarters in the other, then calls the boy over and asks, ‘Which do you want, son?’

The boy takes the quarters and leaves the dollar.  ‘What did I tell you?’ said the barber.  ‘That kid never learns!’

Later, when the customer leaves, he sees the same young boy coming out of the ice cream store & says; ‘Hey, son! May I ask you a question?  Why did you take the quarters instead of the dollar bill?’

The boy licked his cone and replied, ‘Because the day I take the dollar, the game’s over!’

Story – The Race

Shane —  June 3, 2012 — Leave a comment

The Race

“Quit! Give up, you’re beaten!” they shout at me and plead.  Get up, win,
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”

And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will, as I recall that scene,
And just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.

A children’s race. Young boys, young men, I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race.
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.

And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his Dad, that he would be the one.

(The whistle blew)
To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s young desire.

And one boy in particular, his Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My Dad will be so proud.”

But as he sped down the field across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped,

Trying hard to catch himself, his hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.

So, down he fell and with him hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished to disappear shomehow.

But, as he fell his Dad stood up and showed his anxious face.
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”

Story, get up, winHe quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.

So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quite before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”

 

But, in the laughing crowd he search and found his father’s face,
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race.”

So up he jumped to try again, ten yards behind the last,
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast.”

Explanding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again

“Defeat!” He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running any more, three strikes, I’m out, why try?”

The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away,
So far behind, so error prone, closer all the way.

“I’ve lost so what’s the use?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place,
You weren’t meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”

With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “you haven’t lost at all.”
For winning is no more than this: to rise each time you fall.

So up he rose to win once more, and with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.

So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
Still he gave it all he had and ran as though to win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.

They cheered the winning runner as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy: no falling, no disgrace.

But when the fallen youngster crossed the finishing line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.

And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”

And now when times seem dark and hard and difficult to face,  Story,
The memory of that little boy helps me to run my race.

For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all,
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall,

“Quit! Give up you’re beaten!” they still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, “Get up and win the race!”

– Author unknown

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Story – Knowledge

Shane —  June 2, 2012 — Leave a comment

effort, ship,Knowledge

A giant ship engine failed.  The ship’s owners tried one expert after another, but none of them could figure but how to fix the engine.  Then they brought in an old man who had been fixing ships since he was a young.

He carried a large bag of tools with him, and when he arrived, he immediately went to work.  He inspected the engine very carefully, top to bottom.

Two of the ship’s owners were there, watching this man, hoping he would know what to do.  After looking things over, the old man reached into his bag and pulled out a small hammer.  He gently tapped something.  Instantly, the engine lurched into life.
He carefully put his hammer away.  The engine was fixed!

A week later, the owners received a bill from the old man for ten thousand dollars.
“What?!”  the owners exclaimed.  “He hardly did anything!”   So they wrote the old man a note saying, “Please send us an itemized bill.”

The man sent a bill that read:
Tapping with a hammer: $ 2.00
Knowing where to tap: $ 9,998.00

Effort is important, but knowing where to make an effort makes all the difference!

-Author Unknown

 

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Story – Follow Your Dream

Shane —  May 27, 2012 — 1 Comment

story, dream, dreams, motivational, inspirational, Jack Canfield,

Follow Your Dream

I have a friend named Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs.

The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, “I want to tell you why I let Jack use my house. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.

“That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch.

“He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F with a note that read, ‘See me after class.’

“The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, ‘Why did I receive an F?’

“The teacher said, ‘This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an intinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you’ll have to pay large stud fees. There’s no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, ‘If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’

“The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, ‘Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’

“Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all. He stated, ‘You can keep the F and I’ll keep my dream.’”

Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, “I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace.” He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week.” When the teacher was leaving, he said, ‘Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dreamstealer. During those years I stole a lot of kid’s dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on your.’”

Don’t let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.

Jack Canfield

Chicken Soup for the Soul Unlocking the Secrets to Living Your Dreams

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Love And The Cabbie

Story, love, change, cabbie, New YorkI was in New York the other day and rode with a friend in a taxi. When we got out, my friend said to the driver, “Thank you for the ride. You did a superb job of driving.”

The taxi driver was stunned for a second. Then he said, “Are you a wise guy or something?”

“No, my dear man, and I’m not putting you on. I admire the way you keep cool in heavy traffic.”

“Yeah,” the driver said and drove off.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I am trying to bring love back to New York,” he said. “I believe it’s the only thing that can save the city.”

“How can one man save New York?”

“It’s not one man. I believe I have made that taxi driver’s day. Suppose he has 20 fares. He’s going to be nice to those 20 fares because someone was nice to him. Those fares in turn will be kinder to their employees or shopkeepers or waiters or even their own families. Eventually the goodwill could spread to at least 1,000 people. Now that isn’t bad, is it?”

“But you’re depending on it,” my friend said.

“I’m aware that the system isn’t foolproof so I might deal with ten different people today. If out of ten I can make three happy, then eventually I can indirectly influence the attitudes of 3,000 more.”

“It sounds good on paper,” I admitted, “but I’m not sure it works in practice.”

“Nothing is lost if it doesn’t. It didn’t take any of my time to tell that man he was doing a good job. He neither received a larger tip nor a smaller tip. If it fell on deaf ears, so what? Tomorrow there will be another taxi driver I can try to make happy.”

“You’re some kind of nut,” I said.

“That shows how cynical you have become. I have made a study of this. The thing that seems to be lacking, besides money of course, for our postal employees, is that no one tells people who work for the post office what a good job they’re doing.”

“But they’re not doing a good job.”

“They’re not doing a good job because they feel no one cares if they do or not. Why shouldn’t someone say a kind word to them?

We were walking past a structure in the process of being built and passed five workmen eating their lunch. My friend stopped. “That’s a magnificent job you men have done. It must be difficult and dangerous work.”

The workmen eyed my friend suspiciously.

“When will it be finished?”

“June,” a man grunted.

“Ah. That really is impressive. You must all be very proud.”

We walked away. I said to him, “I haven’t seen anyone like you since The Man From LaMancha.”

“When those men digest my words, they will feel better for it. Somehow the city will benefit from their happiness.”

“But you can’t do this all alone!” I protested. “You’re just one man.”

“The most important thing is not to get discouraged. Making people in the city become kind again is not an easy job, but if I can enlist other people in my campaign…”

“You just winked at a very plain-looking woman,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” he replied. “and if she’s a school teacher, her class will be in for a fantastic day.”

-By Art Buchwald

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Law of the Garbage Truck

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport.  We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us.  My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches!  The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us.   My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy.  And I mean, he was really friendly.  So I asked, ‘Why did you just do that?  This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!’

Inspiration and Motivation for YOU!This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call, ‘The Law of the Garbage Truck.’

He explained that many people are like garbage trucks.  They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment.  As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they’ll dump it on you.  Don’t take it personally.

Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on.  Don’t take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets.  The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day.  Life’s too short to wake up in the morning with regrets.

Life is ten percent what you make it and ninety percent how you take it!

Have a garbage-free day!

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