The Kiss
Stories
A Story to Live By
The Kiss
"You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet.... Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love."
Luke 7:45, 47a
I stand by the bed where a young woman lies, her face post-operative, her mouth twisted in palsy, clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, the one to the muscles of her mouth, has been severed. She will be thus from now on. The surgeon had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh; I promise you that. Nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had to cut the nerve.
Her husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the bed, and together they seem to dwell in the evening lamplight, isolated from me, private. Who are they, I ask myself, as he and this wry-mouth I have made gaze at and touch each other so generously, greedily? The young woman speaks. "Will my mouth always be like this?" she asks. "Yes," I say, "it will. It is because the nerve was cut."
She nods and is silent. But the young man smiles. "I like it," he says. "It is kind of cute." All at once I know who he is. I understand, and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with a god. Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I am so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate hers, to show her that their kiss still works. I remember that the gods appeared in ancient Greece as mortals, and I hold my breath and let the wonder in.
(Richard Selzer, Mortal Lessons: Notes on the Art of Surgery, Harvest Books, pp. 45-46)
Shining Moments
Prayers for Help
by Patricia Joyce
Give ear to my words, O Lord; give heed to my sighing.
Psalm 5:1
On May 3, 2002, I was engaged to narrate the historical Williamsburg tour. At about 10:20 a.m., a few minutes before we began the walking tour, a small red car darted in front of our bus, causing the driver to hit his brakes hard and swerve to the right. I was standing, facing the passengers and narrating while holding on to the support rail. The force of the bus's braking and swerving spun me around and I became airborne, bouncing off the driver's right arm and hitting the dashboard twice. My final fall left me lying on the landing beside the driver, my shoeless right foot pointing up the steps to the center aisle and my left foot pointing toward the bus door. My eyeglasses had flown off and I was left disoriented and bewildered.
As I regained consciousness, my immediate prayer was "Oh, Lord, please don't let anything happen to me. You know I have to get home to Mom." At that moment a feeling of peace swept through my terrified soul and I knew everything would be OK. What a revelation. What peace.
Thoughtful passengers rushed to assist me, but I said, "No, please don't move me. Let me see if anything is broken." I began wiggling my ankles and toes, bending my wrists, and moving my fingers. I moved my head in all directions and moved my torso back and forth. I found no apparent broken bones and felt no immediate pain. We went on with the tour, which ended with the bus's return to the hotel at 5:00 p.m. I immediately left to feed my 94-year-old mother, who was in the nursing home with contracted osteoarthritis. Afterward, at 7:30 p.m., I went to Urgent Care for x-rays and an MRI, which indicated no broken bones -- a miracle -- although they did indicate a disc misalignment that required medication and monthly doctor visits. But I felt this was another miracle! No broken hip! The bus driver said he was surprised my back wasn't broken. The Lord heard my prayer and I was able to attend to Mom, who has been a nursing home resident for almost 15 years. She gave me the best years of her life, and it is my Christian ministry to support her and return the love and caring that I received.
I give thanks throughout each day for the many blessings I have been granted.
Patricia Joyce is retired from the hotel/restaurant/convention business in Virginia Beach, Virginia, and enjoys the stimulus and contacts she makes as a local licensed tour guide.
Good Stories
Jerry's Faith
by Gerald Wagner
I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
Galatians 2:19b-20
In the Lutheran parochial school I attended as a child, I was taught to fear God, and that I risked punishment for sin. When I was 17 years old, my younger sister died of a brain tumor and I began to question everything that I had been taught. I could not understand how God could allow this. Her death left me confused and angry. I became more of a doubter than a believer. I came to the conclusion that I could only believe in myself. I pushed myself, I worked hard; I became an overachiever and eventually a workaholic. This program propelled me to financial success, but it was accompanied by personal failure. I learned that the love of money can bring financial gains that are accompanied by personal loss. I became an empty person who couldn't stand success and began to self-destruct. I lost everything: my friends, those who had pretended to be my friends, and my family. It was all like an unbelievable soap opera -- and before it was over I learned quite a bit about the judicial system, the mafia, extortion, and revenge. There were times when I feared for my life and for the lives of the members of my family. It was the kind of situation that causes one to think about taking one's own life. But I wasn't ready for that option. The love I had for my children gave me courage and made me determined to try again. I wanted to be a believer in something bigger than myself, but it was difficult. It would take a miracle.
I carefully planned a comeback. I wanted to be successful again and not make some of the same mistakes. The task seemed monumental. In the process I met an independent preacher named Andy. He worked for me on a part-time basis and we soon became friends. He wasn't pushy with his religion, so I decided to go to one of his church services on a Wednesday night. It was quite unusual to say the least. Wednesday night was testimony night. The opening song service was quite an experience. The songs had beautiful melodies and were easy to sing. When they sang songs like "He Touched Me" and "O, How I Love Jesus," I noticed that many had tears in their eyes as they sang with great feeling. I felt touched by this, and quite uncomfortable. The testimonies that followed were as impressive to me as the song service. People spoke about what God had done for them, how God had answered prayer and healed them.
Was this real? Do they know a different God than I do, I wondered? It was all confusing. I didn't know if I could believe it, but I went back to observe more. I knew these people had something I didn't have. I guess it was a simple faith in God. It seemed like a good way to live, but I still wondered if it was real. If there was no God, I think we would have to invent one to keep our sanity. I tried to keep an open mind on the subject. I found myself reading the Bible because I was hungry for truth.
One Saturday night my mother called to tell me that my grandmother was gravely ill. I needed strength to face this, so I went to church the next morning before going to the hospital to see her. That morning Andy spoke of the healing power of Jesus. I cornered him after church and said, "Andy, are you sure he heals today?" He was sure. I marked several of the healing promises in my Bible and then I went to the hospital. As I entered the waiting room, I saw that many of my relatives were there to pay their last visits to Grandma. The pastor of her church was about to get on the elevator after praying with her. I stopped him for a brief talk. I said, "Don't you believe God has the ability to heal people?" He assured me he believed that God does have the power to heal, but he added that we all have a time to die. I knew he was right, but a voice in the back of my mind said, "Prove me and know that I am God."
I followed my cousin and his wife into Grandma's room in the intensive care unit. When I spoke to Grandma she regained consciousness, and her smile told me that she was pleased to see her oldest grandson. I got right to the point. "Grandma, do you want me to pray that God will heal you?" She agreed. The four of us held hands and I prayed for her healing. It was a special moment. The nurses and other members of the hospital staff who were present stood with tears in their eyes. When I finished I had a feeling that Grandma was healed. My cousin's wife knew it, also. Grandma fell into a deep sleep.
When we went out into the waiting room, my relatives were talking about Grandma being ready to pass away. The doctor had told them that she would not live through the day. I said, "Grandma is not going to die today. She is healed." I went home and then back to the church for the Sunday evening service. On Monday morning my mother called to tell me that Grandma had made a complete recovery. I said, "What did the doctor have to say about this recovery?" She answered, "He said it was a miracle."
I believe God knew just what I needed. I had the audacity to take God at his word, and God cared enough not to let me make a fool of myself.
Gerald Wagner, an independent truck driver from Kenosha, Wisconsin, first shared this story of his grandmother's healing in a new member class at Kenosha's Wesley United Methodist Church in 1990. The story appears in Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C by John Sumwalt, CSS Publishing Co. (1991).
Scrap Pile
Like Talking to a Wall
by John Sumwalt
Psalm 5:1-2
"Give ear to my words, O Lord; give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry, my King and my God, for to you I pray."
This is a prayer for help, a desperate plea for assistance. Remember these words next time you find yourself between a rock and a hard place. The psalm is a model of what to do. Go to your church, any church; go to your room, your closet, your car; go somewhere, anywhere, stand still or sit still, close your eyes or open your eyes, open your heart and pray! Go right to the top. Why not? Talk to the one who is in charge.
The psalmist prays to the one who is ruler of all, "my King and my God." That's the place to start -- acknowledge that God is God.
The psalmist doesn't take his grievance to a court, he doesn't seek an audience with a king. He says, "God, you are King. Give heed to my sighing."
This is no small thing. Begin with God... if you can. If you cannot, you might try what Jane Redmont recommends in When in Doubt Sing: Prayer in Daily Life. Jane tells about a woman named Barbara who entered the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program. Her sponsor told her that she must pray. "You will pray in the morning and at night. Say anything you want, use prayers you know or your own words, I don't care. But you have to pray."
"But," Barbara said, "I don't believe in God, so how can I pray? It would be so dishonest."
"Who cares what you think?" the sponsor explained. "Just do it."
"Well," Barbara said, "so I'll just pray to my office wall, will that be OK?" And her sponsor said, "That will be fine."
And one day the recovering woman discovered as she prayed to her office wall that she was not talking to herself. "I just knew there was somebody there. And that it was the power who had been behind saving my life, that had motivated the work of those who had saved me, and whose spirit I felt in the rooms of AA. I started crying, I was so grateful. I had no idea that I was worth saving... this was my spiritual awakening."
Whatever happens in your life -- and especially when you are in trouble -- go to the one in charge. Pray to God. And if you are not accustomed to praying (most of us try everything else first) or if you are not sure you believe in God, try talking to a wall... until you "know" someone is listening.
One of my dad's favorite sayings was "talking to you is like talking to a wall." I remember that because he used to say it to me during my teenage years when I thought I knew almost everything and didn't need to listen to anyone else. Did any of you ever resemble that remark?
In their best-selling book Small Miracles, Yetta Halberstam and Judith Leventhal tell the story of a father and son in Cleveland who communicated like that. Joey Riklis dropped out of college, quit his job, and told his dad that he was going to India to seek enlightenment. All of that was fine with his dad, who thought every kid has to find himself, but when Joey told him that he had given up their religion, his father lost it. Adam Riklis was a Holocaust survivor. His whole family had been killed by the Nazis. He had survived three concentration camps. He had promised himself that the religion of his family would not die with him. Now his son was betraying the family heritage. It was more than the old man could bear. "Get out of here!" he screamed at Joey. "Get out of my home and never come back. You are not my son. I disown you from my heart, from my soul, from my life. I never want to see you again!"
"Well, that's just fine with me," Joey shouted back, "because I never want to see you again either." Joey went to India and began his spiritual search. Years later he met a friend from the old neighborhood on a street corner in Bombay. The friend told Joey that his father had died. Joey was heartbroken. He blamed himself for his father's death. As the days passed Joey grew more and more depressed. He decided that he needed to go to Israel to the "Wailing Wall" to pray. He knew that it was the place that he had to pray. Joey made the long trip to Israel and soon found himself at the wall praying for his father's forgiveness. "Oh, Dad," he sobbed, "how I wish I could tell you how much I loved you! How much I regret all the pain I caused you! I didn't mean to hurt you, Dad. I was just trying to find my own way."
When Joey had finished praying he noticed people tucking pieces of paper with written prayers into the crevices in the wall. He decided he would leave a prayer too. He wrote: "Dear Father, I beg you to forgive me for the pain I caused you. I loved you very much and I will never forget you. And please know that nothing you taught me was in vain. I will not betray your family's deaths. I promise." When he was finished he tucked the note into a crevice near the thousands and thousands of other prayers. In doing so he accidentally knocked another note to the ground. He picked it up and then did something that was quite uncharacteristic. He opened the note and began to read: "My dear son, Joey, if you should ever happen to come to Israel and somehow miraculously find this note, this is what I want you to know: I always loved you, even when you hurt me, and I will never stop loving you. You are and always will be my beloved son. And Joey, please know that I forgive you for everything, and only hope that you in turn will forgive a foolish old man." The note was signed "Adam Riklis, Cleveland, Ohio."
The psalmist prays: "Give ear to my words, O Lord; give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry, my King and my God, for to you I pray."
You don't need a wailing wall to talk to God. Just find a wall, any wall, and wail away.
**********************************************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), will be released in June by CSS Publishing Company. Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Jodie Felton, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website (http://www.csspub.com); they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
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StoryShare, June 13, 2004, issue.
Copyright 2004 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
The Kiss
"You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet.... Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love."
Luke 7:45, 47a
I stand by the bed where a young woman lies, her face post-operative, her mouth twisted in palsy, clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, the one to the muscles of her mouth, has been severed. She will be thus from now on. The surgeon had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh; I promise you that. Nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had to cut the nerve.
Her husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the bed, and together they seem to dwell in the evening lamplight, isolated from me, private. Who are they, I ask myself, as he and this wry-mouth I have made gaze at and touch each other so generously, greedily? The young woman speaks. "Will my mouth always be like this?" she asks. "Yes," I say, "it will. It is because the nerve was cut."
She nods and is silent. But the young man smiles. "I like it," he says. "It is kind of cute." All at once I know who he is. I understand, and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with a god. Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I am so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate hers, to show her that their kiss still works. I remember that the gods appeared in ancient Greece as mortals, and I hold my breath and let the wonder in.
(Richard Selzer, Mortal Lessons: Notes on the Art of Surgery, Harvest Books, pp. 45-46)
Shining Moments
Prayers for Help
by Patricia Joyce
Give ear to my words, O Lord; give heed to my sighing.
Psalm 5:1
On May 3, 2002, I was engaged to narrate the historical Williamsburg tour. At about 10:20 a.m., a few minutes before we began the walking tour, a small red car darted in front of our bus, causing the driver to hit his brakes hard and swerve to the right. I was standing, facing the passengers and narrating while holding on to the support rail. The force of the bus's braking and swerving spun me around and I became airborne, bouncing off the driver's right arm and hitting the dashboard twice. My final fall left me lying on the landing beside the driver, my shoeless right foot pointing up the steps to the center aisle and my left foot pointing toward the bus door. My eyeglasses had flown off and I was left disoriented and bewildered.
As I regained consciousness, my immediate prayer was "Oh, Lord, please don't let anything happen to me. You know I have to get home to Mom." At that moment a feeling of peace swept through my terrified soul and I knew everything would be OK. What a revelation. What peace.
Thoughtful passengers rushed to assist me, but I said, "No, please don't move me. Let me see if anything is broken." I began wiggling my ankles and toes, bending my wrists, and moving my fingers. I moved my head in all directions and moved my torso back and forth. I found no apparent broken bones and felt no immediate pain. We went on with the tour, which ended with the bus's return to the hotel at 5:00 p.m. I immediately left to feed my 94-year-old mother, who was in the nursing home with contracted osteoarthritis. Afterward, at 7:30 p.m., I went to Urgent Care for x-rays and an MRI, which indicated no broken bones -- a miracle -- although they did indicate a disc misalignment that required medication and monthly doctor visits. But I felt this was another miracle! No broken hip! The bus driver said he was surprised my back wasn't broken. The Lord heard my prayer and I was able to attend to Mom, who has been a nursing home resident for almost 15 years. She gave me the best years of her life, and it is my Christian ministry to support her and return the love and caring that I received.
I give thanks throughout each day for the many blessings I have been granted.
Patricia Joyce is retired from the hotel/restaurant/convention business in Virginia Beach, Virginia, and enjoys the stimulus and contacts she makes as a local licensed tour guide.
Good Stories
Jerry's Faith
by Gerald Wagner
I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
Galatians 2:19b-20
In the Lutheran parochial school I attended as a child, I was taught to fear God, and that I risked punishment for sin. When I was 17 years old, my younger sister died of a brain tumor and I began to question everything that I had been taught. I could not understand how God could allow this. Her death left me confused and angry. I became more of a doubter than a believer. I came to the conclusion that I could only believe in myself. I pushed myself, I worked hard; I became an overachiever and eventually a workaholic. This program propelled me to financial success, but it was accompanied by personal failure. I learned that the love of money can bring financial gains that are accompanied by personal loss. I became an empty person who couldn't stand success and began to self-destruct. I lost everything: my friends, those who had pretended to be my friends, and my family. It was all like an unbelievable soap opera -- and before it was over I learned quite a bit about the judicial system, the mafia, extortion, and revenge. There were times when I feared for my life and for the lives of the members of my family. It was the kind of situation that causes one to think about taking one's own life. But I wasn't ready for that option. The love I had for my children gave me courage and made me determined to try again. I wanted to be a believer in something bigger than myself, but it was difficult. It would take a miracle.
I carefully planned a comeback. I wanted to be successful again and not make some of the same mistakes. The task seemed monumental. In the process I met an independent preacher named Andy. He worked for me on a part-time basis and we soon became friends. He wasn't pushy with his religion, so I decided to go to one of his church services on a Wednesday night. It was quite unusual to say the least. Wednesday night was testimony night. The opening song service was quite an experience. The songs had beautiful melodies and were easy to sing. When they sang songs like "He Touched Me" and "O, How I Love Jesus," I noticed that many had tears in their eyes as they sang with great feeling. I felt touched by this, and quite uncomfortable. The testimonies that followed were as impressive to me as the song service. People spoke about what God had done for them, how God had answered prayer and healed them.
Was this real? Do they know a different God than I do, I wondered? It was all confusing. I didn't know if I could believe it, but I went back to observe more. I knew these people had something I didn't have. I guess it was a simple faith in God. It seemed like a good way to live, but I still wondered if it was real. If there was no God, I think we would have to invent one to keep our sanity. I tried to keep an open mind on the subject. I found myself reading the Bible because I was hungry for truth.
One Saturday night my mother called to tell me that my grandmother was gravely ill. I needed strength to face this, so I went to church the next morning before going to the hospital to see her. That morning Andy spoke of the healing power of Jesus. I cornered him after church and said, "Andy, are you sure he heals today?" He was sure. I marked several of the healing promises in my Bible and then I went to the hospital. As I entered the waiting room, I saw that many of my relatives were there to pay their last visits to Grandma. The pastor of her church was about to get on the elevator after praying with her. I stopped him for a brief talk. I said, "Don't you believe God has the ability to heal people?" He assured me he believed that God does have the power to heal, but he added that we all have a time to die. I knew he was right, but a voice in the back of my mind said, "Prove me and know that I am God."
I followed my cousin and his wife into Grandma's room in the intensive care unit. When I spoke to Grandma she regained consciousness, and her smile told me that she was pleased to see her oldest grandson. I got right to the point. "Grandma, do you want me to pray that God will heal you?" She agreed. The four of us held hands and I prayed for her healing. It was a special moment. The nurses and other members of the hospital staff who were present stood with tears in their eyes. When I finished I had a feeling that Grandma was healed. My cousin's wife knew it, also. Grandma fell into a deep sleep.
When we went out into the waiting room, my relatives were talking about Grandma being ready to pass away. The doctor had told them that she would not live through the day. I said, "Grandma is not going to die today. She is healed." I went home and then back to the church for the Sunday evening service. On Monday morning my mother called to tell me that Grandma had made a complete recovery. I said, "What did the doctor have to say about this recovery?" She answered, "He said it was a miracle."
I believe God knew just what I needed. I had the audacity to take God at his word, and God cared enough not to let me make a fool of myself.
Gerald Wagner, an independent truck driver from Kenosha, Wisconsin, first shared this story of his grandmother's healing in a new member class at Kenosha's Wesley United Methodist Church in 1990. The story appears in Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C by John Sumwalt, CSS Publishing Co. (1991).
Scrap Pile
Like Talking to a Wall
by John Sumwalt
Psalm 5:1-2
"Give ear to my words, O Lord; give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry, my King and my God, for to you I pray."
This is a prayer for help, a desperate plea for assistance. Remember these words next time you find yourself between a rock and a hard place. The psalm is a model of what to do. Go to your church, any church; go to your room, your closet, your car; go somewhere, anywhere, stand still or sit still, close your eyes or open your eyes, open your heart and pray! Go right to the top. Why not? Talk to the one who is in charge.
The psalmist prays to the one who is ruler of all, "my King and my God." That's the place to start -- acknowledge that God is God.
The psalmist doesn't take his grievance to a court, he doesn't seek an audience with a king. He says, "God, you are King. Give heed to my sighing."
This is no small thing. Begin with God... if you can. If you cannot, you might try what Jane Redmont recommends in When in Doubt Sing: Prayer in Daily Life. Jane tells about a woman named Barbara who entered the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program. Her sponsor told her that she must pray. "You will pray in the morning and at night. Say anything you want, use prayers you know or your own words, I don't care. But you have to pray."
"But," Barbara said, "I don't believe in God, so how can I pray? It would be so dishonest."
"Who cares what you think?" the sponsor explained. "Just do it."
"Well," Barbara said, "so I'll just pray to my office wall, will that be OK?" And her sponsor said, "That will be fine."
And one day the recovering woman discovered as she prayed to her office wall that she was not talking to herself. "I just knew there was somebody there. And that it was the power who had been behind saving my life, that had motivated the work of those who had saved me, and whose spirit I felt in the rooms of AA. I started crying, I was so grateful. I had no idea that I was worth saving... this was my spiritual awakening."
Whatever happens in your life -- and especially when you are in trouble -- go to the one in charge. Pray to God. And if you are not accustomed to praying (most of us try everything else first) or if you are not sure you believe in God, try talking to a wall... until you "know" someone is listening.
One of my dad's favorite sayings was "talking to you is like talking to a wall." I remember that because he used to say it to me during my teenage years when I thought I knew almost everything and didn't need to listen to anyone else. Did any of you ever resemble that remark?
In their best-selling book Small Miracles, Yetta Halberstam and Judith Leventhal tell the story of a father and son in Cleveland who communicated like that. Joey Riklis dropped out of college, quit his job, and told his dad that he was going to India to seek enlightenment. All of that was fine with his dad, who thought every kid has to find himself, but when Joey told him that he had given up their religion, his father lost it. Adam Riklis was a Holocaust survivor. His whole family had been killed by the Nazis. He had survived three concentration camps. He had promised himself that the religion of his family would not die with him. Now his son was betraying the family heritage. It was more than the old man could bear. "Get out of here!" he screamed at Joey. "Get out of my home and never come back. You are not my son. I disown you from my heart, from my soul, from my life. I never want to see you again!"
"Well, that's just fine with me," Joey shouted back, "because I never want to see you again either." Joey went to India and began his spiritual search. Years later he met a friend from the old neighborhood on a street corner in Bombay. The friend told Joey that his father had died. Joey was heartbroken. He blamed himself for his father's death. As the days passed Joey grew more and more depressed. He decided that he needed to go to Israel to the "Wailing Wall" to pray. He knew that it was the place that he had to pray. Joey made the long trip to Israel and soon found himself at the wall praying for his father's forgiveness. "Oh, Dad," he sobbed, "how I wish I could tell you how much I loved you! How much I regret all the pain I caused you! I didn't mean to hurt you, Dad. I was just trying to find my own way."
When Joey had finished praying he noticed people tucking pieces of paper with written prayers into the crevices in the wall. He decided he would leave a prayer too. He wrote: "Dear Father, I beg you to forgive me for the pain I caused you. I loved you very much and I will never forget you. And please know that nothing you taught me was in vain. I will not betray your family's deaths. I promise." When he was finished he tucked the note into a crevice near the thousands and thousands of other prayers. In doing so he accidentally knocked another note to the ground. He picked it up and then did something that was quite uncharacteristic. He opened the note and began to read: "My dear son, Joey, if you should ever happen to come to Israel and somehow miraculously find this note, this is what I want you to know: I always loved you, even when you hurt me, and I will never stop loving you. You are and always will be my beloved son. And Joey, please know that I forgive you for everything, and only hope that you in turn will forgive a foolish old man." The note was signed "Adam Riklis, Cleveland, Ohio."
The psalmist prays: "Give ear to my words, O Lord; give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry, my King and my God, for to you I pray."
You don't need a wailing wall to talk to God. Just find a wall, any wall, and wail away.
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New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), will be released in June by CSS Publishing Company. Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Jodie Felton, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website (http://www.csspub.com); they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
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Looking for just the right story for this Sunday's sermon or Sunday School class? There is a large selection of stories on the StoryShare website (http://www.csspub.com/story.lasso). Click on "samples" to see two of our weekly editions.
New subscribers receive a year of StoryShare plus full access to the StoryShare archives for just $19.95. Subscribing online is convenient using our secure server -- or you can all CSS toll-free at (800) 537-1030 Monday - Friday from 8:30 AM - 5:30 PM (Eastern Time) or send an e-mail to orders@csspub.com, and our customer service team will be happy to assist you.
We invite you to forward this offer to all of your friends who are looking for good stories.
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StoryShare, June 13, 2004, issue.
Copyright 2004 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
