Ethos
May 8th 2003, 06:43 PM
Please take a few minutes from your day to receive the blessing of this story. It is an amazing story! I read it last night and decided I had to turn it into a chain mail. It is from the book Chicken Soup for the Christian Woman's Soul. And it must be true, considering that true Christians don't lie!!! Please help me to spread the Glory of this Story and the Awesome Love of the Lord by passing it on to everyone you know that loves the Lord, even those who still have yet to find him. You never know, maybe this story will melt their hearts!!
Thanks and God Bless You
Sarah
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But when all goes well with you, remember me and show me kindness...
-Genesis 40:14
I was in Churchill, a Lilliputian town on the shores of Hudson Bay in northern Manitoba. I was a clinical instructor teaching a nurse's aid course to Inuit teenagers. A blizzard raged that Saturday morning in 1969. Wind whistled through the electrical sockets of my room, creating an eerie whine.
Boy, am I glad I don't have to go out today, I said to myself as I scraped frost from the window. Through a microscopic opening, I could see the snow swirling high in the air in this treeless ice desert. I shivered. I'd set the thermostat up as high as I could to keep toasty warm and just hibernate for the day.
But a strange thing happened. A crazy idea muscled into my mind. Go to the post office to pick up your mail. I brushed it aside. No way was I going out today. But the thought persisted. The post office wasn't far-maybe about the length of five city blocks-but it seemed a daunting trip. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face. With the wind chill factor, it was an insane seventy below-zero: no place for humans, only polar bears, Beluga whales, seals and walruses. People froze to death within fifty feet of their destinations in this type of "white out."
I looked out again. The thought pressed in on me. Go to the post office. I sighed, donned knee high mukluks, my red parka with the wolf fur, and my big goose down mittens. I opened the door. The intense cold drove me back. Skin could freeze in one minute in this. I bundled the hood more closely to my face, took a deep breath and slipped outside. I bent forward, almost in half, to knife through the wind pressing against me. My breath hung like a lacy curtain in the frigid air. The fur froze, and little icicles formed on my nose before the drip could fall. After walking for twenty minutes, I fell into the post office.
"Hey Arlene, what are you doing out in this weather?" the postmaster smiled. Everyone knows everyone else in these small hamlets. "I think I have something here for you. Let me see." He rummaged around and found a parcel.
Surprised, I grasped it tightly. "Well, hope I make it back!" I laughed as I opened the door to the bitter cold.
When I finally crashed into my room, stamped my feet and blew on my hands, I sat down to look at this mysterious parcel. The box, wrapped in plain brown paper, arrived almost intact-lots of string and a few torn corners. But after a journey of 5,000 miles by railway from Montreal through the vast, empty, icy northern Canadian wilderness, I supposed a few torn corners could be forgiven. The return address was smudged.
Who's sending me a parcel? I wondered, opening it with tremulous hands. White tissue paper crackled open to reveal a beautiful forest green cardigan, my favorite color. A perfect fit, too! I read the note inside from dear, elderly Marjorie in Montreal, someone I considered a second mother.
Dear Arlene, I don't know why I'm sending you this. I just had an urge to send you something, and I found this sweater. Hope u like it.
I suddenly broke down and wept uncontrollably. A silent inner thought reminded me, Today is your birthday.
Even I had forgotten again. It never mattered as a child. I was raised as a sad little girl in a northern Quebec town with all the usual things to keep body intact but never the love and intimacy to warm the soul. Ours was a cold, "earn you living," hard-times kind of upbringing. Lots of rules and no warmth. Lots of criticism but no praise. No hugs. No kisses. And certainly no birthday parties. My birthday arrived and went without affirmation of any kind. It was just another day, so I always forgot my birthday too. And I never, ever told anyone when it was-not even Marge. It was less painful to forget it than to have any expectations.
Suddenly my weeping stopped and the presence of God filled the room. I was overwhelmed that he would remember my Birthday when it was such a little thing in the Grand Scheme of worldly problems.
I suppose if that had been the end of these marvelous coincidences I would have forgotten about it, but a few years later another amazing birthday surprise awaited me in another Northern town in BC One day, working as a community nurse on the Alaskan highway, I returned to the office to find a lovely plant, a lavender violet, on my desk. The card read. "To Arlene, because you care so much." It was signed "Mary." I thought about all the Mary's I visited as a nurse, but not one would be the kind to send me this. Who would send me this and why? I wondered. A quiet inner thought reminded me, Today is your birthday. I remembered. I wept. I called the flower shop to see if they could enlighten me.
"No, she paid cash so I don't have any check. Sorry." The clerk said.
I asked every Mary I knew if she was the one who sent it. All denied it.
One day, in my church, I asked a Mary whom I didn't think cared for me.
"Yeah. I was downtown that day and couldn't leave until I sent that to you. I don't know why," she answered impatiently.
I told her why. She wept, too.
A year later, I visited a friend in that town and she gave me a lovely crystal candleholder. "Why are you giving me this, Cheryl?" I asked.
"I just had the urge to buy this for you yesterday, and I didn't see you until today. Hope you like it," she answered shyly.
Again a still small thought said to me, Yesterday was your birthday.
He never Forgets. :O)
Arlene Centerwall
Thanks and God Bless You
Sarah
**************************************************************************************************
But when all goes well with you, remember me and show me kindness...
-Genesis 40:14
I was in Churchill, a Lilliputian town on the shores of Hudson Bay in northern Manitoba. I was a clinical instructor teaching a nurse's aid course to Inuit teenagers. A blizzard raged that Saturday morning in 1969. Wind whistled through the electrical sockets of my room, creating an eerie whine.
Boy, am I glad I don't have to go out today, I said to myself as I scraped frost from the window. Through a microscopic opening, I could see the snow swirling high in the air in this treeless ice desert. I shivered. I'd set the thermostat up as high as I could to keep toasty warm and just hibernate for the day.
But a strange thing happened. A crazy idea muscled into my mind. Go to the post office to pick up your mail. I brushed it aside. No way was I going out today. But the thought persisted. The post office wasn't far-maybe about the length of five city blocks-but it seemed a daunting trip. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face. With the wind chill factor, it was an insane seventy below-zero: no place for humans, only polar bears, Beluga whales, seals and walruses. People froze to death within fifty feet of their destinations in this type of "white out."
I looked out again. The thought pressed in on me. Go to the post office. I sighed, donned knee high mukluks, my red parka with the wolf fur, and my big goose down mittens. I opened the door. The intense cold drove me back. Skin could freeze in one minute in this. I bundled the hood more closely to my face, took a deep breath and slipped outside. I bent forward, almost in half, to knife through the wind pressing against me. My breath hung like a lacy curtain in the frigid air. The fur froze, and little icicles formed on my nose before the drip could fall. After walking for twenty minutes, I fell into the post office.
"Hey Arlene, what are you doing out in this weather?" the postmaster smiled. Everyone knows everyone else in these small hamlets. "I think I have something here for you. Let me see." He rummaged around and found a parcel.
Surprised, I grasped it tightly. "Well, hope I make it back!" I laughed as I opened the door to the bitter cold.
When I finally crashed into my room, stamped my feet and blew on my hands, I sat down to look at this mysterious parcel. The box, wrapped in plain brown paper, arrived almost intact-lots of string and a few torn corners. But after a journey of 5,000 miles by railway from Montreal through the vast, empty, icy northern Canadian wilderness, I supposed a few torn corners could be forgiven. The return address was smudged.
Who's sending me a parcel? I wondered, opening it with tremulous hands. White tissue paper crackled open to reveal a beautiful forest green cardigan, my favorite color. A perfect fit, too! I read the note inside from dear, elderly Marjorie in Montreal, someone I considered a second mother.
Dear Arlene, I don't know why I'm sending you this. I just had an urge to send you something, and I found this sweater. Hope u like it.
I suddenly broke down and wept uncontrollably. A silent inner thought reminded me, Today is your birthday.
Even I had forgotten again. It never mattered as a child. I was raised as a sad little girl in a northern Quebec town with all the usual things to keep body intact but never the love and intimacy to warm the soul. Ours was a cold, "earn you living," hard-times kind of upbringing. Lots of rules and no warmth. Lots of criticism but no praise. No hugs. No kisses. And certainly no birthday parties. My birthday arrived and went without affirmation of any kind. It was just another day, so I always forgot my birthday too. And I never, ever told anyone when it was-not even Marge. It was less painful to forget it than to have any expectations.
Suddenly my weeping stopped and the presence of God filled the room. I was overwhelmed that he would remember my Birthday when it was such a little thing in the Grand Scheme of worldly problems.
I suppose if that had been the end of these marvelous coincidences I would have forgotten about it, but a few years later another amazing birthday surprise awaited me in another Northern town in BC One day, working as a community nurse on the Alaskan highway, I returned to the office to find a lovely plant, a lavender violet, on my desk. The card read. "To Arlene, because you care so much." It was signed "Mary." I thought about all the Mary's I visited as a nurse, but not one would be the kind to send me this. Who would send me this and why? I wondered. A quiet inner thought reminded me, Today is your birthday. I remembered. I wept. I called the flower shop to see if they could enlighten me.
"No, she paid cash so I don't have any check. Sorry." The clerk said.
I asked every Mary I knew if she was the one who sent it. All denied it.
One day, in my church, I asked a Mary whom I didn't think cared for me.
"Yeah. I was downtown that day and couldn't leave until I sent that to you. I don't know why," she answered impatiently.
I told her why. She wept, too.
A year later, I visited a friend in that town and she gave me a lovely crystal candleholder. "Why are you giving me this, Cheryl?" I asked.
"I just had the urge to buy this for you yesterday, and I didn't see you until today. Hope you like it," she answered shyly.
Again a still small thought said to me, Yesterday was your birthday.
He never Forgets. :O)
Arlene Centerwall