Stories for the Heart
Keeper of the Spring
Charles Swindoll, Improving your Serve
The Late Peter Marshall, an eloquent speaker and for several years the chaplain of the United States Senate, used to love to tell the story of "The Keeper of the Spring," a quiet forest dweller who lived high above an Austrian village along the eastern slopes of the Alps. The old gentleman had been hired many years ago by a young town council to clear away the debris from the pools of water up in the mountain crevices that fed the lovely spring flowing through their town. With faithful, silent regularity, he patrolled the hills, removed the leaves and branches, and wiped away the silt that would otherwise choke and contaminate the fresh flow of water. By and by, the village became a popular attraction for vacationeers. Graceful swans floated along the crystal clear spring, the millwheels of various businesses located near the water turned day and night, farmlands were naturally irrigated, and the view from restaurants was picturesque beyond descriptions.
(Retold by Anne Paden, From Jack London's White Fang)
Jack London's wonderful classic, White Fang, tells the story of an animal, half dog, half wolf, as he survives his life in the wild and then learns to live among men. There is one story in particular that has left a lasting impression on my heart.
(Dream a New Dream)
Little Chad was a shy, quiet young fella. One day he came home and told his mother he'd like to make a valentine for everyone in his class. Her heart sank. She thought, I wish he wouldn't do that! because she had watched the children when they walked home from school.
A lot of the stories I was brought up on had to do with extreme actions - leaving everything behind, crossing the trackless wastes, and in those stories the people who stayed behind and had their settled ways - those people were not the people who got the prize.
The prize was California.
— Joan Didion —
Alice Gray, Stories for the Heart
Along coast of vast Atlantic ocean there lived an old man. Each day when the tide went out he would make his way along the beach for miles. Another man who lived not far away would occasionally watch as he vanished into the distance and later notice that he had returned. The neighbor also noticed that, as he walked, the old man would often stoop down to lift something from the sand and then toss it away into the water.
All the Good Things
Sister Helen Mrosla
He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minnesota. All thirty four of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, he had that happy-to-be- alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievous delightful.
~ Retold by Alice Gray
The young man sat alone on the bus and most of the time stared out the window. He was in his midtwenties, nice looking with a kind face. His dark blue shirt matched the color of his eyes. His hair was short and neat. Occasionally he would look away from the window and the anxiety on his young face touched the heart of the grandmotherly woman sitting across the aisle. The bus was just approaching the outskirts of small town when she was so drawn to the young man that she scooted across the aisle and asked permission to sit next to him.