chicken

Chicken Soup for the Soul

Giving from the Heart

When I was a teenager, probably about 13, my mother taught me a very valuable lesson I've never forgotten. We were grocery shopping in a small store one day when I noticed a family come into the store. It looked like a mother, her daughter, and her granddaughter. They were clean but dressed in worn clothes, and it was obvious they were less fortunate. They pushed a cart through the store, carefully selecting items, mostly generic, and all necessary foods.

My mother and I finished our shopping and headed toward the clerk to pay. As we got there, the family was in front of us, with one person in between. As I watched the family place groceries on the conveyor belt, I heard the mother ask the clerk every so often to subtotal, as she only had so much to spend. This took a while, and the person in front of me was getting noticeably impatient and even started mumbling things which I'm sure were overheard. When the store clerk did a final total, the woman did not have enough money, so she began pointing to different food items to put back. My mother reached in her purse, pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to the woman. The woman looked very surprised and said, "I can't take that!" My mother looked directly at the woman and quietly replied, "Yes, you most certainly can. Consider it a gift. There's nothing in that cart you don't really need, so please accept it." The woman then reached out and took the money, squeezing my mom's hand for just a moment, and with tears running down her cheeks, said, "Thank you very much. No one's ever done nothin' like this for me before."

I know I left the store with tears in my eyes, and it is something I will cherish forever. You see, my parents raised six children and didn't have a whole lot of money themselves, although I can never remember wanting for anything. I'm very happy to say that I inherited her caring heart. I have given selflessly before, and there is not a better feeling in the whole world!

By Dee M. Taylor from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul

The Small Gift

Reverend Chalfant tells of a couple who were celebrating their golden wedding anniversary. The husband was asked what the secret was to his successful marriage. As the elderly are wont to do, the old gentleman answered with a story.

His wife, Sarah, was the only girl he ever dated. He grew up in an orphanage and worked hard for everything he had. He never had time to date until Sarah swept him off his feet. Before he knew it she had managed to get him to ask her to marry him.

After they had said their vows on their wedding day, Sarah's father took the new groom aside and handed him a small gift. He said, "Within this gift is all you really need to know to have a happy marriage." The nervous young man fumbled with the paper and ribbon until he got the package unwrapped.

Within the box lay a large gold watch. With great care he picked it up. Upon close examination he saw etched across the face of the watch a prudent reminder he would see whenever he checked the time of day . . . words that, if heeded, held the secret to a successful marriage. They were, "Say something nice to Sarah."

By Morris Chalfant Retold by Marilyn K. McAuley

From A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul

The Question

Isn't it amazing how few of us ask ourselves the important question? Several years ago I was invited to hear an important speaker address the student body of a small college in South Carolina. The auditorium was filled with students excited about the opportunity to hear a person of her stature speak. After the governor gave the introduction, the speaker moved to the microphone, looked at the audience from left to right, and began: "I was born to a mother who was deaf and could not speak. I do not know who my father is or was. The first job I ever had was in a cotton field."

The audience was spellbound. "Nothing has to remain the way it is if that's not the way a person wants it to be," she continued. "It isn't luck, and it isn't circumstances, and it isn't being born a certain way that causes a person's future to become what it becomes." And she softly repeated, "Nothing has to remain the way it is if that's not the way a person wants it to be. "All a person has to do," she added in a firm voice, "to change a situation that brings unhappiness or dissatisfaction is answer the question: "How do I want this situation to become?" Then the person must commit totally to personal actions that carry them there."

Then a beautiful smile shone forth as she said, "My name is Azie Taylor Morton. I stand before you today as treasurer of the United States of America."

By Bob Moore from Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work

The Right Thoughts Riding in My Mind

When I started riding a bike a couple of years ago, I didn't think my involvement would ever be more serious than the occasional short ride. But as I built strength, my friends encouraged me to step up my training and try some longer trips. The first one to come along was a 150-mile trek, the MS-150, an annual event that raises money to fight multiple sclerosis.

When I registered, the idea seemed terrific, support a worthy cause while going for the distance, and I trained with enthusiasm. But as the time for the ride approached, my self-doubts gained ground over my endurance. I still wanted to raise money for the charity, but I didn't really want to bike all those miles for two days straight.

The ride began on a beautiful Sunday morning in the tranquil Georgia countryside, and for the first few hours I felt wonderful. This was just the experience I had imagined, and my spirits were high. But by the end of the day, I felt tired and irritable. If the body is connected to the mind, here was proof in action. Every excuse my brain pushed out seemed to travel right down to my legs. "I can't handle this," became a leg cramp, and "everyone else is a better rider" translated into shortness of breath. I was sure I'd have to quit.

As I topped the crest of a hill, the magnificent sunset kept me going for a few minutes more. Then in the distance, silhouetted against the bright red sun, I saw a lone rider pedaling very slowly. I noticed that the person looked different in some way, but I couldn't tell why. So I pushed myself to catch up. There she was, peddling along slowly but steadily, with a slight and determined smile on her face - and she had only one leg.

My focus changed in that instant. For a whole day I'd been doubting my body. But now I knew it wasn't the body, but the will that would help me reach my goal. It rained all the second day. I never saw the one-legged biker again, but I pushed on without complaining, knowing she was out there with me somewhere. And at the end of the day, still feeling strong, I completed the 150th mile.

By Kathy Higgins from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul

The Coolest Dad in the Universe

He was 50 years old when I was born, and a "Mr. Mom" long before anyone had a name for it. I didn't know why he was home instead of Mom, but I was young and the only one of my friends who had their dad around. I considered myself very lucky. Dad did so many things for me during my grade-school years. He convinced the school bus driver to pick me up my house instead of the usual bus stop that was six blocks away. He always had my lunch ready for me when I came home - usually a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was shaped for the season. My favorite was at Christmas. The sandwiches would be sprinkled with green sugar and cut in the shape of a tree.

As I got a little older and tried to gain my independence, I wanted to move away from those "childish" signs of his love. But he wasn't going to give up. In high school and no longer able to go home for lunch, I began taking my own. Dad would get up a little early and make it for me. I never knew what to expect. The outside of the sack might be covered with his rendering of a mountain scene (it became his trademark) or a heart inscribed with "Dad-n-Angie K.K." in its center. Inside there would be a napkin with that same heart or an "I love you." Many times he would write a joke or a riddle, such as "Why don't they ever call it a momsicle instead of a popsicle?" He always had some silly saying to make me smile and let me know that he loved me.

I used to hide my lunch so no one would see the bag or read the napkin, but that didn't last long. One of my friends saw the napkin one day, grabbed it, and passed it around the lunch room. My face burned with embarrassment. To my astonishment, the next day all my friends were waiting to see the napkin. From the way they acted, I think they all wished they had someone who showed them that kind of love. I was so proud to have him as my father. Throughout the rest of my high school years, I received those napkins, and still have a majority of them. And still it didn't end. When I left home for college (the last one to leave), I thought the messages would stop. But my friends and I were glad that his gestures continued.

I missed seeing my dad every day after school and so I called him a lot. My phone bills got to be pretty high. It didn't matter what we said; I just wanted to hear his voice. We started a ritual during that first year that stayed with us. After I said good-bye he always said, "Angie?" "Yes, Dad?" I'd reply. "I love you." "I love you, too, Dad."

I began getting letters almost every Friday. The front-desk staff always knew who the letter were from - the return address said "The Hunk." Many times the envelopes were addressed in crayon, and along with the enclosed letters were usually drawings of our cat and dog, stick figures of him and Mom, and if I had been home the weekend before, of me racing around town with friends and using the house as a pit stop. He also had his mountain scene and the heart-encased inscription, Dad-n-Angie K.K. The mail was delivered every day right before lunch, so I'd have his letters with me when I went to the cafeteria. I realized it was useless to hide them because my roommate was a high school friend who knew about his napkins. Soon it became a Friday afternoon ritual. I would read the letters, and the drawing and envelope would be passed around.

It was during this time that Dad became stricken with cancer. When the letters didn't come on Friday, I knew that he had been sick and wasn't able to write. He used to get up at 4:00a.m. so he could sit in the quiet house and do his letters. If he missed his Friday delivery, the letters would usually come a day or two later. But they always came. My friends used to call him "Coolest Dad in the Universe." And one day they sent him a card bestowing that title, signed by all of them. I believe he taught all of us about a father's love. I wouldn't be surprised if my friends started sending napkins to their children. He left an impression that would stay with them and inspire them to give their own children their expression of their love.

Throughout my four years of college, the letters and phone calls came at regular intervals. But then the time came when I decided to come home and be with him because he was growing sicker, and I knew that our time together was limited. Those were the hardest days to go through. To watch this man, who always acted so young, age past his years. In the end he didn't recognize who I was and would call me the name of a relative he hadn't seen in many years. Even though I knew it was due to his illness, it still hurt that he couldn't remember my name.

I was alone with him in his hospital room a couple of days before he died. We held hands and watched TV. As I was getting ready to leave, he said, "Angie?" "Yes, Dad?" "I love you." "I love you, too, Dad."

By Angie K. Ward-Kucer from A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Service with a Smile

A man wrote a letter to a small hotel in a Midwest town he planned to visit on his vacation. He wrote: I would very much like to bring my dog with me. He is well-groomed and very well behaved. Would you be willing to permit me to keep him in my room with me at night?

An immediate reply came from the hotel owner, who said, I've been operating this hotel for many years. In all that time, I've never had a dog steal towels, bedclothes or silverware or pictures off the walls. I've never had to evict a dog in the middle of the night for being drunk and disorderly. And I've never had a dog run out on a hotel bill. Yes, indeed, your dog is welcome at my hotel. And, if your dog will vouch for you, you're welcome to stay here, too.

Service with a Smile

Everything I learned about selling I learned in one afternoon from my father, Walt, at his furniture store in New Era, Michigan. I was 12 years old. I was sweeping the floor when an elderly woman entered the store. I asked Dad if I could wait on her. "Sure," he replied. "May I help you?"

"Yes, young man, I bought a sofa from your store and the leg fell off. I want to know when you're going to fix it."

"When did you purchase it, ma'am?"

"About 10 years ago."

I told my father that she thought we were going to fix her old sofa for free. He said to tell her we'd be there that afternoon. After screwing on the new leg, we left, and on the ride back Pop asked, "What's bothering you son?" "You know that I want to go to college. If we drive around fixing old sofas for free, we'll go broke." "You had to learn how to do that repair job anyway. Besides, you missed the most important part. You didn't notice the store tag when we flipped the couch over. She bought if from Sears." "You mean we did that job for nothing and she's not even our customer?" Dad looked me in the eye and said, "She is now."

Two days later she returned to our store and bought several thousand dollars worth of new furniture from me. When we delivered it, she put a gallon jar filled with change, singles, fives, tens, twenties, fifties and hundreds on the kitchen table. "Take what you need," she said and left the room.

I've been selling for 30 years since that day. I have had the highest closing average in every organization I have represented because I treat customers with respect.

By Michael T. Burcon from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Please Dress Me in Red

In my profession, I have worked with children who have the virus that causes AIDS. The relationships that I have had with these special kids have been gifts in my life. Let me tell you about the courage of Tyler.

Tyler was born infected with HIV; his mother was also infected. From the very beginning of his life, he was dependent on medications to enable him to survive. At times, he also needed supplemental oxygen to support his breathing. Tyler wasn't willing to give up one single moment of his childhood to this deadly disease. It was not unusual to find him playing and racing around his backyard, wearing his medicine-laden backpack and dragging his tank of oxygen behind him in his little wagon. Tyler's pure joy in being alive gave him energy that caused all of us who knew him to marvel. Tyler's mom often teased him by telling him that he moved so fast, she needed to dress him in red. That way, when she peered out the window to check on him playing in the yard, she could quickly spot him.

This dreaded disease eventually wore down even the likes of a little dynamo like Tyler. He became quite ill and, unfortunately, so did his mother. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to survive, Tyler's mom talked to him and she comforted him by telling Tyler that she was dying, too, and that she would be with him soon in heaven.

A few days before his death, Tyler beckoned me over to his hospital bed and whispered, "I might die soon. I'm not scared. When I die, please dress me in red. Mom promised she's coming to heaven, too. I'll be playing when she gets there, and I want to make sure she can find me."

By Cindy D. Holms from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul

All I Ever Really Needed To Know I Learned In Kindergarten

Most of what I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be, I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate mountain, but there in the sandbox at nursery school. These are the things I learned:

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don't hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don't take things that aren't yours.

Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.

Live a balanced life.

Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands and stick together.

Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup. The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.

Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup - they all die. So do we.

And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: Look.

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and sane living. Think of what a better world it would be if we all - the whole world - had cookies and milk about 3 o'clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or if we had a basic policy in our nations to always put things back where found them and cleaned up our own messes. And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out into the world, it is better to hold hands and stick together.

By Robert Fulghum from Chicken Soup for the Soul

Shoes

As Gandhi stepped aboard a train one day, one of his shoes slipped off and landed on the track. He was unable to retrieve it as the train was moving. To the amazement of his companions, Gandhi calmly took off his other shoe and threw it back along the track to land close to the first. Asked by a fellow passenger why he did so, Gandhi smiled and replied, "The man who finds the shoes lying on the track will now have a pair he can use."

By Source Unknown, First quoted in The Little Brown Book of Anecdotes from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul

Say a Prayer

I was taking my usual morning walk when a garbage truck pulled up beside me. I thought the driver was going to ask for directions. Instead, he showed me a picture of a cute little five-year-old boy. "This is my grandson, Jeremiah," he said. "He's on a life-support system at a Phoenix hospital." Thinking he would next ask for a contribution to his hospital bills, I reached for my wallet. But he wanted something more than money. He said, "I'm asking everybody I can to say a prayer for him. Would you say one for him, please?" I did. And my problems didn't seem like much that day.

By Bob Westenberg from Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul

On Courage

"So you think I'm courageous?" she asked. "Yes, I do." Perhaps I am. But that's because I've had some inspiring teachers. I'll tell you about one of them. Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at Stanford Hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liza who was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her five-year-old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness.

The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, `Yes, I'll do it if it will save Liza."

As the transfusion progressed, he lay in a bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"

Being young, the boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give her all his blood. "Yes, I've learned courage," she added, "because I've had inspiring teachers."

By Dan Millman from Chicken Soup for the Soul

Dare to Dream

Life! What a precious gift from God. What a blessing to be alive in a wonderful, vibrant world of unlimited possibilities. Then, adversity strikes, and this "gift" feels more like a curse. "Why? Why me?" we ask. Yet we never get an answer, or do we? After contracting Hodgkin's disease at age seven and being given six months to live, I triumphed over the odds. Call it luck, hope, faith or courage, there are thousands of survivors! Winners like us know the answer - "Why not us? We can handle it!" I'm not dying of cancer. I'm living with cancer. God doesn't make junk, regardless of what comes our way, and I don't have to be afraid anymore. In my sophomore year of high school, the class was scheduled to run the mile. I will always remember that day because due to the swelling and scars from surgery on my leg, for two solid years I had not worn shorts. I was afraid of the teasing. So, for two years I lived in fear. Yet that day, it didn't matter. I was ready - shorts, heart and mind. I no sooner got to the starting line before I heard the loud whispers. "Gross!" "How fat!" "How ugly!" I blocked it out.

Then the coach yelled, "Ready. Set. Go!" I jetted out of there like an airplane, faster than anyone for the first 20 feet. I didn't know much about pacing then, but it was okay because I was determined to finish first. As we came around the first of four laps, there were students all over the track. By the end of the second lap, many of the students had already quit. They had given up and were on the ground gasping for air. As I started the third lap, only a few of my classmates were left on the track, and I began limping. By the time I hit the fourth lap, I was alone.

Then it hit me. I realized that nobody had given up. Instead, everyone had already finished. As I ran that last lap, I cried. I realized that every boy and girl in my class had beat me, and 12 minutes, 42 seconds after starting, I crossed the finish line. I fell to the ground and shed oceans. I was so embarrassed.

Suddenly my coach ran up to me and picked me up, yelling, "You did it. Manuel! Manuel, you finished, son. You finished!" He looked me straight in the eye waving a piece of paper in his hand. It was my goal for the day, which I had forgotten. I had given it to him before class. He read it aloud to everyone. It simply said, "I Manuel Diotte, will finish the mile run tomorrow, come what may. No pain or frustration will stop me. For I am more than capable of finishing, and with God as my strength, I will finish." Signed, Manuel Diotte - with a little smiling face inside the D, as I always sign my name. My heart lifted. My tears went away, and I had a smile on my face as if I had eaten a banana sideways. My classmates applauded and gave me my first standing ovation. It was then I realized winning isn't always finishing first. Sometimes winning is just finishing.

By Manuel Diotte from Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul

Two Nickels and Five Pennies

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?" "Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. "How much is a dish of plain ice cream?" he inquired. Some people were now waiting for a table and the waitress was a bit impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she said brusquely. The little boy again counted the coins. "I'll have the plain ice cream," he said.

The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table, and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and departed. When the waitress came back, she began wiping down the table and then swallowed hard at what she saw. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies - her tip.

By The Best of Bits & Pieces from A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Nothing Could Stop This Man

After suffering severe burns on his legs at the age of five, Glenn Cunningham was given up on by doctors who believed he would be a hopeless cripple destined to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. "He will never be able to walk again," they said. "No chance."

The doctors examined his legs, but they had no way of looking into Glenn Cunningham's heart. He didn't listen to the doctors and set out to walk again. Lying in bed, his skinny, red legs covered with scar tissue, Glenn vowed, "Next week, I'm going to get out of bed. I'm going to walk." And he did just that.

His mother tells of how she used to push back the curtain and look out the window to watch Glenn reach up and take hold of an old plow in the yard. With a hand on each handle, he began to make his gnarled and twisted legs function. And with every step a step of pain, he came closer to walking. Soon he began to trot; before long he was running. When he started to run, he became even more determined. "I always believed that I could walk, and I did. Now I'm going to run faster than anybody has ever run."

And did he ever. He became a great miler who, in 1934, set the world's record of 4:06. He was honored as the outstanding athlete of the century at Madison Square Garden.

By Jeff Yalden from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Winners and Winners

As a high school coach, I did all I could to help my boys win their games. I rooted as hard for victory as they did. A dramatic incident, however, following a game in which I officiated as a referee, changed my perspective on victories and defeats. I was refereeing a league championship basketball game in New Rochelle, New York, between New Rochelle and Yonkers High. New Rochelle was coached by Dan O'Brien, Yonkers by Les Beck.

The gym was crowded to capacity, and the volume of noise made it impossible to hear. The game was well played and closely contested. Yonkers was leading by one point as I glanced at the clock and discovered there were but 30 seconds left to play. Yonkers, in possession of the ball, passed off - shot - missed. New Rochelle recovered - pushed the ball up court - shot. The ball rolled tantalizingly around the rim and off. The fans shrieked. New Rochelle, the home team, recovered the ball, and tapped it in for what looked like victory. The tumult was deafening. I glanced at the clock and saw that the game was over. I hadn't heard the final buzzer because of the noise. I checked with the other official, but he could not help me. Still seeking help in this bedlam, I approached the timekeeper, a young man of 17 or so. He said, "Mr. Covino, the buzzer went off as the ball rolled off the rim, before the final tap-in was made."

I was in the unenviable position of having to tell Coach O'Brien the sad news. "Dan," I said, "time ran out before the final basket was tapped in. Yonkers won the game." His face clouded over. The young timekeeper came up. He said, "I'm sorry, Dad. The time ran out before the final basket." Suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, Coach O'Brien's face lit up. He said, "That's okay, Joe. You did what you had to do. I'm proud of you." Turning to me, he said, "Al, I want you to meet my son, Joe." The two of them then walked off the court together, the coach's arm around his son's shoulder.

By Al Covino, Submitted by Rob Nelson from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Whatever You Need

I was working as a consultant in a beer company, helping the president and senior vice-presidents formulate and implement their new strategic vision. It was an enormous challenge. At the same time, my mother was in the final stages of cancer. I worked during the day and drove 40 miles home to be with her every night. It was tiring and stressful, but it was what I wanted to do. My commitment was to continue to do excellent consulting during the day, even though my evenings were very hard. I didn't want to bother the president with my situation, yet I felt someone at the company needed to know what was going on. So I told the vice-president of Human Resources, asking him not to share the information with anyone.

A few days later, the president called me into his office. I figured he wanted to talk to me about one of the many issues we were working on. When I entered, he asked me to sit down. He faced me from across his large desk, looked me in the eye and said, "I hear your mother is very ill." I was totally caught by surprise and burst into tears. He just looked at me, let my crying subside, and then gently said a sentence I will never forget: "Whatever you need."

That was it. His understanding and his willingness to both let me be in my pain and to offer me everything were qualities of compassion that I carry with me to this day.

By Martin Rutte from Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work

Risking

Two seeds lay side by side in the fertile spring soil. The first seed said, "I want to grow! I want to send my roots deep into the soil beneath me, and thrust my sprouts through the earth's crust above me . . . I want to unfurl my tender buds like banners to announce the arrival of spring . . . I want to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and the blessing of the morning dew on my petals!"

And so she grew.

The second seed said, "I am afraid. If I send my roots into the ground below, I don't know what I will encounter in the dark. If I push my way through the hard soil above me I may damage my delicate sprouts . . .what if I let my buds open and a snail tries to eat them? And if I were to open my blossoms, a small child may pull me from the ground. No, it is much better for me to wait until it is safe."

And so she waited.

A yard hen scratching around in the early spring ground for food found the waiting seed and promptly ate it. Moral Of The Story. Those of us who refuse to risk and grow get swallowed up by life.

By Patty Hansen from Chicken Soup for the Soul

Try Something Different

I'm sitting in a quiet room at the Milcroft Inn, a peaceful little place hidden back among the pine trees about an hour out of Toronto. It's just past noon, late July, and I'm listening to the desperate sounds of a life-or-death struggle going on a few feet away.

There's a small fly burning out the last of its short life's energies in a futile attempt to fly through the glass of the windowpane. The whining wings tell the poignant story of the fly's strategy: Try harder.

But it's not working. The frenzied effort offers no hope for survival. Ironically, the struggle is part of the trap. It is impossible for the fly to try hard enough to succeed at breaking through the glass. Nevertheless, this little insect has staked its life on reaching its goal through raw effort and determination.

This fly is doomed. It will die there on the window sill. Across the room, ten steps away, the door is open. Ten seconds of flying time and this small creature could reach the outside world it seeks. With only a fraction of the effort now being wasted, it could be free of the self-imposed trap. The breakthrough possibility is there. It would be so easy.

Why doesn't the fly try another approach, something dramatically different? How did it get so locked in on the idea that this particular route and determined effort offer the most promise for success? What logic is there in continuing until death to seek a breakthrough with more of the same?

No doubt this approach makes sense to the fly. Regrettably, it's an idea that will kill.

Trying harder isn't necessarily the solution to achieving more. It may not offer any real promise for getting what you want out of life. Sometimes, in fact, it's a big part of the problem.

If you stake your hopes for a breakthrough on trying harder that ever, you may kill your chances for success.

By Price Pritchett - from Chicken Soup for the Soul

Puppies For Sale

A store owner was tacking a sign above his door that read "Puppies For Sale." Signs like that have a way of attracting small children and sure enough, a little boy appeared under the store owner's sign. "How much are you going to sell the puppies for?" he asked. The store owner replied, "Anywhere from $30 to $50." The little boy reached in his pocket and pulled out some change. "I have $2.37," he said. "Can I please look at them?"

The store owner smiled and whistled and out of the kennel came Lady, who ran down the aisle of his store followed by five teeny, tiny balls of fur. One puppy was lagging considerably behind. Immediately the little boy singled out the lagging, limping puppy and said, "What's wrong with that little dog?" The store owner explained that the veterinarian had examined the little puppy and had discovered it didn't have a hip socket. It would always limp. It would always be lame. The little boy became excited. "That is the little puppy that I want to buy."

The store owner said, "No, you don't want to buy that little dog. If you really want him, I'll just give him to you." The little boy got quite upset. He looked straight into the store owner's eyes, pointing his finger, and said, "I don't want you to give him to me. That little dog is worth every bit as much as all the other dogs and I'll pay full price. In fact, I'll give you $2.37 now, and 50 cents a month until I have him paid for." The store owner countered, "You really don't want to buy this little dog. He is never going to be able to run and jump and play with you like the other puppies."

To this, the little boy reached down and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left leg supported by a big metal brace. He looked up at the store owner and softly replied, "Well, I don't run so well myself, and the little puppy will need someone who understands!"

By Dan Clark - Weathering the Storm - from Chicken Soup for the Soul

The Most Caring Child

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four-year-old child, whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap and just sat there. When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

By Ellen Kreidman - Submitted by Donna Bernard

from A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul

And She Did It with Grace!

Saying grace at mealtime was a tradition at Grandma's house. At breakfast, lunch and supper, all who gathered around the table would bow their heads to give blessing for the food they were about to eat.

Much to Grandma's sadness, this tradition was not brought to our home by my mother, so as a three-year-old, the practice of saying grace was very confusing to me. Mother embarrassingly recalls that once, while Grandma rambled through one of her lengthy mealtime thanks to God, I asked in a rather loud voice, "Why is Grandma talking to her plate?"

By Glen DeVuono - from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul

Golden Rules for Living

If you open it, close it.

If you turn it on, turn it off.

If you unlock it, lock it up.

If you break it, admit it.

If you can't fix it, call in someone who can.

If you borrow it, return it.

If you value it, take care of it.

If you make a mess clean it up.

If you move it, put it back.

If it belongs to someone else and you want to use, get permission.

If you don't know how to operate it, leave it alone.

If it's none of your business, don't ask questions.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

If it will brighten someone's day, say it.

If it will tarnish someone's reputation, keep it to yourself.

By Source Unknown - from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul

Barney

A four-year-old girl was at the pediatrician's office for a check-up. As the doctor looked into her ears with an otoscope, he asked, "Do you think I'll find Big Bird in here?" The little girl stayed silent. Next, the doctor took a tongue depressor and looked down her throat. He asked, "Do you think I'll find the Cookie Monster down there?" Again, the little girl was silent.

Then the doctor put a stethoscope to her chest. As he listened to her heart beat, he asked, "Do you think I'll hear Barney in here?" "Oh, no!" the little girl replied. "Jesus is in my heart. Barney's on my underpants."

By Author Unknown - Submitted by Marilyn Thompson -from Chicken Soup for the Soul