Categories
Healing Life Spirituality

My Washerwoman

I would like to share a beautiful story I read this morning from the works of T.S. Arthur about some of the small things we neglect without full awareness of its effect upon our neighbors:

MY WASHERWOMAN.

SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited
on for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, “Call to-morrow,”
even though their pockets are far from being empty.

I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, which
I will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my
majority, a poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. She
was the mother of two or three little children, whose sole
dependence for food and raiment was on the labour of her hands.

Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my
clothes, “white as the driven snow;” but not always, as punctually,
did I pay the pittance she had earned by hard labour.

“Mrs. Blake is down stairs,” said a servant, tapping at my room-door
one morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself.

“Oh, very well,” I replied. “Tell her to leave my clothes. I will
get them when I come down.”

The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed my
mind. But I said to myself,–“It’s but a small matter, and will do
as well when she comes again.”

There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds
were low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And so
it proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged, some
small article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window.

“Beautiful!” said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly
changed into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to ask
the price. It was just two dollars.

“Cheap enough,” thought I. And this very cheapness was a further
temptation.

So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and
found the amount to be two dollars and a quarter.

“I guess I’ll take it,” said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper’s
counter.

“I’d better have paid Mrs. Blake.” This thought crossed my mind, an
hour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its
power of pleasing. “So much would at least have been saved.”

I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed,
when the waiter said to me,

“Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you.”

I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my
pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her
money.

“She’s in a great hurry,” I muttered to myself, as I descended to
the door.

“You’ll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs.
Blake. I haven’t any change, this evening.”

The expression of the poor woman’s face, as she turned slowly away,
without speaking, rather softened my feelings.

“I’m sorry,” said I, “but it can’t be helped now. I wish you had
said, this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you
then.”

She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she
moved off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched
sensibly.

“I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about
me. And I wish I had done so. Why didn’t she ask for her money, if
she wanted it so badly?”

I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I
met the lady with whom I was boarding.

“Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?” I
inquired.

“Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children to
feed and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I
think she told me, this morning, that one of her little ones was
very sick.”

I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after
left the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a
sixpence in my pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to find
Mrs. Blake.

Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening,
I now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless
linen brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it
rebuked me; and I had to conquer, with some force, an instinctive
reluctance, before I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt,
and snow-white vest, too recently from the hand of my unpaid
washerwoman.

One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than a
mere pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warming
towards her for some time; and I was particularly anxious to find
favour in her eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and more
attractive than ever, and new bonds of affection entwined themselves
around my heart.

Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her
mother–at the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love,
who said, as she came in–

“Oh, dear! This is a strange world!”

“What new feature have you discovered now, mother?” asked one of her
daughters, smiling.

“No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than
ever,” was replied. “Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in
great trouble.”

“What about, mother?” All the young ladies at once manifested
unusual interest.

Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the
eyes of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe
scrutiny.

“The old story, in cases like hers,” was answered. “Can’t get her
money when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on her
daily labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine
for her sick child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to
humble her spirit, which is an independent one, so low as to ask
bread for her little ones, and the loan of a pittance with which to
get what the doctor has ordered her feeble sufferer at home.”

“Oh, what a shame!” fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom my
heart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me
earnestly as she spoke.

“She fully expected,” said the mother, “to get a trifle that was due
her from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to
see him this evening. But he put her off with some excuse. How
strange that any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold from
the poor their hard-earned pittance! It is but a small sum at best,
that the toiling seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying
labour. That, at least, should be promptly paid. To withhold it an
hour is to do, in many cases, a great wrong.”

For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I
felt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had
withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing.
What my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and
difficult for any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a
position, to imagine.

My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in
another channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest
upon me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten
o’clock on the next day, and that I never again fell into the error
of neglecting, for a single week, my poor washerwoman.

Categories
Healing Life Spirituality

It’s such a hard work to rest!

It used to be so easy to rest, back in those days when “recess” was our favorite subject in school, or when Friday was our favorite day of the week because we’d finally have a hard-earned weekend to indulge in a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Yet have you noticed how many people today find no more satisfaction in the simplest activity of all?  We get anxious with our vacant hours and we try to fill our days with as much activity as we can just so we can avoid that time when we have nothing to do but be with ourselves.

I recently had colds and it necessitated a leave from work as well as a leave from the many activities I enjoy, including writing.  How I prayed that it be over, how I desired to get back to my normal routine.  But the body it seems, knows when to go on and when to take a pause, when to wake up, and when to get some time to sleep.  It’s the rhythm of life, the ebb and flow, the natural course of nature that keeps everything in balance, and that makes everything fresh and renewed.

But why the unnatural response from many of us?  Why the difficulty in surrendering to rest?

1.   We’ve lost our ability to wait.

The modern times have provided us with so many tools and gadgets we need that make our life easier.  It has enabled us to do things in an INSTANT, in a single click of a button.  We do things real FAST! 

Rest is waiting.  It is downtime, a healing time both for the body and the spirit.  We just couldn’t accept the fact that we are not after all as perfect and as powerful as we thought we could be, that we can be on the go 24/7 much as we wanted to.

2.  We’ve lost our ability to trust.

Rest and healing is doing nothing necessarily active on our part, but trusting that our body knows what it is doing to repair itself, to grow, maybe even to be better than before.  We believe that only our conscious efforts can accomplish something, and if we’re not doing anything therefore, we’re already doomed!  We don’t trust anybody, not even our own body when we know we are not consciously in control.

3.  We’ve lost our ability to receive.

Our culture has impressed upon us the necessity to give; giving is a concrete sign of being alive, of being of value.  When we are not able to give or to do anything productive, we quickly lose our self esteem.  Our self worth is so connected in doing what we do, that when we’re unable to do anything, we feel empty and worthless inside.

We  do not realize that receiving is also an integral part of being.  Receiving is actively cooperating to the one healing us, actively acknowledging that we are worthy of help, of being assisted in times when we couldn’t help ourselves.  Receiving is honoring ourselves as being worthy of notice and honoring others as being able to endow upon us something that is an important part of themselves.  Receiving, like giving, is being able to share and be a channel of the flow of life.

I’ve learned that even times of sickness and unproductiveness can teach us something.  I’ve learned that in times like that, it’s quite okey to wait, to trust the way of life, and to receive healing from the God who never abandons us whether we’re living our lives energetically, or whether we’re merely trying to while away our time sneezing and teary eyed in the comfort of our cozy beds.

Categories
Life Spirituality

MOST TOUCHING POEM

most touching poemI would like to share with you the most touching poem I have ever received.  No, it did not come from my boyfriend.  And No, it was not even an original composition.  Yet the way it was able to come to me was no ordinary thing in my life, certainly nothing I’ve ever expected to give me such a joy.

I got in touch with Vicky in the internet, she became one of my on-line friends though she is only able to send me the same old phrases each time she wants to write me a letter.  She says:

 

Dear Joyce

How are you doing?

I am fine

Vicky

Your friend

If you are wondering why, it is because my friend has some physical limitations that limits her ability to express herself the way we do.  As you might have noted, she cannot write.  She is only able to write the above phrases from memory.  Obviously, she can’t read either.  But she enjoys it everytime somebody sends her mail.  She has friends that read to her the messages she receives.

One day I sent her a forwarded message, something I thought was cute that I felt I wanted to send her, which I did.

I never thought she’d take so much delight in that message!  Her friend who read it to her wrote to me how she LOVED the message I just sent to her.  She said that Vicky liked it so much that she went to the library and asked the librarian to help her pick a nice poem for me!

Her friend was amazed by that, that Vicky went out of her way to find me something, a written piece of a poem she cannot even read, to express her gratitude for a piece I never even exerted any effort in composing nor in researching and carefully picking out.  A few clicks of a button was all that it took for me to send her that piece.  But for me, she went out of her way to give of something out of her love.  I felt ashamed and undeserving of all that.  Yet I felt the sincerity of her gesture, and the wisdom that does not need the abilities we so often worship and give importance to.  It is in simple things like that that we feel the most touching memories we shall always recall.  It is in the most unexpected of people and events that we find appreciation, gratitude and love.

Following is the poem she was able to pick out for me, which I am going to quote in the exact words she wrote:

A STITCH OF BLUE

when there is rain, my neighbor comes
to while away the day
and as we chat and mend we find
skes are no longer gray

we share a cup of tea deside
an understanding fire
that knows to glow in emberred tones
or rcach its arms up higher

and when the rain stepped aside
our mending’s finished too
we’ve patched our lives together
a little stitch of blue

sometimes I wish that more of aside
were built of rainy days
so I could take the gray away
In little, friendly ways.

Are you having a grey day?  I hope you find some comfort in the most touching poem I have ever received.  Great day!  J  And thank you, my friend.

Categories
Healing Life Spirituality

A beggar’s plea

 

I saw that boy yet again

sitting by the stairs near the street

his little hand raised infront of me

his clothes tattered

his feet with no slippers

his future bleak and beyond my reach

 

What can I do for you dear boy?

I cannot give you work with which to eat

Neither can I send you to school

for my pay is just enough to meet my needs

 

What can I do for you dear boy?

Can I give you a kiss and a hug

Can I make you feel someone noticed you

and that someone prays you find your way?

 

What would you rather that I do?

What would I prefer I do for you?

 

No, today I have no bread

No, today I care for you more to give you a few coins of mine

I am so sorry little boy

for today I plan to give you dignity

and things like that can’t even buy you

a single piece of bread

  

Categories
Life Spirituality

Unique!


We learn to love each other when we begin to realize how truly unique and wonderful each one of us is. Like seashells along the shore, no one is entirely alike, each is crafted with an imprint of God’s hand, each has something to share, and each has something to admire and long for in another.

People often see me as I quiet person, one who rarely cracks a joke, one that can comfortably sit in a corner and have a good time reading a book or listening to good music. But that doesnt mean I couldn’t engage in good conversation. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t comfort a grieving soul. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t share the kind of happiness that comes from things the world hardly notices in its race towards unreachable dreams. I am the kind of person God has masterfully and lovingly made me to be. I am happy. I am beautiful. I am unique!