Chicken Soup Unsinkable Soul

by Jack Canfield

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  LIVING YOUR DREAM

  The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.

  Eleanor Roosevelt

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  New Directions

  You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing we call "failure" is not the falling down, but the staying down.

  Mary Pickford

  In 1903 the late Mrs. Annie Johnson of Arkansas found herself with two toddling sons, very little money, and a slight ability to read and add simple numbers. To this picture add a disastrous marriage and the burdensome fact that Mrs. Johnson was a Negro.

  When she told her husband, Mr. William Johnson, of her dissatisfaction with their marriage, he conceded that he too found it to be less than he expected, and had been secretly hoping to leave and study religion. He added that he thought God was calling him not only to preach but to do so in Enid, Oklahoma. He did not tell her that he knew a minister in Enid with whom he could study and who had a friendly, unmarried daughter. They parted amicably, Annie keeping the one-room house and William taking most of the cash to carry himself to Oklahoma.

  Annie, over six feet tall, big boned, decided that she

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  would not go to work as a domestic and leave her "precious babes" to anyone else's care. There was no possibility of being hired at the town's cotton gin or lumber mill, but maybe there was a way to make the two factories work for her. In her words, "I looked up the road I was going and back the way I come, and since I wasn't satisfied, I decided to step off the road and cut me a new path." She told herself that she wasn't a fancy cook but that she could "mix groceries well enough to scare hunger away from starving a man."

  She made her plans meticulously and in secret. One early evening, to see if she was ready, she placed stones in two five-gallon pails and carried them three miles to the cotton gin. She rested a little, and then, discarding some rocks, she walked in the darkness to the sawmill five miles farther along the dirt road. On her way back to her little house and her babies, she dumped the remaining rocks along the path.

  That same night she worked into the early hours boiling chicken and frying ham. She made dough and filled the rolled-out pastry with meat. At last she went to sleep.

  The next morning she left her house carrying the meat pies, lard, an iron brazier and coals for a fire. Just before lunch she appeared in an empty lot behind the cotton gin. As the noon dinner bell rang, she dropped the savories into boiling fat, and the aroma rose and floated over to the workers who spilled out of the gin, covered with white lint, looking like specters.

  Most workers had brought their lunches of pinto beans and biscuits or crackers, onions and cans of sardines, but they were tempted by the hot meat pies that Annie ladled out of the fat. She wrapped them in newspapers, which soaked up the grease, and offered them for sale at a nickel each. Although business was slow, those first days Annie

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  was determined. She balanced her appearances between the two hours of activity.

  So, on Monday if she offered hot fresh pies at the cotton gin and sold the remaining cooled-down pies at the lumber mill for three cents, then on Tuesday she went first to the lumber mill presenting fresh, just-cooked pies as the lumbermen covered in sawdust emerged from the mill.

  For the next few years, on balmy spring days, blistering summer noons, and cold, wet, and wintry middays, Annie never disappointed her customers, who could count on seeing the tall, brown-skinned woman bent over her brazier, carefully turning the meat pies. When she felt certain that the workers had become dependent on her, she built a stall between the two hives of industry and let the men run to her for their lunchtime provisions.

  She had indeed stepped from the road which seemed to have been chosen for her and cut herself a brand-new path. In years that stall became a store where customers could buy cheese, meal, syrup, cookies, candy, writing tablets, pickles, canned goods, fresh fruit, soft drinks, coal, oil and leather soles for worn-out shoes.

  Each of us has the right and the responsibility to assess the roads which lie ahead, and those over which we have traveled, and if the future road looms ominous or unpromising, and the roads back uninviting, then we need to gather our resolve and, carrying only the necessary baggage, step off that road into another direction. If the new choice is also unpalatable, without embarrassment, we must be ready to change that as well.

  Maya Angelou

  Submitted by Katy McNamara

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  Dare to Imagine

  The doctors told me I would never walk again, but my mother told me I would, so I believed my mother.

  Wilma Rudolph,

  "The fastest woman on Earth," three-time gold medalist, 1960 Olympics

  When people find out that I competed in the Olympics, they assume I've always been an accomplished athlete. But it isn't true. I was not the strongest, or the fastest, and I didn't learn the quickest. For me, becoming an Olympian was not developing a gift of natural athletic ability, but was, literally, an act of will.

  At the 1972 Olympics in Munich, I was a member of the U.S. pentathlon team, but the tragedy of the Israeli athletes and an injury to my ankle combined to make the experience a deeply discouraging one. I didn't quit; instead I kept training, eventually qualifying to go with the U.S. team to Montreal for the 1976 Games. The experience was much more joyous, and I was thrilled to place thirteenth. But still, I felt I could do better.

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  I arranged to take a leave of absence from my college coaching job the year before the 1980 Olympics. I figured that twelve months of "twenty-four-hour-a-day training" would give me the edge I needed to bring home a medal this time. In the summer of 1979, I started intensively training for the Olympic trials to be held in June of 1980. I felt the exhilaration that comes with single-minded focus and steady progress towards a cherished goal.

  But then in November, what appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle occurred. I was in a car accident and injured my lower back. The doctors weren't sure exactly what was wrong, but I had to stop training because I couldn't move without experiencing excruciating pain. It seemed all too obvious that I would have to give up my dream of going to the Olympics if I couldn't keep training. Everyone felt so sorry for me. Everyone but me.

  It was strange, but I never believed this setback would stop me. I trusted that the doctors and physical therapists would get it handled soon, and I would get back to training. I held on to the affirmation: I'm getting better every day and I will place in the top three at the Olympic trials. It went through my head constantly.

  But my progress was slow, and the doctors couldn't agree on a course of treatment. Time was passing, and I was still in pain, unable to move. With only a few months remaining, I had to do something or I knew I would never make it. So I started training the only way I couldin my head.

  A pentathlon consists of five track and field events: the 100-meter hurdle, the shot put, the high jump, the long jump and the 200-meter sprint. I obtained films of the world-record holders in all five of my events. Sitting in a kitchen chair, I watched the films projected on my kitchen wall over and over. Sometimes, I watched them in slow motion or frame by frame. When I got bored, I watched

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  them backwards, just for fun. I watched for hundreds of hours, studying and absorbing. Other times, I lay on the couch and visualized the experience of competing in minute detail. I know some people thought I was crazy, but I wasn't ready to give up yet. I trained as hard as I couldwithout ever moving a muscle.

  Finally, the doctors diagnosed my problem as a bulging disc. Now I knew why I was in agony when I moved, but I still couldn't train. Later, when I could walk a little, I went to the track and had them set up all five of my events. Even though I couldn't practice, I would stand on the track and envision in my mind the complete physical training routine I would have gone through that day if I had been able. For months, I repeatedly imagined myself competing an
d qualifying at the trials.

  But was visualizing enough? Was it truly possible that I could place in the top three at the Olympic trials? I believed it with all my heart.

  By the time the trials actually rolled around, I had healed just enough to compete. Being very careful to keep my muscles and tendons warm, I moved through my five events as if in a dream. Afterwards, as I walked across the field, I heard a voice on the loudspeaker announcing my name.

  It took my breath away, even though I had imagined it a thousand times in my mind. I felt a wave of pure joy wash over me as the announcer said, "Second place, 1980 Olympic Pentathlon: Marilyn King."

  Marilyn King

  As told to Carol Kline

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  The Little Girl Who Dared to Wish

  As Amy Hagadorn rounded the corner across the hall from her classroom, she collided with a tall boy from the fifth grade running in the opposite direction. "Watch it, Squirt," the boy yelled, as he dodged around the little third-grader. Then, with a smirk on his face, the boy took hold of his right leg and mimicked the way Amy limped when she walked. Amy closed her eyes for a moment. Ignore him, she told herself as she headed for her classroom. But at the end of the day Amy was still thinking about the tall boy's teasing. And he wasn't the only one. Ever since Amy started the third grade, someone teased her every single day, about her speech or her limping. Sometimes, even in a classroom full of other students, the teasing made her feel all alone.

  At the dinner table that evening, Amy was quiet. Knowing that things were not going well at school, Patti Hagadorn was happy to have some exciting news to share with her daughter. "There's a Christmas wish contest at the local radio station," she announced. "Write a letter to Santa and you might win a prize. I think someone with blond curly hair at this table should enter." Amy giggled and out came pencil and paper. "Dear Santa

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  Claus," she began. While Amy worked away at her best printing, the rest of the family tried to figure out what she might ask from Santa. Amy's sister, Jamie, and Amy's mom both thought a three-foot Barbie doll would top Amy's wish list. Amy's dad guessed a picture book. But Amy wouldn't reveal her secret Christmas wish.

  At the radio station WJLT in Fort Wayne, Indiana, letters poured in for the Christmas Wish contest. The workers had fun reading about all the different presents the boys and girls from across the city wanted for Christmas. When Amy's letter arrived at the radio station, manager Lee Tobin read it carefully.

  Dear Santa Claus,

  My name is Amy. I am nine years old. I have a problem at school. Can you help me, Santa? Kids laugh at me because of the way I walk and run and talk. I have cerebral palsy. I just want one day where no one laughs at me or makes fun of me.

  Love, Amy

  Lee's heart ached as he read the letter: He knew cerebral palsy was a muscle disorder that might confuse Amy's schoolmates. He thought it would be good for the people of Fort Wayne to hear about this special little girl and her unusual wish. Mr. Tobin called up the local newspaper.

  The next day, a picture of Amy and her letter to Santa made the front page of The News Sentinel. The story spread quickly. Across the country, newspapers and radio and television stations reported the story of the little girl in Fort Wayne, Indiana, who asked for such a simple, yet remarkable Christmas giftjust one day without teasing.

  Suddenly, the postman was a regular at the Hagadorn house. Envelopes of all sizes addressed to Amy arrived

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  daily from children and adults all across the nation, filled with holiday greetings and words of encouragement. During that busy Christmas season, over two thousand people from all over the world sent Amy letters of friendship and support. Some of the writers had disabilities; some had been teased as children, but each writer had a special message for Amy. Through the cards and letters from strangers, Amy glimpsed a world full of people who truly cared about each other. She realized that no form or amount of teasing could ever make her feel lonely again.

  Many people thanked Amy for being brave enough to speak up. Others encouraged her to ignore teasing and to carry her head high. Lynn, a sixth-grader from Texas, sent this message:

  I'd like to be your friend, and if you want to visit me, we could have fun. No one will make fun of us, because if they do, we will not even hear them.

  Amy did get her wish of a special day without teasing at South Wayne Elementary School. Additionally, everyone at school got an added bonus. Teachers and students talked together about how teasing can make others feel. That year, the Fort Wayne mayor officially proclaimed December 21 as Amy Jo Hagadorn Day throughout the city. The mayor explained that by daring to make such a simple wish, Amy taught a universal lesson. ''Everyone," said the mayor, "wants and deserves to be treated with respect, dignity and warmth."

  Alan D. Shultz

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  Perseverance

  When all the world is looming dark

  And things seem not so clear,

  When shadows seem to hover 'round

  Lord, may I persevere.

  When it seems everything's been tried

  And there's no way to go,

  Just let me keep remembering

  Sometimes the journey's slow.

  I may just need to stop and rest

  Along the path I trod,

  A time to try to understand

  And have my talk with God.

  As I gain new strength to carry on

  Without a doubt or fear,

  Somehow I know things will be right,

  And so, I persevere.

  Anne Stortz

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  Never Give Up

  Opportunity . . . often it comes disguised in the form of misfortune or temporary defeat.

  Napoleon Hill

  "You have the MRI of someone in a wheelchair, Jason," said the doctor, in a voice his profession reserves for severe illness. "Eventually, you may lose your eyesight, coordination, even your bladder control."

  The words hit my wife and I squarely. I was twenty-seven and had multiple sclerosis. I wanted to come to grips with this news, but right now all I could think of was ending this office visit. This doctor offered no hopeand he was scaring my wife and me in the process. I stole a glance at Tracy, who began to cry softly. I reached over to comfort her, my soul mate. We mumbled hurried goodbyes and left.

  I was in the construction business along with my dad, who owned the company. We raised buildings from the ground up and it was hard, demanding labor filled with long hours. But I loved it. I had walked the slender steel beams since the tender age of fourteen and probably felt

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  more at home on a construction site than anywhere else. My dad taught me the ropes.

  I couldn't bear the thought of letting him down now.

  After I dropped Tracy off at home, I mentioned that I had to stop by the office for something. But actually, I wanted to pay a visit to a place that I had known for a very long time.

  I sat in the church pew, feeling childhood memories wash over me. My eyes were squeezed shut as I anxiously prayed. "Dear Lord," I said. "I'm not afraid for myself, but I am afraid that I will let my wife and family downthey count on me for so much. Please, please help me beat this," I whispered.

  I got up, left the church and hoped that my prayers would be answered. If ever there was a time to keep my faith up, it was now.

  A few weeks later, the local paper featured an article in the sports section on a man named Pat. It was like a little miracle had come my way. Pat was a coach at the state college, and had conquered MS with the help of a strict diet.

  At last I had found an ally, someone with the same symptoms, and likely the same doubts and fears. Pat and I met and talked for hours about food supplements, vitamins and working out. But these eight words echoed in my brain: "You can do it, Jason. Never give up."

  I started a special diet and workout regime designed for MS patients, and stuck faithfully to it.

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