Darling Little Angel: An Anthology Of Short Stories

by Hannah Parks

  Darling Little Angel

  An Anthology of Short Stories

  by Hannah Parks

  Cover Design by Nathan E. Parks

  Editing & Layout by Sheila R. Muñoz, Ed.D.

  © Copyright 2012 by Hannah Parks

  Unless otherwise indicated, Bible quotations are taken from the New King James Version of the Bible, © Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Cover Design © Copyright 2012 by Nathan Parks

  This book is dedicated to the best siblings ever:

  Nathan, Sarah, and Abby!

  I am so proud to be your sister and your friend. I love each of you dearly.

  Table of Contents

  Darling Little Angel

  Dare to Inspire

  Brain Dead and Loving It

  Today’s Opportunities

  Death by Addiction?

  Nature’s Mystery

  Encounter in the Night

  A Time To Love

  The Day Our Teacher Fell Off Her Rocker

  Familiarity

  Cold Heart Tonic

  The Freedom of the American People

  Mysterious Ways

  A Perfect Reflection

  The Letter that May Have Been Written by Emily Dickinson

  Once Upon a Memory

  A Father to His Daughter

  Put the Hammer Down

  Reconciled

  Lessons in the Night

  The Shepherd’s Daughter

  Hospice

  The Journey Ends Here

  Darling Little Angel

  Jackie sat in her antique rocking chair. She rarely engaged in any activity, but simply sat with hunched shoulders and an angry scowl. Her large glasses often attempted to slide off her small nose and would have succeeded if it were not for her occasional upward glance. That glance only occurred, however, when her curiosity got the best of her. It was during one of these curious moments that a cheery voice caught her attention.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am. May I look at your flowers? They are so pretty!” asked a pretty little girl of nine.

  Jackie’s scowl deepened as she replied, “Do whatever you like, Child, only do not ramble on in my presence!”

  Mikal shyly smiled, not the least bit intimidated, and plopped down to better enjoy the delightful spring day. Mikal was a pleasant child. Her sun-kissed hair was usually tied back in colorful bows that matched her dresses. She often wore a smile on her round face, which added color to her chubby cheeks and caused her emerald green eyes to glisten. Mikal was the happiest when those around her were happy.

  What Jackie failed to realize on that beautiful spring day was the thinness of Mikal’s limbs and the weariness that fought for dominance in her large eyes. Jackie did not notice for the same reason that she noticed very little that was of significance, for Jackie was caught up in her own world of self-pity.

  When Jackie was seven years old, she had contracted polio, which left her with insubordinate legs. Walking had become increasingly difficult for her as she aged. As a result, compassion did not become her. Rather, her heart was more like a dried, shriveled prune.

  Mikal came quite faithfully to visit Jackie at her home; and as time passed, Jackie became more responsive and engaged in meaningful conversation with her. “Jackie, did you learn about Jesus when you were little?” questioned Mikal.

  Jackie’s eyes revealed her surprise as she replied, “Yes, Child, but Jesus would not care for a grouchy, old woman.”

  Tears pooled in Mikal’s eyes as her tender heart burst with compassion. “Oh, but He does! Jesus loves everybody. I learned in Sunday school that He died on the cross for all of us. I asked Him to come into my heart, Jackie, and He washed me all clean. Did you ever ask Him to wash you clean?”

  With that question, the Holy Spirit deeply pierced Jackie’s heart. Defending herself, she coldly replied, “Run along, Child! I see no reason to entertain such fancies.” She then rose and walked painfully into the house.

  Mikal stood for a moment, stunned. With tears now running freely down her cheeks, she silently prayed, “Dear Jesus, please help Jackie to get washed clean. I don’t think she knows that You love her, and I want her to know. Amen.” Just as children so wonderfully do, she placed her burden in the Father’s hands and trustingly left it there.

  Weeks passed as Jackie contemplated the simple question asked her. She longed to see her “sunshine” again, but she feared that Mikal’s young heart was broken by her selfish spirit and harsh words. Had she asked Jesus to “wash her clean”? Would Jesus really lovingly accept a hardened, selfish, old woman? These questions plagued her as she daily longed for Mikal’s presence.

  Mikal prayed daily for Jackie as she lay in her cozy bedroom. Her defective heart was beginning to slow down and cause multiple problems. Mikal could no longer run and play; therefore, she stayed mostly in bed. The everyday tasks of eating and dressing became difficult as her young body grew weaker and weaker; yet, her joy continued as she brought sunshine to the lives of those around her. This became her pattern for many days until her Heavenly Father gently lifted her in His loving arms and carried her Home.

  Jackie sat stunned as she read the obituary telling of Mikal’s death. For the first time in many years, Jackie cried. Her heart ached for the simplistic chatter and careful attention lavished upon her. She had selfishly taken it all and had never given anything in return. She now saw her selfish state. Jackie realized that her “sunshine” had been sent to portray Christ to a selfish, grouchy, old woman. She resolved to go visit Mikal’s “resting spot.”

  Tears again coursed down her cheeks as Jackie read Mikal’s name on a small tombstone. Mikal’s words echoed in her ears, “Did you ever ask Him to wash you clean?”

  In sweet surrender, Jackie slowly knelt beside Mikal’s grave and prayed, “Jesus, Mikal said that You love everybody. Wash me clean like You did for her. I’m not sweet like she was, but I want to be. Take me to see my ‘sunshine’ again someday. Amen.”

  The sun bathed Jackie in warmth as she turned and walked away. She had met a sweet girl who had changed her life. God had sent her a darling, little “angel.”

  Dare To Inspire

  Quotes about teachers and the differences that they make in lives can easily be found in books, on plaques, and on inspirational calendars. Have you ever stopped and wondered why? At times, I wondered why until the day that I walked into tenth grade English and met Ms. Neal. It was months later before I realized that I had an impression made upon my life that was lasting.

  Ms. Neal was a teacher who took her job seriously. She understood that she had the privilege of making a lasting difference in the life of each student in her classroom. How did she make a difference? Well, she took an interest in each student as a person and inspired them. For instance, I knew by the time that I was a sophomore in high school that I enjoyed writing, but I had very little self-esteem. I would sit and write stories or poems for hours, but I would never show them to anyone.

  One day, I accidentally dropped a poem on my way out of the classroom. When I came in to class the next day, the poem was on my desk with a little note that read, “Your writing is delightful. You have wonderful talent.” Needless to say, that note was from Ms. Neal. Those few words were all the encouragement I needed. In that year alone, I wrote two hundred poems.

  Ms. Neal understood the saying. “. . . a word spoken in due season, how good it is!” (Proverbs 15:23). She taught me that it is not just teachers who can make a difference in someone’s life. A few positive words can encourage a teenager to write the next best seller or a middle-aged man to keep pursuing his dreams.

>   Whose life can you touch today? The world needs more “Ms. Neals.”

  Brain Dead and Loving It

  The alarm clock rang loudly as I sat bolt upright in bed. After my heart slowed to a normal rate again, I gazed sleepily at the clock which read 5:30 a.m. I could not believe that it was already time to begin another day! The previous weeks had been full of classes and studying. I had studied until 1:30 a.m. the night before, so sleep had not drifted upon me for very long. I slowly stretched my weary muscles and began to study again.

  Several hours later, I was in my first period class, which was Chemistry. I simply could not understand why I stupidly chose such a difficult class for 8:00 a.m. The class seemed even harder that morning due to the fact that I had finished some of my homework rather than eating a nutritious breakfast. Other than just having an empty stomach, we were balancing net ionic equations. Well, at least everyone else was! I was failing miserably at the task. Such equations were difficult enough with a sufficient amount of sleep and a good breakfast.

  At last, Chemistry was over! I proceeded to my next class with elation until I recalled that my second class was Trigonometry. I had a test that day and made a decent grade considering the fact that I had slept or rested very little for the past several weeks. My grade was . . . well, I managed to get 27%. How would I pass this class?

  Life didn’t get any easier as the day progressed. My eyelids became heavier with the desire to sleep, and my brain finally gave out completely. I was nothing short of a brain-dead zombie through chapel, third period, and lunch.

  Actually, I didn’t take the time to eat lunch. I wanted to review my English exercises before my test during sixth period, and I would not have another opportunity. I surmised that skipping lunch would not really have negative effects. Anyway, I surprised myself concerning how well I stayed focused on my studying during the hour. My eyes were definitely focused well on the page before me!

  It was during fifth period that the inevitable result of too much studying occurred. I had truly tried to keep it from happening! I thought that I could get away with it, but the impending doom was descending quickly upon me. I vaguely remember my instructor reviewing the correct way to hold a tennis racket; then . . .

  z-z-z-z-z.

  Today’s Opportunities

  Blue-green water trickles quickly over pebbles and between large rocks as though seeking refuge before being seen. The sound, however, gives it away: the soft chuckle, the soothing tone.

  Many of us are like a stream or maybe a swift-moving channel, seeking a quick trip to the end of the day and passing by precious moments to impatiently get to tomorrow. And tomorrow comes . . . and goes just as quickly.

  Stop today to see the sunshine. Listen to laughter. Dry the tear and soothe the hurting soul. Give away a few smiles and share a hug.

  Tomorrow will come soon enough. Don’t pass up today, for today’s opportunities will be tomorrow’s history.

  Death by Addiction?

  I had done it again. In despair, I trudged around my cell trying to decide what to do next. Why had I given in to the temptation again? I felt so frustrated and fought within myself. “Hannah, you are such an idiot,” my mind screamed. My heart was heavy with guilt. “I couldn’t help it,” I reasoned. “I had to use Chapstick again. I just had to.” An addiction to Chapstick wasn’t easy to break; yes, I had once again succumbed to the temptation of using it.

  My problem started when I was 13 years old. I remember the chilly Christmas morning when I darted out of bed and down the wooden stairs. Saying a good morning to my parents and brother, I plopped down in my spot beside the brightly-lit Christmas tree. My favorite part of the Christmas gifts was always the stockings; and because my mother loved suspense, stockings were distributed last. This Christmas was no different. Chattering happily, I opened and admired each gift. I received a purple sweater, a leather-bound Bible, and my favorite kind of perfume.

  Finally, the moment I had anticipated came as I dumped out the contents of my misshapen stocking: gift certificates to McDonalds, red-and-green-wrapped Hershey kisses, and, of course, a small tube of strawberry Chapstick. Having never used Chapstick, I had not contemplated the necessity of it. As I tested it on my parched lips, I better understood why people used the stuff. “Neat tasting,” I declared. At that statement, my family roared with laughter.

  Chapstick became the norm in my Christmas stocking every year afterward. I received many flavors: Tangerine, Dr. Pepper, Grape, Pineapple, and my all-time favorite, Peanut Butter and Jelly! Yum! The taste of PB&J on the lips was absolutely scrumptious!

  It was a few years afterward that I came to realize that I was addicted to Chapstick. Chapstick had become my faithful companion. I kept my favorite Chapstick around my neck constantly. I had strawberry Chapstick beside my bed, tangerine Chapstick in the bathroom, grape Chapstick in my purse, and several extras lying around the house.

  Realizing that I could not live without the stuff, I approached my doctor about the subject. “Dr. Matthews, what should I do?” I cried. “I lost my Chapstick yesterday and almost wrecked my car as I searched for it in my glove compartment. I can’t stand the separation. I need my Chapstick!”

  Testing the extent of my addiction, Dr Matthews brought out a tube of Chapstick. He blindfolded me, took the lid off the Chapstick, and allowed me to inhale the wonderful aroma. I couldn’t handle it. “Give it to me NOW,” I screamed vehemently as the scent of peanut butter and jelly assailed me. Ripping off the blindfold, I began to chase the doctor around the room. Grabbing a tongue depressor, I waved it wildly in the air. Forgetting that such items were so fragile, my intent to use it to cause harm was destroyed as I gripped it too hard. The wood splintered and fell to the floor. In a split second, I grabbed the next item that I could find, the ear probe. I wickedly flashed the light as though the tiny beam could cause blindness. Yet, the probe had no effect on the doctor. I continued to scream as I sought to corner Dr. Matthews.

  “Calm down,” said the doctor. “We can cure your addiction. Perhaps we can transfer your enjoyment to a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich.”

  At that statement, I cringed. “I don’t want a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich!” I screamed. “I want my Chapstick, and I want it now.”

  My thoughts returned to the present as a metal door opened and I was ushered forward. “Hannah, your time has come,” said the burly guard. I advanced slowly down the hall and to the waiting chair. Terror gripped my heart as buckles were tightened and the head piece was properly positioned. Then I knew no more.

  Dr. Matthew’s obituary appeared in the paper the following day.

  Nature’s Mystery

  The wind was silent as a crescent moon cast an eerie glow on the night sky arrayed in a few fluffy clouds. The mood of nature was suspenseful and mysterious as a slight form moved about the trees in a frantic search. The soft breaking of twigs and the rustling of fallen leaves could be easily heard as the frantic search continued for what seemed like endless hours. Every few minutes, silence reigned as the diligent searcher paused in contemplation.

  “Could I have left it deeper within the woods?” she mused to herself. “If only I could find it. What will happen to my priceless treasure if I fail to come upon its whereabouts?”

  As minutes were lost in a whirlpool of hours, dawn began to show its sweet, peaceful face. The light shone through the trees leaving a touch of warmth in its path.

  Suddenly, there was a tremor in the green underbrush. A tiny squeak could be heard by an alert ear. The mother squirrel was filled with delight as her beloved treasure—her tiny baby—had been found! The suspense and gloom of the previous night gave way to complete and wonderful happiness. “. . . Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalms 30:5).

  Encounter in the Night

  As the wind increased, rain began to beat upon the earth. The black night reigned as towering clouds overcame the moon.

  All was fine until 1:30 a.m. As I sat alon
e in my living room, I heard rustling at the front door; the door knob began to turn! I cried out in horrified pain as the intruder tramped upon me with his muddy, wet shoes.

  I groaned and yelled almost loud enough for him to hear, “I’m a NEW rug, buddy! Watch those shoes, will ya?!”