Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reader's Choice 20th Anniversary Edition

by Jack Canfield

  ~Linda O’Connell

  The Room Decorated with Love

  In time of test, family is best.

  ~Burmese Proverb

  Jeannie Lancaster’s story called “Entering the Thankful Zone” in Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Positive took me back nearly five years to when my eighty-nine-year-old father entered the hospital for the last time.

  “Your father won’t last another two weeks,” the doctor said, the sympathy in his eyes at odds with the stark words.

  My sister Carla and I clung to each other. “What can we do for him?” I asked.

  “We can’t do anything more for him here,” the doctor said. “I suggest placing him in a care facility where he will be well looked after.”

  We reviewed the local care centers and chose one. Within a day, we knew we’d made a mistake. The staff, though professional, was overworked and didn’t have the time to give our father the attention he needed.

  “This isn’t working,” I whispered.

  Carla nodded. “Let’s take Dad home.”

  With the help of hospice, we brought Dad home the following day.

  Several grandchildren and great-grandchildren lived close by and visited him when he felt up to it. The great-grandchildren drew pictures and made cards. What these crayon and watercolor drawings lacked in artistic talent, they made up for with enthusiastic color and unbridled imagination.

  Just as Jeannie Lancaster decorated her husband’s hospital room with index cards of gratitude, we tacked these cards and pictures to the walls, set them on tables, surrounding Dad with love.

  I encouraged family members who lived in other states to send cards as well. More handmade cards and pictures went up until Dad’s room resembled a Hallmark store.

  Carla and I took turns staying with our father. I read the cards to him and we laughed over the exuberant and improbable drawings of two-headed horses and pink cows. “These are one-of-a-kind originals,” I said to Dad, who rewarded me with a smile.

  Dad didn’t last the expected two weeks. Within five days of our bringing him home, he passed away, there in the room we had decorated with love.

  Over the years, occasional doubts assailed me over our decision to bring Dad home, taking him away from the care of professional nurses and attendants. Had we done the right thing?

  Jeannie Lancaster’s story reassured me that we gave Dad what he needed most: family and love.

  ~Jane McBride Choate

  Entering the Thankful Zone

  If you want to turn your life around, try thankfulness. It will change your life mightily.

  ~Gerald Good

  One by one we wrote upon the 3x5 index cards and then taped them to the closet door across from my husband’s hospital bed. On the card at the top was written “God’s Love,” on another “Each New Morning.”

  It was Thanksgiving Day 2011, and my husband and I were celebrating the holiday alone in his hospital room. He had been admitted a couple of weeks earlier, after his AML (acute myeloid leukemia) had roared out of remission. Our adult children, who lived with us, were spending the day with friends in our town an hour to the north.

  Earlier that morning, as I prepared to leave home and head to the hospital, I found myself grumbling about the fact that we wouldn’t be together as a family; this would not be the kind of Thanksgiving we had hoped for. A specter of worry about my husband’s health hung over the day. But then, I had an idea!

  I raced about our home gathering supplies and printing things out on the computer. As I did so, I found my attitude changing and a sense of anticipation and gratitude replacing my darker thoughts.

  Later that morning, I walked into my husband’s room and pulled out a sign I had printed. I announced, “We are declaring this room the ‘Thankful Zone.’ ” I taped the sign to the outside of his door, where anyone coming into his room would see it. It read, “You are now entering the ‘Thankful Zone.’ Admittance is an Attitude of Gratitude.”

  I handed my husband a pen and some of the 3x5 cards I had brought with me, and we proceeded to reflect on the things that we were most grateful for. The list grew as the day passed.

  “Hope,” “Faith” and “Love” were placed at the top of our list. “Good friends” and “Dear family” also held places of honor.

  My husband, who could not leave the medical unit he was on, wrote that he was grateful for “Sunshine,” for “Moonless nights, when you can see the stars” and for “The smell in the air after rain.”

  He laughed, but wholeheartedly agreed when I added “anti-nausea drugs” and the name of the sedation drug that he was given before each of his many bone marrow biopsies.

  Something happened as we added each new item. We were able to step back from the horror of cancer and see that even in the midst of great adversity there can also be great blessings. Among the many blessings were “Laughter,” “Music” and through it all “Each other.”

  Our changed attitude affected everything around us. We even found ourselves thankful for the delicious hospital dinner of turkey and stuffing and the hands that had prepared it. We recognized the blessing of the amazing nurses and doctors who were caring for my husband.

  At the day’s end, the closet door was overflowing with written reminders of the many things we were thankful for. No, we had not been able to spend a traditional Thanksgiving with family and friends, but we had experienced a day overflowing with giving thanks. Simple things such as “Warm showers” and “Dancing with the one you love” can make life an unexpectedly sweet journey.

  ~Jeannie Lancaster

  The Living Room

  Kids spell love T-I-M-E.

  ~John Crudele

  When I read the poem called “The Play’s the Thing” in Chicken Soup for the Mother’s Soul, I realized my life was very similar to that of the author, Jayne Jaudon Ferrer. Every day was a routine for me. I cleaned, cooked, and spent time on chores that didn’t have to be done at that very moment.

  I had always been so paranoid that someone would come over and see shoes on the floor, books off their shelves and toys everywhere that I was cleaning at the expense of my son. He would throw a ball at me while I was washing dishes and I wouldn’t even react. While I was vacuuming, my son would hold up his bear and make those adorable baby talk noises. Did I put the vacuum down? No. I said, “Oh what a pretty bear,” and continued disinfecting my home.

  After I read the poem one night when William, my son, was asleep, I teared up and resolved to change. It wasn’t that easy. The next day, I forced myself not to pick up the two toys he brought into the living room, not to hover over him with a mop smelling of floor cleaner in case of spills, and not to insist that he eat his snack in our designated eating spot. Instead, I played trucks, danced with him in a circle in the living room, and made a mess baking brownies for him. It was a great day.

  So now, every day, we play bears or trucks, dance to Lady Gaga, and just have fun. At night, when he is asleep, I clean like nobody’s business. I have also discovered that just because there are a couple of shoes in the wrong place, or some toys are scattered in my living room, it doesn’t mean our house is dirty. It just means that we are actually living here.

  ~Brittany Perry

  The Play’s the Thing

  It is a happy talent to know how to play.

  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Forgive me, Lord,

  for all the tasks

  that went undone today.

  But this morning when my child

  toddled in and said, “Mommy play?”

  I simply had to say yes.

  And between the puzzles and trucks

  and blocks and dolls and old hats and

  books and giggles,

  we shared a thousand special thoughts,

  a hundred hopes and dreams and hugs.

  And tonight, when prayer time came

  and he folded his hands and softly whispered,

  “Thank you, God, for Mommy and Daddy and

/>   toys and French fries, but ’specially

  for Mommy playing,”

  I knew it was a day well wasted.

  And I knew You’d understand.

  ~Jayne Jaudon Ferrer

  Joining the Family Business

  You have to decide what your highest priorities are and have the courage — pleasantly, smilingly, nonapologetically — to say “no” to other things. And the way to do that is by having a bigger “yes” burning inside.

  ~Stephen Covey

  Fifteen years ago, the most important story of my life was being written . . . but I was oblivious. It was a story overflowing with love, bleeding with sacrifice, and brimming with hope. It was my mother’s story – “Résumé of the Heart” — written for me, about me, and in spite of me. “Look!” said Mom one day with a hint of humble excitement as I returned home from school. I was a preoccupied preteen at the time, more concerned with boys and the color of my backpack. “One of my stories was just published in Chicken Soup for the Mother & Daughter Soul!”

  I had to admit that I was pretty impressed. My mom was published in a real live book. I celebrated with her as any twelve-year-old with her head in the clouds would. I grinned at her name in print, showed off her copy of the book to friends, and quietly glowed with pride and excitement. But it has taken me fifteen years to understand the real moral of the story — that even as I read my dear mother’s words and failed to grasp their true significance, she was writing my own story, too.

  I’d read the words, but didn’t realize how my mom’s heart continued to ache as she flashed her encouraging smiles that propelled me forward. She watched me grow through high school, giving me nudges now and then, and stayed strong as I spread my wings to soar toward every mother’s worst nightmare — the military. And my mom kept sacrificing, standing steady as my rock, as I soared through four strenuous years at West Point, the successful start to my Army career, my wedding, and the birth of my first child.

  Mom was always there for me, no matter what I needed. When driving around hopelessly lost, I knew my mom would drop what she was doing to answer my phone call and help navigate from a distance. My dad joked that I’d never need OnStar; I had MomStar. She became Dial-a-Recipe when I wanted to master her special dishes, my greatest prayer buddy when I sent out pleas for prayer, and she had burned a path to the post office sending morning sickness remedies when I was pregnant.

  Yet it was only as I looked into my beautiful newborn daughter’s eyes four years ago that my mother’s story really hit home for the first time. I finally began to understand her words — or rather, live them. I was a woman in the workforce suddenly losing my heart to the most fragile miracle I had ever encountered.

  I’d come face to face with the disconnect between the world’s standard of a successful professional and my new role as a mother. My five-year military service contract guaranteed a comfortable salary and ample opportunity for advancement. I spent every day working among heroes. I answered to “Captain,” and my soldiers recognized me as a leader.

  My résumé was nothing short of impressive. But as I returned to work, I realized that more than anything I wanted to turn right back around and stay home with my daughter — witnessing her first words, watching her first steps, responding to her every need. I ached for those things that my mother had written about. Her words were becoming my own, and as our family grew, they burned their way into my heart. Despite my extensive education and diverse opportunities, I longed for the tiniest increments of time with my children, when I could lend a helping hand, open a storybook, or share in the discovery of a moment. I began counting the days until my service commitment would end so I could finally be a stay-at-home mom — it seemed the day couldn’t come soon enough.

  Thankfully, that day did come. I am blessed to spend each day with our three beautiful children. I answer to “Mommy” now. I am finally the one kissing boo-boos to make them better. I push aside my own dreams to encourage those of my children. But with my résumé buried at the bottom of the pile, my mother’s words ring truer than ever. When my daughter’s school registration form demands to know my profession, it’s difficult to ignore the inner twinge as I write “Homemaker” instead of “U.S. Army Officer.” I’m met with the humbling realization that the world doesn’t always understand the merits of my new job — one of the most important in the world.

  No, I’ll never be featured as Time magazine’s person of the year, nor will my résumé boast any great accomplishments beyond the career I so quickly left behind. But I do know that I have gained my own “Résumé of the Heart” — the one, I am learning, that will count most in the long run. As my mother so eloquently put it fifteen years ago as she wrote our story:

  “Mine is the kiss that melts away the pain of a scraped knee. Mine is the heart that swells while witnessing each new triumph. Mine is the smile that bravely encourages independence, while silently wrestling with the ache of letting go. After all, there’s nothing heroic about hugs — unless you’re on the receiving end.”

  ~Megan C. Hjelmstad

  Résumé of the Heart

  Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the payment is pure love.

  ~Mildred B. Vermont

  My daughter waited while I stitched the final threads, anchoring a button to the shirt she was about to put on. As her nimble fingers tucked the last button through its hole, I reached up and untangled the golden strands of her pony-tail. I wrapped my arms around her in a hug. Then she disappeared through the doorway and onto the waiting school bus.

  I knew in that moment that my accomplishments of the past years would never be listed in the Who’s Who of life. I loved being a mother. Still, I often witnessed the puzzled faces as unknowing souls asked, “What do you do all day?” Most people could not understand my choices; after all, there’s nothing heroic about hugs — unless you’re on the receiving end.

  Despite an extensive education and diverse opportunities, my résumé couldn’t tout prestigious positions or high salaries. Instead, it was marked by the tiniest increments of time when I’d lent a helping hand, opened a storybook or shared in the discovery of a moment. I’d spent endless hours taxiing between practices, applauding little accomplishments and discerning temporary hurts from great big wounds of the heart.

  Mine was the kiss that melted the pain of a scraped knee. Mine was the heart that swelled while witnessing each new triumph. Mine was the smile that bravely encouraged independence, while silently wrestling with the ache of letting go.

  There is no place on a résumé for the wisdom of life experiences, compassion or nurturing relationships. The logic of my choices over the years would be appreciated by only a few, and never in the Who’s Who of life.

  But as my front door opened again later that afternoon and growing arms embraced me, I knew I had been blessed with a résumé of the heart. The real Who in life had already given me just enough prestige and salary to be the Who I was meant to be.

  ~Kathleen Swartz McQuaig

  Attitude Adjustments

  If you don’t like something change it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.

  ~Mary Engelbreit

  I Am Me and I Am Okay

  Respect yourself and others will respect you.

  ~Confucius

  In 1988, at the age of thirty-four, I divorced a man who had been lying and cheating on me for years. And as the old story goes, I was the last to know. I’ll never forget his hurtful remark, as I threw his sorry butt out the door, “You are what I am.” At the time I knew it wasn’t true, but his words planted a seed of doubt in my very fragile self-esteem that festered and changed me into someone I didn’t want to be.

  Thank goodness two wonderful children had come out of my sixteen-year marriage, because for a very long time after the divorce they were the only light I could see from the dark emotional abyss I’d slipped into. My self-esteem had taken a nasty hit, and I encased myself in a
bitter shell I vowed no man would ever break through again. My self-preservation instinct had kicked in big time.

  It was a struggle raising children alone, and my ex-husband turned out to be a deadbeat father the children never saw again. During those first five years after the divorce I prayed more than ever before. I prayed for the courage to face my life and be a good mother to my children. Life was hard and there were times we didn’t have much, but we had each other and our little family circle was secure. I also prayed for the wisdom to put the bitterness in the past and leave it there.

  One day in 1993 I was in the local department store, waiting in line for the cashier, and there on the shelf beside the checkout was a book titled Chicken Soup for the Soul. I picked it up and randomly opened the pages to a story called “My Declaration of Self-Esteem.” There were six or seven people ahead of me in the line and of course the one at the cashier needed a price check. So I figured I had time to read the short two-page story. And it changed my life!

  The book was a luxury I really couldn’t afford on my meager salary, but I knew I had to have it. That little story made me square my shoulders and look everyone in the eye on the way home.

  That night, after the children were settled in their beds, I crawled into mine and picked up my new book. I must have read “My Declaration of Self-Esteem” a dozen times or more! I read each line carefully, absorbing the wisdom in every word, and understanding how unique I was and that I was the only one who could control my destiny. The last line — “I am me and I am okay “ — was something that would reverberate in my head for years to come.