touchy stories

Nakedi wrote:

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door. Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it slowly, and then asked,
"How much do I owe you?" "You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness." He said, "Then I thank you from my heart." As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit. Years later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the
big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease. Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation.
When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case. After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business
office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and
something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She began to read the following words: "Paid
in full with one glass of milk"
Signed,
Dr. Howard Kelly

Notwithstanding the good intentions stories like this make me sick.

Ntate a shapa ngoana a mots'etse ka mokotleng ho fihlela a shoa.Ntate u re ngoana o ne a lahlile pene skoln joale o ne a mokhalema

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.

At the end of the long walks from the stream to the
house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the
woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its
accomplishments, but the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable
that it could only do half of what it had been made
to do..

After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.' The old woman smiled,'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about
your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.'

Undress Me wrote:

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck.
One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.
At the end of the long walks from the stream to the
house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the
woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.
Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its
accomplishments, but the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable
that it could only do half of what it had been made
to do..
After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.' The old woman smiled,'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about
your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.'

Maybe that's why they say the fastest runner does not always win the race.

hw cud u tel such a touchy story?am in tears dear...

Mouse Bone Tuwe wrote:

<quoted text>Maybe that's why they say the fastest runner does not always win the race.

of course, hape it means each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.... You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them

Kizo wrote:

One particular day, Sally walked into the seminary and knew they were in for a fun day. On the wall was a big target and on a nearby table were many darts. Dr. Smith told the students to draw a picture of someone that they disliked or someone who had made them angry, and he would allow them to throw darts at the person's picture.
Sally's girlfriend drew a picture of a girl who had stolen her boyfriend. Another friend drew a picture of his little brother. Sally drew a picture of a former friend, putting a great deal of detail into her drawing, even drawing pimples on the face. Sally was pleased at the overall effect she had achieved.
The class lined up and began throwing darts, with much laughter and hilarity. Some of the students threw their darts with such force that their targets were ripping apart.
Sally looked forward to her turn, and was filled with disappointment when Dr. Smith, because of time limits, asked the students to return to their seats. As Sally sat thinking about how angry she was because she didn't have a chance to throw any darts at her target.
Dr. Smith began removing the target from the wall. Underneath the target was a picture of Jesus ...
A complete hush fell over the room as each student viewed the mangled picture of Jesus; holes and jagged marks covered His face and His eyes were pierced. Dr. Smith said only these words ... "In as much as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me." Matthew 25:40 No other words were necessary; the tear-filled eyes of each student focused only on the picture of Christ.

I seem 2 differ here. People who hurt others r angels of the devil though they hide it so well that fact. Friends of Christ r those who practice love and good deeds.

Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -- my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life. When mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor. "What now,
Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before meas an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving, no
one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother,preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was
with the Lord. My work was finished and I was alone. I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'?" "Oh" "Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary,' I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters." "That isn't who this is, I replied.." "Isn't this the Lutheran
church?" "No, the Lutheran church is
across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir." The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the
man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face,
hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me.He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we darted out a
door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."

Kizo wrote:

Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -- my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life. When mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor. "What now,
Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before meas an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving, no
one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother,preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was
with the Lord. My work was finished and I was alone. I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'?" "Oh" "Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary,' I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters." "That isn't who this is, I replied.." "Isn't this the Lutheran
church?" "No, the Lutheran church is
across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir." The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the
man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face,
hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me.He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we darted out a
door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."

wow! what a story . May the good Lord bless u with more years of happiness in ur marriage.

Mouse Bone Tuwe wrote:

<quoted text>The story is touchy. I don't understand a single word out of it

????

Felo wrote:

<quoted text>
wow! what a story . May the good Lord bless u with more years of happiness in ur marriage.

Amen.

Kizo wrote:

<quoted text>Amen.

amen!

Louise Redden, a poorly dressed lady with a look of defeat on her face, walked into a grocery store. She approached the owner of the store in a most humble manner and asked if he would let her charge a few groceries. She softly explained that her husband was very ill and unable to work. They had seven children and they needed food. John Longhouse, the grocer, scoffed at her and requested that she leave his
store. Visualizing the family needs, she said: "Please, sir! I will bring you the money just as soon as I can." John told her he could not give her credit, as she did not have a charge account at his
store. Standing beside the counter was a customer who overheard the conversation between the two. The customer walked forward and told the grocer that he would stand good for whatever she needed for her family. The grocer said in a very reluctant voice, "Do you have a grocery list?" Louise replied, "Yes sir." "Okay" he said, "put your grocery list on the scales and whatever your grocery list weighs, I will
give you that amount in groceries." Louise hesitated a moment with a
bowed head. Then she reached into her purse and took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. She then laid the piece of paper on the scale carefully with her head still bowed. The eyes of the grocer and the customer showed amazement when the scale went down and stayed down. The grocer, staring at the scales, turned slowly to the customer and said begrudgingly, "I can't believe it." The customer smiled and the grocer started putting the groceries on the other side of the scales. The scale did not balance so he continued to put more and more groceries on them until the scales would hold no more. The grocer stood there in utter disgust. Finally, he grabbed the piece of paper from the scales and looked at it with greater amazement. It was not a grocery
list. It was instead a prayer which said:
"Dear Lord, you know my needs and I am leaving this in your hands." The grocer gave her the groceries that he had gathered and stood in stunned silence. Louise thanked him and left the store. The customer handed a fifty-dollar bill to the grocer and said, "It was worth every penny of it." It was sometime later that the grocer discovered the scales were broken;
therefore, only God knows how much a prayer weighs.

Kizo wrote:

<quoted text>????

Uena u utloa joang Kizo. Help me, do u understand any of it?(The story i mean)

As I sat there in English class, I stared at the girl next to me. She was my so-called ‘best-friend’. I stared at her long, silky hair, and wished she was mine. But she didn’t notice me like that. And I knew it. After class, she walked up to me and asked me for the notes she had missed the day before. I handed them to her. She said,‘thanks’ and gave me a kiss on the cheek.“I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends, I loved her but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.”
11th grade, the phone rang. On the other end, it was her. She was in tears, mumbling on and on about how her love had broke her heart. She asked me to come over because she didn’t want to be alone. So I did. As I sat next to her on the sofa, I stared at her soft eyes, wishing she was mine. After two hours, one Drew Barrymore movie, a three bags of chips, she decided to go to sleep. She looked at me, said ‘thanks’ and gave me a kiss on the cheek.“I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends, I loved her but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.”
Senior year, the day before prom, she walked to my locker.“My date is sick” she said,“he’s not gonna o”. Well, I didn’t have a date, and in 7th grade, we made a promised that if neither of us had dates, we would go together - just as ‘best friends’. So we did. Prom night, after everything was over, I was standing at her front door step. I stared at her as she smiled at me and stared at me with her crystal eyes. I want her to be mine, but she doesn’t think of me like that, and I know it. Then she said –“I had a best time, thanks!” and gave me a kiss on the cheek.“I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends, I loved her but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.”
A day passed, the week, then a month. Before I could blink, it was graduation day. I watched as her perfect body floated like an angel on the stage to get her diploma. I wanted her to be mine – but she didn’t notice me like that, I knew it. Before everyone went home, she came to me in her smock and hat, and oried as I hug her. Then she lifted her head from my shoulder and said –‘you’re my best friend, thanks’ and gave me a kiss on the cheek.“I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends, I loved her but I’m just to shy, and I don’t know why.”
Years passed, I looked down at the coffin of a girl who used to be my ‘best friends’. At the service, they read a diary entry she had wrote in her high school years. This is what it read:“………… I stare at him wishing he was mine; but he doesn’t notice me like that, and I know it.“I want to tell him, I want him to know that I don’t want to be just friends, I loved him but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.” I wish he would tell me that he loved me……..”“I wish I did too…..” I thought to my self, and cried.

Kizo wrote:

Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -- my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life. When mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor. "What now,
Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before meas an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving, no
one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother,preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was
with the Lord. My work was finished and I was alone. I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret'?" "Oh" "Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary,' I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway? "No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters." "That isn't who this is, I replied.." "Isn't this the Lutheran
church?" "No, the Lutheran church is
across the street." "Oh." "I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir." The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the
man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face,
hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me.He was laughing, too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined mother laughing. At the final "Amen," we darted out a
door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee. That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time. In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."

Jeeeez what a nice but sad story it is, May aunt Margaret and aunt Mary's blessings fall on u. God be with u always

There was a 40 yr old lady who couldn't have a kid since she was married at age 24. She tried everything she could but the doctors told her that she was barren. Her husband left her after 16 years of trying. She became so stressed up and spent most of her free time in meditation classes, religious circles and around pets and children homes. At age 43, she found a local 50 yr old man whom she fell in love with as the main was well known to having lost all her family in a tragic road accident 10 years ago and was always lonely and single.Fortunately against all odds the woman became pregnant and she became the happiest lady in the world. She inspired a lot of women all over the village and her ex husband bought them a beach house for appreciation. They got a cute baby girl and named her Patience. The baby was the world to her and she even gave her a nice dog at age 3 which the small girl loved so much.One day the mother went to the grocery shop and left the baby girl with the dog in the sitting room. On returning from the shop, she found the Dog with blood all over his face and pieces of the Patience's clothes on its claws. The woman couldn't bear it..she immediately took a hoe that was loosely and started beating the dog mercilessly until the Dog died.

She then stopped crying and followed the blood stains on the floor to the bedroom where she found Patience smiling naked on the chair and a dead python snake on the floor. The Dog had killed the snake and thus rescued the baby from the snake.

Moral of the story:DON'T ALWAYS BE FAST TO JUDGE A BOOK BY THE LOOK OF ITS COVER NO WONDER THE SITUATION. God tests us in different ways and we should not fall short of His mercy and forgiveness.

Nakedi wrote:

Do you have any?

I have plenty, but i've made peace with all my hurtful moment and now I can laugh about those.
Here is a little scenario: My father used to accuse me of smoking actually of using drugs (Dagga, Glue, Benzine, Petrol, etc) and he would beat me like hell, so I grew up aiming to disappoint him by never smoking even a Cigaret unaware thats what he actually wanted to see. I used to hate him, but now I laugh everytime when that cross my mind.

Wow! Really touchy stories. I was crying after each story. More please...

“When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I’ve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.
Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce. I raised the topic calmly. She didn’t seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why?
I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Jane. I didn’t love her anymore. I just pitied her!
With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company. She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Jane so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.
The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn’t have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Jane. When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.
In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce. She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month’s time and she didn’t want to disrupt him with our broken marriage.
This was agreeable to me. But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day. She requested that every day for the month’s duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door ever morning. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.
I told Jane about my wife’s divorce conditions.. She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully.
My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mommy in his arms. His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don’t tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.
On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman carefully for a long time. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.
On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me. On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn’t tell Jane about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger. She was choosing what to wear one morning.