Okay! I am a day late posting my message for Inspirational Friday’s but here it is! I found this story and it was untitled so I gave it a title today. I felt it was like a beautiful baby wanting to be affirmed by words of acceptance. It packs a powerful message about being blessed regardless of bad attitudes.
This is from an old story, back in the ’30s, in the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less. A 10 year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.
“How much is an ice cream sundae?” the little boy asked.
“Fifty cents,” replied the waitress.
The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins he had. “Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?” he inquired.
By now, more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing very impatient. “Thirty-five cents,” she brusquely replied.
The little boy again counted his coins. “I’ll have the plain ice cream,” he said.
The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry. As she wiped down the table, there placed neatly beside the empty dish were two nickels and five pennies. You see, he couldn’t have the sundae because he had to have enough money to leave her a tip.
A few years after my mother died, I remembered more vividly the times in childhood when she had made gloomy days seem cheerful. When something special to do inside, such as new paper dolls or a coloring book. Later, when I was in school, I always knew that on a rainy day I would come home to the smell of cookies baking in the oven . . .
I remembered, too, that in my childhood my mother had always balanced grief with comfort, pain with joy . . . To compensate for my childhood illnesses, for example, she used to read me stories which made the afternoon fly, or she would show me how to knit doll clothes out of the scraps of yarn which she had saved in a worn, brocade knitting bag . . .
Whatever the specific method used, my mother had learned, long before I knew her, how to balance pain with pleasure.
Lord somewhere in the world there are people in mental anguish over life’s trials and tribulations. Often such pain is psychologically unbearable. During these moments sometimes people don’t have the ability to hold their heads high with the assurance of knowing God’s powers to set things right. Because of their inability to see your spiritual support most times every breath taken produce questions of their existence. Lord to be honest it is during these times when emotional pain makes a person feel every so often they do not have much use for others. And everything accomplished is tarnished with the shadow of sorrow; as it seems to their misfortune they were not given loved ones to uplift them during moments of afflictions. Hum . . . Lord, it is within our moments of tribulations that we see the hand prints of God on our lives. Therefore, I’m asking for your Holy presence among those who have yet to learn how to balance pain with pleasure. Lord I’m asking that you teach them that sorrow only last for a moment. Lord, I’m also praying they learn how to allow thoughts of joy to diminish their temporary gloomy day(s). So, again, Lord, I’m asking that you turn on your spiritual lights for these people that they might see how to truly balance pain with pleasure; and in turn they will enjoy living once again. Amen.
You need to claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take same time, you are fierce with reality. –Florida Pier Scott-Maxwell
It takes a long time to understand the difference between letting go and moving on, especially if you try to bypass the transitions following life-altering change. Most women believe we can avoid transitions by becoming very busy. “Waiting, done at really high speeds, will frequently look like something else,” observes Carrie Fisher hopefully. Its’ called multitasking. How often do we use the congestion and sheer occupation of our days to anesthetize ourselves against emotion, thought, and action? When I make myself busy and permit the activities swirling around me to grab my attention, I tell myself over and over that I can’t think today about the choices I should be making or mourn what my heart is begging my brain to remember. Call it the Scarlett Syndrome. I’ll think about that tomorrow. I’ll grieve over that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day. “Life must go on,” Edna St. Vincent Millay Wrote, “I forget just why.”