Children’s Story

Children’s Story – Little Corners

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Georgia Willis, who helped in the kitchen, was rubbing the knives. Somebody had been careless and let one get rusty, but Georgia rubbed with all her might; rubbed, and sang softly a little song—

“In this world of darkness;

We must shine,

You in your small corner,

And I in mine.” [Jesus Bids Us Shine, Susan B. Warner, 1868.]

“Why do you rub at those knives forever?” asked Mary. Mary was the cook.

“Because they are in my corner,” Georgia said brightly.

“ ‘You in your corner,’ you know, ‘and I in mine.’ I’ll do the best I can, that is all I can do.”

“I wouldn’t waste my strength,” said Mary. “No one will notice.”

“Jesus will,” said Georgia; and then she sang again—

“You in your small corner,

And I in mine.”

“Cooking the dinner is in my corner, I suppose,” said Mary to herself. “If that child must do what she can, I suppose I must. If Jesus knows about knives, it is likely He knows about dinners.” And she took particular pains.

“Mary, the dinner was nicely cooked today,” Miss Emma said.

“That’s all because of Georgia,” said Mary, with a pleased face; and then she told about the knives.

“No,” said Emma to her friend who urged, “I really cannot go this evening. I am going to prayer meeting; my ‘corner’ is there.”

“Your ‘corner’? What do you mean?” Then Emma told about the knives.

“Well,” the friend said, “if you will not go with me, I will go with you.” And they went to the prayer meeting together.

“You helped us ever so much with the singing this evening.” That was what their pastor said as they were going home. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be there.”

“It was owing to our Georgia,” said Emma; “she seemed to think she must do what she could if it were only knives.” Then she told him the story.

“I believe I will go in here again,” said the minister, stopping before a poor little house. “I said yesterday there was no use, but I must do what I can.” In the house a sick man was lying. Again and again the minister had called, but the invalid would not listen to him; but tonight the minister said, “I have come to tell you a little story.”

Then he told him about Georgia Willis, about her knives and her little corner, and her “doing what she could.” The sick man wiped the tears from his eyes, and said, “I will find my corner, too; I will try to shine for Jesus.”

“I believe I won’t go to walk,” said Helen, hesitatingly. “I’ll finish that dress of Mother’s; I suppose I can if I try.”

“Why, child, are you here sewing?” her mother said. “I thought you had gone to walk.”

“No; this dress seemed to be in my ‘corner,’ so I thought I would finish it.”

“In your ‘corner’?” her mother repeated in surprise; and then Helen told about the knives.

The doorbell rang, and her mother went thoughtfully to receive her pastor. “I suppose I could give more,” she said to herself, as she slowly took out the money she had laid aside for missions. “If that poor child in the kitchen is trying to do what she can, I wonder if I am. I’ll double it.”

But Georgia knew nothing about all this. She had let her light shine; and others, seeing her good works, had with her glorified the Father in heaven. Jesus, looking down at her that day, said, “She hath done what she could”; and He gave the blessing.

Dolphins, True Education Series, 24–26.

Children’s Story – The Stolen Orange

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Mama will never know,” thought Flora Marshall, as she took a large orange from the piled-up dish on the table, and, putting it in her pocket, started hastily upstairs.

She was expecting friends to spend the day with her, and had been busily arranging things for the afternoon, but while waiting for them to come, she was tempted to take one of the oranges which had been placed on the table for lunch. She hurried from the room, but had not reached the top of the stairs before her brother’s voice stopped her, calling, “Flora, I see some of your friends coming.”

Flora ran quickly downstairs, but her face was flushed, and she felt miserable and ashamed as she met her young friends, and took them to speak to her mama.

Flora tried to laugh and talk as merrily as any of them, but she could not forget how wrong she had been. Besides this, not having been able to eat the orange she had taken, she was in constant fear lest she might draw it from her pocket.

Poor Flora! She had sinned against God and against her kind mother and had spoiled all her afternoon’s pleasure for the sake of an orange. At lunch, she could not raise her head to meet her mother’s glance, who saw that something was wrong with her, and who said very kindly, “Flora, dear, you are scarcely eating anything—are you not well?” This made Flora ready to cry with shame and repentance. Her conscience was too tender to allow her to be happy while her fault remained unconfessed.

All the afternoon she and her friends played games. Several times she had fancied she had dropped the orange in some of the rough movements of the games, and had gone more than once quietly into a corner of the room to feel in her pocket if it was still there. “How could I be so wicked and so greedy?” thought Flora; “mama always gives me as much fruit as is best for me, and yet I have made myself a thief, and after all have not eaten the orange, or been able to put it back, and it has spoiled all my pleasure.”

When her friends had gone, she sat still, miserable and unhappy for a little longer, and then her resolution was made—she would tell her mama.

With a slow step and a beating heart, she approached her mother. “Well, Flora,” said Mrs. Marshall kindly, “you seem tired and out of spirits tonight; have you come to wish me goodnight?”

“O mama!” sobbed Flora, “I have come to tell you how bad I have been, and how very sorry and miserable I am”; and hiding her face in her mama’s lap, she told the story.

Very gravely, but gently, her mother spoke to her about her sin, and the consequences it had brought upon her. “I shall not punish you, Flora,” she said; “your own conscience has been a sufficient punishment. I should have wondered what was wrong with you had I not seen you take the orange as I passed the door, which was slightly open. Knowing what you had done, I was not surprised that you seemed unhappy.”

“But can you forgive me, mama?”

“I will forgive you, Flora, because you have told me of your fault; but remember there is One above whose forgiveness you must seek as well as mine, whose eye is always upon you, and who is grieved when you do wrong. Before you sleep tonight, ask God to pardon you and to cleanse you from this and every other sin for the sake of His Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ.”

www.WrittenTreasures.org (February 23, 2007).

Children’s Story – The Kingdoms

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It was a fine day in June, many years ago. Frederick William, king of Prussia, a country in Europe, wanted to get away from the noise of the city. So he went for a walk along a quiet road throughout the country.

As he walked along, he listened to the songs of the birds. He picked some wild flowers that grew by the way. After a while he came to a little schoolhouse. The children were at play. It made him glad to see the children happy.

Soon they were called to their lessons. The king followed them into the schoolroom. At first the children were almost afraid to be in the presence of the king. But his kind face and pleasant ways soon won them. He was pleased to see how well they recited their lessons. After a time the teacher asked him to talk to the children.

“I will now ask you some questions,” said the king, “and the child who gives the best answer shall have a prize.”

Then the king held up an orange.

“You know that we all live in the kingdom of Prussia. But to what kingdom does this belong?” he asked.

The children were timid. They did not know just what to say. Every one sat quite still. At last a bright little boy spoke.

“It belongs to the vegetable kingdom,” he said.

“How do you know?” asked the king.

“It is the fruit of a plant, and all plants belong to the vegetable kingdom,” said the boy.

“That is a good answer,” said the king. “You shall have the orange for your prize.”

Then the king took a gold coin from his pocket. He held it up so that all the children could see it.

“To what kingdom does this coin belong?” he asked.

“It belongs to the mineral kingdom, sir,” said another boy.

“Why so, my lad?” asked the king.

“Because it is a metal, and all metals belong to that kingdom,” the boy answered.

The king was pleased.

“You are quite right,” he answered. “You shall have the coin for your prize.”

The children were delighted. With bright eyes and smiling faces they wondered what he would say next.

“I will ask you only one more question,” said the king, with a twinkle of fun in his eye. “Tell me, children, to what kingdom do I belong?”

The king thought someone would say, “To the animal kingdom.”

The children looked at him, but no one spoke. They were a little afraid, because he was the king.

At last, Christel, a little blue-eyed girl, looked up into his kind eyes.

“I think you belong to the kingdom of heaven,” she said softly.

For a moment there was a breathless silence in the room. You might have heard a leaf fall as all eyes turned to little Christel. Even the surprised king hardly knew what to say.

Then he caught the timid child in his arms and kissed her again and again. With tears in his eyes, he said, “May God help me to prove the truth of what you have said!”

From that day, the Lord had a better servant, the people a wiser king.

Children’s Story – What One Boy Did

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Do not tell me that boys have no influence,” said the dark-eyed lady with emphasis. “Why, I myself know a boy of 12 whose influence changed the manners of an entire hotel. Tell you about it? —Certainly! It was a family hotel on the seacoast in southern California, and almost all the guests in the house were there for the winter. We had become well acquainted, and, well, lazy I guess is the best word for it. So we decided that it was too much trouble to dress for meals, and dropped into the habit of coming in just as we chanced to be, from lounging in the hammock, fishing off the pier, or bicycle riding down the beach. Our manners, too, had become about as careless as our dress; we were there for a rest, a good time, and these little things did not matter, we said.

“One day there was a new arrival. Mrs. Blinn, a young widow, with her little son, Robert, as sturdy and bright-faced lad as one often sees. The first time he came into the dining room, erect, manly, with his tie and collar and dress in perfect order, escorting his mother as if she had been a princess, and standing till not only she, but every lady at the table was seated, we all felt that a breath of new air had come among us, and every one there, I think, straightened up a little. However, we looked at one another and nodded our heads, as much as to say, ‘He will not keep this up long.’ We were strangers, and in the familiarity of everyday life, we did not doubt that it would soon wear away.

“But it did not. Rob was full of life, and active and busy as a boy could well be. At the same time, when, 20 minutes before meals, his mother blew a little silver whistle, no matter where he was or what he was doing, everything was dropped, and he ran in to make himself ready. And every time he came to the table, with his clean face and smooth hair and clothes carefully arranged or changed, he was in himself a sermon on neatness and self-respect, which none of us said much about, but we felt all the same. Then, by and by, one and another began to respond to the little silver whistle, as well as Rob. One laid aside a bicycle dress, another a half-invalid negligee, till you could hardly have believed it was the same company of a few weeks before.

“It was the same with manners. Rob’s politeness, simple, unaffected, and unfailing, at the table, on the veranda, upon the beach, wherever you met him; his readiness to be helpful; his deference to those older; his thoughtfulness for all, was the best lesson—that of example. As a consequence, the thoughtless began to remember and the selfish to feel ashamed and the careless to keep themselves more in hand.

“And so, as I said in the beginning, in less than a month the whole atmosphere of that hotel had been changed by the influence of one boy; and the only one utterly unconscious of this was Rob himself.”

This is truly a pleasing incident. We like to think of this boy who, because he was at heart a true little gentleman, drew what was kindly and courteous and gracious in those about him to the surface as by a magnet. In like manner, it is possible for every boy to be so true and kindly and tender, so unselfish of action, so obedient to duty, so responsive to conscience, that, wherever he goes, he shall carry an inspiring atmosphere and influence with him; and whoever he meets shall, because of him, be drawn to better thoughts and nobler living.

<www.WrittenTreasures.org> (March 28, 2007.)

Children’s Story – Molly

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Molly lay in the hammock on the shady end of the porch and scowled at the sun shining between the morning glory leaves. She was usually a happy little girl, and the frown did not come naturally to her face. Now the ugly line between her eyes made her look very unhappy. The whole trouble was that her mother, who was making currant jelly, had asked her to pick a few more currants from the bushes in the garden. The evening before, Molly had thought it was fun to help pick, but now the garden was hot and sunny. Mother, too busy in the kitchen to come herself, wanted three more boxes to fill a kettle. Molly said that she was tired of picking currants, and the more she thought about it, the more tired she grew. She decided that her back ached with bending over so much, though she had not noticed the ache before.

“Next winter, will you want currant jelly with your hot cakes, Molly?” Mother’s voice came from the kitchen. Molly did not answer. “Because if you do, now is the time to get ready for it.”

Molly lay and considered. Was there any use in thinking about winter now, in hot summertime, or in bothering to prepare for it if you did not feel like working?

Suddenly her rebellious thoughts were disturbed by a sharp, high, buzzing sound, very thin, and continuing for some time without a pause. She looked around carefully all over the vines near her head, and finally she discovered three peculiar objects arranged side by side on the wooden shutter of the porch window. They looked like tiny clay tunnels, no larger around than lead pencils, fastened flat to the rough wood and so close to each other that their walls touched. A black wasp appeared to be nibbling at the lower end of one clay tunnel, and as it moved its head from side to side it made the queer shrill buzzing noise. Molly lay very quietly and watched. The wasp was close enough to her head for her to see each movement. Its little black head, feelers, and first pair of legs all together seemed to be working at the edge of the tunnel. She noticed the clay at the edge was darker, as if wet, and that instead of nibbling it away, as she first thought, the wasp was adding to it, pressing and fingering it into shape.

God’s creation always fascinated Molly, and now she wanted to know what the wasp was doing. She had forgotten all about currants and backaches as she sat breathlessly watching it. Firmly clutching in its jaws a round ball of dark mud larger than its own head, the wasp smeared the fresh mud neatly along the edge of the tunnel and patted it into shape.

Then, as the wasp flew away for more mud, Molly dashed into the house to see what she could learn about mud wasps from her encyclopedia. She read that the structure the wasp was building was a mud house in which it would lay its eggs and then seal up the ends. When the eggs hatched, the cocoons would over winter in the mud house until spring, living on food stored during the summer before the eggs were laid. “The wasp does not worry about winter when it comes,” read Molly, “for it has prepared its mud house and is ready for it.”

Molly, thinking very hard, returned to the porch just in time to watch the wasp with another ball of mud. Suddenly she jumped from the hammock and ran into the house. “Mother,” she called eagerly, “where are the berry boxes? I am going to pick currants and help you get ready for next winter.”

Children’s Story – The Worth of a Soul

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By the time Helen was 18 months old, her eyes were a bright blue, and her hair was a gold red. By the time her eyes grew from sky-blue to sea-green, I was certain that she would be a rare beauty. However, Helen’s personality and innate kindness would always outshine her physical beauty.

By the time Helen was three years old, she had already developed an unusual logic that made perfect sense to her of course she must give away her favorite teddy bear to a child who needed it more than she did.

By the time she was in kindergarten, it seemed perfectly natural for her to love the unlovable, including the teacher who struck fear within the hearts of other students.

By second grade, Helen had become the champion of the weak, the hope of the hopeless, and she did it all with a selfless grace that was nothing short of miraculous. By the time Helen was in high school, it was pretty evident that we would be barraged with a house full of teenagers of every shape, creed, and ethnicity. I still have the pictures from one of Helen’s birthday parties. It was an incredible feat of persuasion, just to round up all the kids for a one of a kind picture. It took three snapshots to complete the picture. What an unforgettable sea of grinning faces peers out from those pictures, as though the United Nations had dropped off all its teenagers at our house for the day.

In the fall of her sophomore year, Helen and I found ourselves out shopping the malls for school clothes. I was doing some inventive arithmetic and brainstorming, trying to make our budget stretch into something that would delight and be affordable. At one point, I noticed that a man and a girl were moving straight towards us. The man was dressed in work clothes, and he seemed to be encouraging the rather sad, overweight youngster closer to us. These two seemed to be disagreeing, even as they were almost upon us.

Helen had just finished exchanging greetings with one of her countless, squealing friends, and as she turned around, she came face to face with the reluctant teenager. Faster than the speed of light, Helen’s eyes sparkled with delight and recognition. Her face broke into a brilliant smile, and she shrieked with joy! “Cindy!” she squealed, as she threw her arms around the chubby girl’s neck.

Suddenly, Cindy’s face broke into a beautiful smile, and she squealed right back at Helen. Then they both did this handholding jump around, while grinning and shrieking with delight. Cindy was transformed from a rather sad kid, into the vivacious young girl she truly was meant to be. Cindy and Helen chattered away, totally oblivious to Cindy’s father and me, as we stood amazed. Who was this unconsciously generous, loving daughter of mine? How had God graced my life with something so bright and beautiful? When I turned back to Cindy’s father, I saw his face transformed from frustration and sadness to one of joy.

Cindy had seen Helen, he confided, long before Helen spotted her. She had identified Helen as “one of the popular girls.” As Cindy’s father encouraged her to speak to Helen, Cindy refused. Why would “a somebody,” she reasoned, want to talk to “a nothing”? Cindy’s father had felt helpless to make his daughter believe how precious she truly was. Helen, in one unpretentious act, had given Cindy a priceless gift of unconditional friendship and love.

Cindy’s dad’s eyes shone with pride and gratitude, but no more than my gratitude for Helen. I learned a great lesson that day. I learned that true friendship does not measure another with criticism, because the worth of a soul is not in the eye. It is in the heart.

Children’s Story – Miracle in the Mountains

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Bosnia-Herzegovina is a country on the Balkan peninsula of Southern Europe. Bordered by Croatia to the north, west and south, Serbia to the east, and Montenegro to the south, Bosnia-Herzegovina is mostly landlocked, except for 26 kilometers (16 miles) of the Adriatic Sea coastline, centered around the town of Neum. The interior of the country is mountainous in the center and south, hilly in the northwest, and flat in the northeast. The nation’s capital and largest city is Sarajevo, seated between several high mountains, and was thus the host of the 1984 Winter Olympic Games. Formerly one of the six federal units constituting the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, Bosnia-Herzegovina gained its independence during the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s. (<https://en.wikipedia.org> June 2007.)

Driving in much of Bosnia-Herzegovina is at times very dangerous because of the mountainous terrain and narrow roads. These roads become even more treacherous in bad weather. Many of the mountain roads have no guardrails to protect cars from falling off the mountain.

In November 2005, a missionary was driving through the mountains of Northern Bosnia–Herzegovina with a couple of pastors. They were on their way to a conference. The weather was cold and rainy, so they were driving slowly and more cautiously than they would have been in better weather.

As they came around a curve, their vehicle ran across a slippery spot in the road. The car started to slide sideways toward the edge of the mountain. From there, it was a 40-foot drop-off with jagged rocks and a river at the bottom.

As the vehicle began to slide out of control, they all cried out, “Jesus!” The car hit the guardrail with the front bumper, then the side and back of the vehicle hit as it bounced along the guardrail. The impact with the guardrail pushed the car back onto the road.

The missionary and the men with him found a safe place to pull over on the side of the road, then got out of the car to take a look. First of all, they were amazed that there even was a guardrail there. Even more amazing was that the guardrail appeared to be new.

Then they checked out the car. The entire side of the car had hit the guardrail, but they could only find a few scratches on the front and rear bumpers—there was no damage at all to the side of the vehicle. It seemed as though there had been some type of invisible shield across the side of the vehicle protecting them and keeping them from going through or over the guardrail and falling down onto the sharp rocks and into the river.

They remembered Psalm 34:7, which says, “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.” They know that the Lord miraculously protected them that day, sparing them from injury and possibly even death. They are grateful for the Lord’s promise to watch over and protect those who love Him!

Children’s Story – The Prayer and Faith of a Little Girl

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During the World War, which broke out in Europe in the year of 1914, the soldiers destroyed the property of many people. One of those who suffered loss was a wealthy lady who lived in Russia. She was one of the nobility. Because of her noble life, her friends often called her “The Princess.”

When the soldiers came, they destroyed her home and took all her money, about fifty thousand dollars. Her son was killed, and her son’s wife died of the plague. They left to her care three little girls, one fourteen years of age, one eight, and the other six.

The grandmother with her three grandchildren had to work from morning till night to earn money to buy a little bread and milk. After a while, the work stopped. It seemed to them that they must starve. One day after dinner they were without any food for the next meal.

“We have nothing for lunch tonight,” said the little girl. “What shall we do, Grandmother?”

“The Great Father will take care of us, my darling,” the grandmother answered.

Then they all knelt down and asked God to help them find something for supper.

“Dear Lord, don’t send us just a piece of bread. Send us a whole loaf. For You know, Lord, we need a whole loaf,” was the prayer of the youngest child.

During the afternoon they went about their duties as usual. Evening came, but no food, and they had no money with which to buy any. They set the empty table, and sat down to it in their chairs.

“Shall we thank the Great Father for the food before we see it?” the children asked.

“Yes,” answered the grandmother.

The children believed that God would surely send them food. They folded their little hands and gave thanks.

Just then there was a knock at the door. It was opened, and there stood a man, a friend who had known them when they had plenty. He also had been wealthy, but the war had robbed him of all his wealth. He had come on foot more than eighteen miles, through deep snow, to see them. He had walked the whole afternoon.

“I hardly know why I have come,” he said, as he walked into the room. “But I felt that I ought to visit my old friend.” Then, turning to the children, he said, “Children, you don’t know what I have brought you.”

“Yes, we do!” said the little girl, smiling.

“What have I brought?” he asked.

“You have brought us a loaf of bread—not a piece of bread, but a whole loaf,” she answered.

“Well, well!” said the visitor, “how did you know that?”

“Because we prayed to God to send us a loaf of bread,” the little girl said; “and we asked Him to send us a full, large loaf, for we needed it.”

“Well,” said the gentleman, “that is just what I have brought. Now I know why I came.”

Then out from under his great coat, he drew one of those long loaves which the bakers in Europe make. Surely God had sent him in answer to the prayer of a little child.

Cockleshells, True Education Series, Adapted from “Providences of the Great War,” 33–35.

Children’s Corner – The Dog That Sold a Book

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To 16-year-old Leon, Monday morning meant a new week of ringing doorbells or knocking on doorposts. Selling Christian books door to door was a challenging job, but Leon loved the opportunity to help his customers learn about God.

First, he knelt by his bed and asked for courage and strength.

Then he slipped into his brown slacks, noting the cuff that his landlady had mended. A dog had grabbed him as he approached a house a few days before.

Leon was not afraid of dogs. He and Gyp, his shaggy shepherd, had had many a fierce tussle, and both had learned that the quickest one wins. Dogs were Leon’s friends in selling the little children’s books he always carried with him. Whenever he saw a dog at a house, usually there were children also.

This Monday morning Leon came to a house set far back from the road at the top of a slope of beautiful green grass. It was a long, low, wood-colored home that didn’t seem at all friendly. Yet there was a big black dog lying on the porch, and Leon had the habit of never passing a house with a dog without giving the folks inside a chance to purchase the children’s book he was selling.

As Leon neared the house, the dog took his stand at the top of the porch steps.

When Leon spoke to him, he growled and lunged. But Leon was quicker and gave him a smack on the nose with the corner of his traveling case.

It hurt enough to change the dog’s mind, and the canine went off quite disgruntled.

The woman of the house would not buy the children’s book even though the eyes of her little girl danced with joy at the pictures of Jesus. All Leon’s talking and the girl’s begging were in vain.

“No, we have more books now than I can get time to read to her,” the mother stated firmly. Leon noted two or three well-worn Mother Goose books on the couch.

As he showed the book, he prayed in his heart, Please help me to leave the stories of Jesus for this little girl. But he had to depart without an order, with the children’s book still in his hand.

When he was halfway down the path to the highway, there came the big dog, snarling as he ran. He leaped for Leon’s throat, but again Leon was quicker, and he stuffed the book right into the dog’s open jaws. The dog bit clear through the covers of the book.

Just then the woman, who had come running to help, jerked the dog away by his heavy collar and sent him to the house.

“I’ll take the book,” she said, smiling rather sheepishly. “I guess Dodger wanted to help Linda get it.”

But Leon thought he knew Who really had helped the eager little girl get her book.

<www.guidemagazine.org> July 2007.

Children’s Corner – A Lesson in Thanksgiving

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Sally and Sam had always had fun on Thanksgiving. It had been a time when the whole family got together at Grandma and Grandpa Miller’s house. There was lots of good food to eat, and Sally and Sam got to play with their cousins.

They were disappointed when their mother told them that they would not be able to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s for Thanksgiving this year. “I am afraid we live too far away now, and your father cannot take the time off work,” their mother explained.

Seeing their disappointment, their father said, “I have an idea! Why don’t you invite some of your friends over for Thanksgiving?”

“Everyone is going to have Thanksgiving with their own family!” Sally pointed out with a sigh.

“How about Roger?” Sam asked. “He only has a mother, and she doesn’t make much money. I’ll bet they’d like a nice Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I’ve met Roger’s mother at school,” Sally and Sam’s mother said. “She seems like a very nice woman, but I’m not sure she would like it if she thought we were inviting her because she and her son are poor. I will write her an invitation, explaining that you children are not able to be with your cousins this year, and we would appreciate it if they could join us for dinner. That is true; isn’t it?”

“Is something wrong, Sally?” Sally’s father had seen his daughter’s change of expression. “Don’t you like Roger?”

“The other kids make fun of him, Daddy!” Sally cried. “When they find out he was over for Thanksgiving, they will tease me too!”

“Why do they make fun of him?” her father asked.

“I don’t know. His ears are a little big, so some of the kids call him Roger Rabbit, but mostly, I guess, it is because of how he dresses. He wears the same pants and shirt all week! And his shoes have holes in them!”

“Perhaps his mother cannot afford to buy him new clothes, Sally,” her mother pointed out gently. “Not everyone’s job pays as much as your father’s does.”

“Jesus tells us to do good to others without hoping to get any kind of reward,” Sally’s father reminded. “If the boy is being teased at school, he can use some friends. We will invite Roger and his mother over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Sally knew her father had made up his mind, but she was not really happy with his decision.

The next day she watched as Sam gave Roger the note their mother had written, and told him that he and his mother were invited over for Thanksgiving. The look of joy that came into Roger’s eyes made her feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Hey, Sally, what is your brother doing with Roger Rabbit?” One of the girls who had been playing nearby came up and asked.

“Father says it is wrong to call names,” Sally answered proudly and walked off before she could be questioned further.

Sally was happy when no one learned that they had invited Roger and his mother to their house. Perhaps no one would ever know, she thought as school let out for the Thanksgiving holiday. It was different with boys, she decided. Boys did not care what they looked like. But girls had to look nice to have friends, and their friends had to look nice too, or people noticed and made fun of you.

On Thanksgiving day, Sally’s mother was glad to have her help. There were potatoes to peel and rolls to make and oh so much more!

“You have done a wonderful job, my dear, and such delicious smells!” Father said approvingly as he lay the last piece of silverware on the table and stood back to inhale deeply. Just then the doorbell sounded, and Father opened the door for their guests.

“Hi, Roger!” Sam called out from his bedroom doorway. “Come on in, and let’s play!”

Roger looked toward his mother and she nodded her head, “Go have fun, dear, and I will get better acquainted with Sam’s parents. And this little girl must be Sam’s sister, Sally? I expect you have been a big help to your mother today.”

“Indeed she has!” Sally’s mother flashed her daughter a smile. “Why don’t you go play with the boys, Sally? Dinner won’t be long.”

Sally stood in the doorway watching the boys as they talked. Approaching, her father asked, “Are there any games the three of you can play?”

“I know a good Thanksgiving game!” Roger explained. “It is easy too. All you have to do is make a list of the things you are thankful for, and the person with the most things wins.”

“I don’t know,” father said hesitantly, but Roger added, “My mother and I play it every year. I will ask her if she wants to play,” and he rushed from the room.

“What can he have to be thankful for?” Sally asked. “He does not even have a good pair of shoes to wear!”

“Perhaps he knows there is more to life than new shoes,” Sally’s father said soberly. “Come you two; let’s play Roger’s Thanksgiving game.”

Paper and pencils were passed out, and the children sat down to list all the things for which they were thankful. This is going to be easy, Sally thought, and wrote down a few items. Then her brow puckered. What else did she own?

“Time is up,” Sally’s father announced as the buzzer in the kitchen went off. “While mother is putting the finishing touches on dinner, suppose we go over our lists and see who came up with the most things to be thankful for.”

The lists were laid out on the table, and Roger’s list was the longest. But as Sally looked at what he had written she felt puzzled. “I don’t understand, Daddy,” she said to the man who stood looking over her shoulder. “How can he be thankful for those things?”

“How can anyone not be thankful for those things, Sally?” her father responded. “Roger has remembered to be thankful for things that many of us take for granted. That is one of the reasons he is so happy all the time. I think we would all be a lot better off if we remembered to thank God every day for the wonderful things He has given us.”

When Sally and Sam’s father gave the prayer of thanksgiving before dinner, he remembered to include many of the things Roger had written on his Thanksgiving list.

Watching Roger as he sat at the table laughing and joking with his mother and the others, Sally began to feel ashamed of herself. Roger knew better than she how to do things God’s way. And that was why Roger, in spite of not having much in the way of physical possessions, was happy.

<www.antelope-ebooks.com> September 2007.