Children’s Story

Children’s Story – Relay for Life

by

The Alaskan winter had shown itself to be unusually harsh the year of 1925. The temperatures hung at 50 degrees below zero on this particular day, January 27, as a high-pressure storm front was moving in from the Arctic. A diphtheria epidemic had stricken a small town in the midst of the storm, and many patients had already died.

“Mama?” A little girl’s feeble voice whispered.

“I am here, Ranahta.” Mama walked back to the hospital bed from the window where she had been standing. She had spent the morning peering through the driving snow for any sign of the dogsled team. She took Ranahta’s hand in hers and found her sound asleep again. Mama dabbed a cool cloth on the girl’s feverish forehead. The dogs had been sent out just this morning on a relay for the diphtheria serum. Already 28 children had died of the disease in this very room. “Please, Lord,” Mama begged, “please do not let Ranahta be the 29th.”

The little hospital room in Nome, Alaska, was chilled from the blustering winds outside, which were let in through the cracks under the doors. Mama looked longingly at the vials of diphtheria serum lined up in a cabinet on the wall across from Ranahta’s bed. The doctor had said they were expired and would only weaken a patient further if the antitoxin was administered. Mama walked back to the window again to watch for the dogs even though they were not expected back for at least another five days.

Six hundred sixty-seven miles away the relay for the serum had begun in Nenana, another Alaskan town also being ravaged by the storm. The snow whipped around the brave musher and his dogs. The blizzard had moved in from the Arctic, increasing in its intensity as it went, and the temperature was still dropping. The sled team had left early in the morning with the box of serum. “Kinda strange how Balto sniffed at the box so long. Almost like he was smelling out a new kind of animal,” Gun thought to himself. Suddenly, he felt a sharp sting on his cheek as a tether broke loose and whipped through the air. The precious serum it was holding was catapulted out of the sled into the growing snow drifts.

“Balto! Balto! Stop!” Gun yelled through the blizzard. The musher knew Balto could not hear him. He couldn’t even hear himself above the gales of wind. Gun anchored the brake to slow the dogs to a halt and stepped off the sled, feeling through the blizzard for his team. The snow was so thick he could not even see the dogs that were tied closest to his sled! Gun found the gang lead and followed it to the first set of dogs, checking each one down the line carefully for frostbite or other injuries. After taking extra measures to protect the dogs from the elements he was comforted that his dogs were all okay, but what about the serum? Many more men, women, and children would die without the antitoxin, and the diphtheria epidemic would spread. A search may prove deadly to him and the team; if he let go of the dog’s line it may mean that they all would most likely die in the blizzard. Then Gun got an idea. “Dogs have an excellent sense of smell,” he thought to himself. “And Balto was quite curious about the box before we left. Perhaps he can smell it out.” “Balto.” He bent down and spoke above the wind in the dog’s ear. “Balto, find the box.” Gun knew it was a long shot but with prayer and faith, and Balto’s keen senses, there was hope. Balto’s ears pricked up and, to Gun’s surprise, he lowered his head to the snow.

After 20 minutes of searching, Gun became quite anxious. If the team was not kept moving, the possibility of their freezing to death was very high. The temperature was dropping further now as the storm raged on. But still Balto, with the team in tow, was sniffing through the white-out. By now, Gun had tied himself to the dogs, since his hands were turning black with frostbite and he could not grasp the line or even move his fingers.

Suddenly Balto stopped. Gun bent down and felt in the snow around Balto. His hand hit something hard at his dog’s front paws! Praise God! It was the box! The serum vials were still intact. Not one had broken! Lifting the box, Gun carefully felt his way back to the sled and tied the serum tightly. And giving thanks to God, they continued the trek back to Nome.

“Nome to Nenana, come in, Nenana.” Static rasped over the little radio in the hospital office. “Come in, Nenana.” Still only static. Dr. Welch clicked the radio off and slumped back in his chair. It had been three days since they had any contact with the other town, and four since Nenana had heard from the relay team. The doctor looked out the window where the snow was still whipping by the unrelenting gales. The thermometer he had hung outside his window had long since been blown off the hinges, but one need only step outside to know that survival in the storm would be unlikely. Rubbing his worry-wrinkled forehead, he sent a silent prayer for the safety of the sledders and the deliverance of the precious medication.

“Dr. Welch! Dr. Welch!” Mama yelled bursting through the door of the doctor’s office.

Startled, the plump old man jumped out of his seat, giving the woman a quizzical look. “Ma’am?”

“Oh, doctor, come quickly!” Mama ran back out of the room down the hall.

“Oh dear,” the old man thought to himself. “The child must have taken a bad turn.” He exited his office and turned down the hall to see a large crowd hovering around the hospital entrance. One man yelled for hot water to be brought. Dr Welch grabbed a bucket and fetched the water. The man grabbed the bucket and ran outside with it. Puzzled, Dr Welch looked on.

Gun and his faithful team of dogs had just pulled in front of the hospital. The musher was frozen to his sled and delirious with fever. The man from the crowd dumped the hot water over Gun’s hands and pried them loose from the sled. Several more men ran out and carried Gun to a warm bed in the hospital where a couple of the women ministered to the sick man. Two other men attended to the dog team. The serum was brought inside to thaw while Dr. Welch examined Gun to make sure he would be okay. The dogs greedily ate the fresh fish and water set out for them by their master’s bed.

Mama knelt by the bed of her sleeping child and gave thanks to God for Gun, who safely delivered the medicine for her daughter and the other children. “And thank you, God, for the bravery and strength of the dogs that trekked through the blinding snow. Thank you for guiding them home.”

Alicia Freedman works for Steps to Life as a part of the LandMarks team. E-mails can be sent to her at: landmarks@stepstolife.org.

Children’s Story – Nathan Hale

by

The young man standing at the front of the podium was anything but unnerved by the crowd that had gathered to decide on the position the colonies would take to England. Though the tension was as tight as a stretched rubber band, Nathan Hale stood with complete composure. “My dear fellow patriots!” At this, all commotion stopped. Mouths gaped and eyes bugged. “Patriot” was a word much like a river’s undercurrent— always present but never surfacing. A murmur of uncertainty rumbled around the room. Heads turned to their neighbors to see their reaction. A frown on a single brow could mean big trouble to all present. “Yes, I mean you,” Nathan continued unhindered. “We have come to a time to choose definitively between the dogmatic British rule, or independence!” Dead silence ensued, except for a fly buzzing unnoticed around the ears of those present. ‘Independence’ was a word of treason and punishable by death. Were they ready to charge down that road? Lexington was a small battle, and neither side had yet lost beyond repair. What would it mean to take on the British? Nathan looked long and hard at each individual present, pressing the invisible button of conscience to a point of great discomfort. Many a body squirmed in its seat before the aged voice of reason broke out from somewhere in the back. “The rash courage of a twenty-year-old boy breaks the spell! Hurrah for independence!” “Hurrah for independence!” came a bone-jarring echo. “Hurrah for independence!”

September 1776 found the cause for freedom still strong, and the Patriots were vying fiercely for freedom from the British hierarchy. Thousands of tents pitched beneath a merciless sun and an equally cruel terrafirma, provided a home-away-from-home (if one could call it that) for the Continental Army. And, indeed, even the most barren of accommodations was a welcome respite when compared to the final resting place of many of their compatriots. In one of these abodes, a most unsavory meeting was taking place …

“I know this is no job for a gentleman, yet it must be done. Do I have a volunteer?” Colonel Knowlton addressed the group of officers before him. Something both forceful and desperate was in his voice. He was most in earnest in his plea. The assignment was dangerous and regarded as degrading. The role of a spy was to play the part of a friend ultimately to betray. “The time is dire, friends. We must know of the enemy plans. The cause for independence could well rest solely upon this mission,” he begged. Still not a soul stepped forward.

“How about you, Lieutenant Bordeaux?” The Colonel looked at a well-dressed Frenchman among the soldiers. The French were such peacocks; perhaps he wouldn’t mind the mission as long as he could carry it out in his best attire.

“I am willing to be shot for the cause, but not hung as a spy,” came the common reply. A murmur of agreement rose and the company dwindled back to silence. So much for that idea.

Here the musty old tent flap lifted, sending in a hot cloud of dust and Captain Hale walked in looking quite pale from a recent illness. Though he was only 21 years of age, the time in bed had made him look even younger than his tender age. Still, with head high and exuding confidence he said, “Any service, necessary for the public good becomes honorable by being necessary. I will go.”

Two weeks later Nathan found himself hiding in the midnight darkness. It was uncannily oppressive. The travel behind enemy lines had been intense. Everyone was suspicious in wartime, and no less so now as loyalties differed from neighbor to neighbor. The mission had ended none too soon for Captain Hale. Under the cloak of darkness, Nathan awaited the longboat and his return to safety. The air was thick with mosquitoes and moisture. The evening had not brought any relief from the heat, yet in spite of this, Nathan shook with cold. Redcoats were as thick as the blood-sucking insects polluting the riverbed, and could be a far greater nuisance. He strained his ears to hear a conversation between soldiers, but the chorus of frogs drowned out the words.

Suddenly a hand grabbed him by the collar, cutting off his air supply and forced him to a standing position. Apparently, the midnight song of the frogs had drowned out more than just the conversing soldiers.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” demanded an English-accented voice. But before Nathan could open his mouth to respond, the English accent interrupted, “Private! Search him!”

Nathan could do nothing but stand quietly while the English soldier searched him from head to foot. The bayonet in his back assured him of that. The plans he was able to extract from the enemy were hidden in the sole of his boot. Perhaps with a less scrutinizing soldier, they would not be found, but this redcoat was tearing him apart at the seams! Sure enough he got down to the boots. “Aha! What have we here?” the soldier drawled, a triumphant glee showing in his face. “A spy!” He yelled. “To the gallows!”

The dawn of his execution came far too early. “Nathan Hale, you are found guilty and sentenced as a spy. Do you have any last words?” The executioner’s voice was gruff, and the offer sounded more like a dare. With great composure Nathan Hale raised his head and looked at the English general attending the hanging. “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”

Just like Captain Nathan Hale, God will give you the courage to face even the most desperate of circumstances with courage and peace, no matter your age, experience, or situation.

Alicia Freedman is currently working on our LandMarks team and can be contacted at: landmarks@stepstolife.org.

Children Story – Vera’s Victory

by

Vera was one of those very lively little girls—you know the kind. Full of high spirits. The kind that makes a mother tired.

That particular afternoon Vera had been a little more lively than usual, and when the time came for her to go to bed, no one was more happy than her mother.

“At last!” sighed Mother, as she went downstairs after tucking Vera into bed and kissing her goodnight. “Now, perhaps I can have a little peace.”

Mother went into the dining room, now quiet and still. Feeling very tired, she decided to lie on the sofa for a little while and take a rest. Gradually she felt herself falling asleep. Then, before her eyes were quite closed, something began to happen.

Very slowly, very softly, the dining room door began to open. A little more, and a little more.

Who could it be? thought Mother, frightened. Had a burglar gotten into the house?

Then, what do you suppose? From behind the door came a white-robed figure. Yes, it was little Vera in her nightie.

Mother did not move. Nor did she say a word. She just pretended to be asleep, and watched.

Vera tiptoed across the soft carpet over to the dining table.

Now, in the middle of the table was a large bowl of apples, oranges, and nuts. On top of all was a big bunch of grapes. Vera had been looking at this bunch of grapes all day, wishing that it might be hers. Now she reached out her hand, picked up the grapes, and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door very quietly behind her.

Of course she thought that nobody had seen her. But Mother, as usual, had seen everything. Mother always does.

But now Mother felt very sad.

“To think that my Vera, my own little girl would wait till she thought I was not looking and then creep down here to steal that bunch of grapes! Oh, what shall I do! What shall I say to her?”

Then, just as Mother was feeling very much upset, something began to happen again.

Once more the dining room door began to open—very softly, very slowly. From behind it came the same little white-robed figure. It was Vera again, still in her nightie, and still clasping the bunch of grapes tightly in her hand.

Tiptoeing over to the table, she put the bunch of grapes back in exactly the same place that she had found it. Then, in a big, loud voice, she said, “And there, Mr. Devil, that’s where you get left.”

After that she turned around and started for the door. But before she had reached it, Mother was on her feet and her arms were clasped around Vera’s neck.

“Oh, darling!” she cried. “I’m so glad you won the victory over that temptation!”

What a happy time they both had then!

I like to think of what must have happened on the stairs that evening. All the way up, the voice of the tempter had said, “Go on, Vera; grapes have a lovely taste. Take one. Nobody will ever know. It will be all right. Mother will never find out.”

At the same time another voice inside her had said, “No, don’t, Vera. That would be stealing. That would be wrong. Mother would be disappointed. Do the right thing and take those grapes back! Put them back where you found them.”

Somewhere on the stairs the victory was won. And after that everything turned out happily—as it always does when we fight temptation and win.

Every boy and girl is tempted at some time or other to do something wrong. Sometimes the temptation is very strong indeed. Sometimes you may wonder what is the right thing to do. But if you listen to that little voice that speaks within your heart, the voice of conscience, you will not make a mistake. Jesus will give you the victory, if you ask His help.

The Story Book, Character-building Stories for Children, 18–21.

“He has made it possible for every tempted son and daughter of Adam, in every time of temptation, to gain a glorious victory. He has placed the power of heaven within the reach of His children.” The Youth’s Instructor, October 3, 1901.

Children’s Story – The Shoemaker of Hackleton

by

“Willie, we can’t send you to school next year,” said Mr. Carey. “We have your four brothers and sisters to take care of. And since you’re the oldest, you’ll have to find a job and go to work. We need the money you can earn.”

Now, you may think it would be fun not to have to go to school. But Willie loved school. He loved to study and learn new things. He looked up into his father’s face and knew that he had heard right. He would not be able to go back to school the next year! He knew his father wouldn’t change his mind.

Willie glanced down at his shoes. He kicked the dust along the path as he and his father walked along. He pretended to be looking for something over by the edge of the trees along the path. He wanted to hide his tears of disappointment. He was so unhappy he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You’ll be fourteen years old next week,” Father went on. “I think I can get you a job with the shoemaker in town. You can learn to cut leather and make shoes.”

“I guess I could study in the evenings,” Willie managed to say at last. “There are so many things I want to know! I can borrow books and read and learn things even if I can’t go to school.”

So, Willie went to work for the town shoemaker, a man named Clarke Nichols, in the town of Hackleton. As soon as he walked into the shoe shop on the very first day, Willie knew that he was going to like his new job. He saw a few books on a shelf in one corner of the shop. Willie could hardly wait to read the titles to see what they were about. He didn’t have time to look at them all morning, but when lunchtime came and he could stop work for a few minutes, he quickly began to look at the books.

One of the books looked especially interesting. It was about the Bible. It had a lot of strange words in Greek that Willie didn’t understand. But they were exciting anyway. They were like a mysterious puzzle just waiting to be solved.

Willie carefully copied the Greek words on a piece of paper. He put the paper in his pocket. At the end of the week, when he went home, he took the paper with him. Then he took the paper with the strange Greek words to a friend who could read Greek. With the help of his friend, Willie slowly learned what each word meant. Then he found some Latin words in the book, and he copied these words, as well. He did the same with some Hebrew words. Willie loved to study, and after a few months, he could read Greek, Latin, and Hebrew!

Willie also enjoyed studying his Bible, and he liked to pray. One day he decided he wanted to be a Christian and give his heart to Jesus. Afterward, he was so happy that he began to tell everyone about Jesus. He wanted to be a preacher, but he had to keep on working making shoes to earn money for food and clothes and to help his family.

One day Willie found a book written by a famous explorer, Captain James Cook, who had traveled to many faraway places around the world. In this book, Willie learned about people who lived in other parts of the world. Then he had an idea.

Willie came to work a few days later carrying a roll of paper under his arm. He got some tacks and a hammer and carefully unrolled the paper. The other workers in the shoe shop came over to see what Willie was doing with the tacks and the roll of paper.

Willie held up the paper so they could see. It was covered with different colored shapes. “This is a map of the world,” he told them. “Now we can see what countries Captain Cook visited during his travels.”

One of the workmen helped Willie hold up the map against the wall. Willie tacked it in place so all the workers could see it. Then he got a black pencil and began marking the map. He marked each place Captain Cook had been to. He also wrote down things he had learned about each country—things he had learned from books he had read. But while he was writing, he got another idea. He wondered if the people in these faraway places knew anything about Jesus.

“We should send someone across the ocean to teach these people about Jesus,” Willie said to his pastor.

“When God wants them to know about Jesus and the Bible, He will take care of it,” the pastor told Willie.

But the pastor didn’t forget what Willie had said. He talked to other pastors. A few years later there was a movement to send someone to India. “I’ll go,” Willie offered. “The people in India may not be happy to see me, and my friends here at home may forget about me, but God will be with me.” So, Willie sailed for India.

For more than a year after he left for India, no one heard from Willie at all. Finally, a letter arrived. It was from Willie to the pastors who had sent him to India. They read it and passed it around to many other people to read. The letter said that Willie was building a church. He needed help. All his friends began collecting money, which they sent to him to help him build the church in that distant land.

Meanwhile, in India, Willie was having trouble. He didn’t know how to speak the Bengali language, so he couldn’t talk to the people there. But Willie had always enjoyed learning new things. He decided to get a job so he could have some money to pay someone to teach him Bengali. Willie got a job in a factory making indigo. Indigo is a blue dye that is used to make ink.

As soon as he got a job and began earning some money, Willie hired a teacher. He was a good student, and before long he could speak and understand Bengali. Once he knew the language, Willie started to translate the Bible into Bengali. He knew the people in India would want to read the Bible in their own language. But many of the people couldn’t read—even in Bengali. So, Willie held classes to teach them to read. It took a long time, but as the people learned to read and as they began reading the Bible, they wanted to learn more about God.

Willie built a church and a school. He helped many, many people in India to love God and have a better life. From the time he was a boy, Willie had worked hard. He worked hard in the shoemaker’s shop. And he worked hard in India as a missionary for God. Today, William Carey is known as the “Father of Modern Christian Missions.”

Storytime, Character-building Stories for Children, 86–89.

Children Story – The Tempting Gloves

by

It was Christmas evening. In the Christmas market sparkled numberless lights, and their bright beams were beautifully reflected by the various wares which tempted and invited purchasers.

Many children passed to and fro—gazed with wide-open eyes at the wonderful array of pretty things—and some were induced, after long seeking, to spend the few pennies saved in the money box for this very occasion.

There were parents and other friends of children standing in the well-arranged shops, buying and examining the gifts with which they wished to delight their dear ones.

In the midst of the grown persons and children who thronged the market place, stood a young girl named Magdelain. She was alone, and gazed sadly, with a heavy heart, at the brilliant and beautiful array spread out on every side.

Her parents were very poor, and for this reason had placed her in the service of a lady, where she was employed out of school hours in going on errands, and in working with her needle. For her services she received small wages, which she faithfully took to her parents, who could do little for their own support, having other children to feed and clothe.

Magdelain was sent, this Christmas evening, on an errand by the lady with whom she lived. Her way led through the Christmas market. How gladly she would have purchased some little thing as a Christmas gift! Yet, for that, money was needful, and money she had none.

She thought and said softly to herself, “I could give up playthings, or pretty things I could well use, if I might buy a warm dress, a shawl, or a pair of warm gloves.”

It was very cold. Magdelain shivered, and her teeth chattered, for she was but scantily and thinly dressed. She blew on her half-frozen hands, and wrapped them in her apron.

“I do not want either cakes or candy, or dolls, or playthings. But, oh, I wish so for a pair of warm gloves!”

She drew near to one of the shops where many articles of wearing apparel were sold. The cold wind which blew the candle lights to and fro, seemed to pierce to the very bones of the poor girl, and she tremblingly drew herself together to keep warm.

On the right side of the shop, on the counter, lay a pair of warm woollen gloves, lined with soft skin. Magdelain saw them, and the longer she stood looking at them the better she liked them; they looked, too, as if they would just fit her hand.

Her gaze seemed fastened on the gloves—even from the moment she had seen them her hands felt warmer.

But buy—buy them she could not; they were well made and prettily wrought, and must be expensive.

Then came another thought to her mind, “I will secretly take them.” The shopkeeper stood on the other side of the shop attending to a purchaser, and busily engaged in praising his goods. Magdelain stood alone, unnoticed, beside the gloves.

She thought and reflected—but the gloves were so pretty, and seemed so warm; her hands which she had drawn out of her apron, were quite stiff with frost.

Already she had stretched out her arm; already she was about to seize the gloves and rapidly conceal them. Her whole body was hot and cold by turns; her heart beat loudly; she could scarcely breathe; she trembled. Suddenly pealed out, with clear, startling tones, the organ of the neighboring cathedral.

It was a voice, earnest and warning, speaking to Magdelain’s heart. Quickly she drew back her arm, and the gloves lay still on the counter.

As a voice from heaven did Magdelain receive the solemn organ tones; they seemed to say to her, “It is wrong that thou wouldst do. Thou shalt not steal!”

Magdelain obeyed the voice. She turned to leave the shop just as there entered a lady richly dressed, and warmly wrapped in a cloak of fur.

She examined and purchased some articles, and then took the gloves in her hand which had tempted Magdelain. She demanded the price, and purchased them. Magdelain had seen this, and was glad that the fatal gloves were now entirely removed from her eyes.

The lady turned to leave the shop, and Magdelain recognized her. She was the lady with whom she lived.

Now, for whom had she bought the gloves? Surely not for herself; she could hardly wear them! Her mind occupied with these thoughts, Magdelain went hastily from the Christmas market to attend to the errand on which she was sent.

In returning homeward again, Magdelain came through the market place. She said, as she passed the spot where she had been so sorely tempted, “Oh, what a fearful moment that was! God, I thank Thee, that Thou didst warn and deliver me from the danger which would have destroyed me! No! rather will I hunger and freeze than—”

“Away with you to prison, boy! You will learn hereafter to keep your hands off! We’ll soon cure you of your fancy for stealing. March!”

Magdelain was startled by these harsh words from the revery into which she had fallen.

A police officer had seized a wild, unruly boy, and was taking him off.

Magdelain ran swiftly, with a beating heart, from the market place, and did not pause till she reached home.

She entered the room. Oh, what a surprise! The table was covered with gifts. There were pretty and useful articles—cakes, clothing, and, above all, the well-known gloves.

The lady with whom she lived came kindly to her, took her hand, and said, “Dear Magdelain, because you are so honest and industrious, so kind and true, and have served me so faithfully, take from me, as an expression of my gratitude, a gift. Look! all on the table is your own; take all and be happy!”

Magdelain thanked her with tears of joy and surprise. Strangely, however, did she feel as her mistress singled out the articles, and said, “See, here is a cap, here a pair of shoes, here a shawl! and what do you say to these gloves? Do they please you? Yes, they will keep your hands very warm! Now take all these things to the house of your parents—show them what you have earned by your honesty and industry.”

On her mother’s neck, with sobs and tears, did Magdelain relate to her the story of her sin and temptation.

Her mother said, “My child, pray to be kept from sinful desires; then it shall go well with you!” And at night, before Magdelain went to her bed, she sank on her knees and sent a prayer to her Father in heaven:

“ ‘Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil’ (Matthew 6:13)! Amen.”

Choice Stories for Children, A.B. Publishing, Inc., ©1993, 99–102.

Children’s Story – Addled Thomas

by

Stupid! Good-for-nothing! Clumsy oaf! If you would simply hold still and pay attention!” The enraged schoolmarm still had him by the ear. Her beet red face was just inches from his nose. He could smell the sauerkraut on her breath from lunch time. If she were any redder she would spew out the top and pop all the hairpins out of her top-heavy hairdo. Young Edison could just see it! “If those pins do commence aflyin’ I hope Paul Morton over there gets stuck right in the bum!” he thought. “It would serve him right for stealing my homemade marmalade!” Thomas’ mind was obviously not on his scolding, and this was the last straw for the poor teacher, and though her hairpins didn’t pop, Thomas’ ear did. The cross woman’s open palm met the side of his head with great force, and Thomas sank down into his seat, both ears ringing. “All this over a spilled inkwell?” he thought to himself. “Then again, Tuesday it was just a broken slate, and that wasn’t even my fault. Silly fly was buzzin’ around … Such a nuisance. Ms. Bronstein would never have noticed if it was my head the fly had landed on and Matilda had swatted it with her slate!” Perhaps it was the fiery red hair, maybe the snooty disposition; who knew; but one thing was for certain, Matilda Brown could break every one of the Ten Commandments without so much as a “Now, now, Dear” from Ms. Bronstein.

Young Thomas Edison was used to these episodes. It seemed that whenever he dared to move, he would draw enough attention to himself to induce the teacher’s wrath. Perhaps the schoolmarm just thought him plain old dumb; maybe, as Thom thought, she was too dull to be able to answer his questions; who knew. Regardless the reason, Thomas Edison had become her personal steam vent. Thomas hadn’t spoken a word until he was three years old, and Mom and Dad had assumed him to be a mute. And once he finally did start talking, it was never in sentences, only question after question packed into a body of perpetual motion. And if he were alive today … Boy, oh, boy! Children like little Thom are labeled with ADHD, ADD, retardation, and a whole bunch of other preconceived names. Although Ms. Bronstein eventually labeled him “addled and incorrigible,” Thom’s constant curiosity plagued him, demanding answers.

The sun had fallen behind the buildings of New York hours ago, and the city had bid adieu to yet another day. A dog’s bark turned suddenly to a yowl of pain as it was severely chastised by a startled stray feline. The noise echoed off the brick walls that lined the streets of downtown. A steady drizzle, or was it a heavy mist, clung to the air with a damp chill. Nothing on Main Street moved. But the neighbors in Menlo Park could see the flicker of an oil lamp still burning in the basement of the Edison home. The “wizard of Menlo Park” was at it yet again. Bent over his work table, Edison’s fingers moved nimbly over his work as he mumbled incoherently under his breath. The bugs beating their heads against the window where the lamp stood went unnoticed. The seconds ticked away the minutes.

Pop, Phwooosh! The noise awoke Mrs. Edison, who had fallen asleep in a comfy chair nearby. A puff of smoke was swirling around an unidentifiable object on the floor. She raised her head and then an eyebrow in her husband’s direction.

“Never you mind, my Dear,” said Edison with a sheepish grin. “I have only just found …”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted.

“… another way that doesn’t work.” They both finished together.

The missus laid her head back again and closed her eyes, opening one again on the sly to see if Thom would clean up his mess, and found him bent over the task. Satisfied, she closed her eyes with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and was soon back asleep. Thom took the dust bin over to the scrap heap which was bulging with “successful ways that didn’t work.” Nothing was ever a failure to this man. Trudging back over to the workbench, Thom picked up a pencil and thumbed through pages of tally marks, and, coming to the last page, which was almost full itself, he marked down yet another tally. Taking his hanky from the back pocket of his dusty, burned, and holey pants, he wiped the perspiration away and began again on “light experiment #846.”

Today, thanks to Thomas Edison and his relentless perseverance, we have fabulous motivational proverbs like, “Genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration,” and “There are no failures; only new ways that don’t work,” and “Opportunity is missed by most because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.” Oh, yeah! and we have the electric light bulb! He is responsible for the night-before-the-exam cramming sessions youngsters have at 10:30 at night running up the household electric bill! Thomas Edison holds over 1,095 United States patents, and is known as the father of inventors. He is said to have invented the business of inventing, among a myriad of other things. Starting as an “addled” boy who wouldn’t talk and, according to his teachers, could not learn, he ended as one of the largest innovative contributors to our society. People will say all sorts of things, but never let anyone say, “You can’t”!

Alicia Freedman works at Steps to Life as a part of the LandMarks team. She can be reached by e-mail at: aliciafreedman@stepstolife.org.

Children’s Story – This Moses was Black

by

A splash was heard in the ebony waters not twenty yards from the small group huddled together by the river banks. Every soul froze and their panicked screams were blocked by lumps of frozen terror in their throats. In each mind played a full-color, surround-sound scenario of the consequences if they were caught. They had seen it hundreds of times: tied to the whipping block, bare skin blistering under the high-noon sun, starving and dehydrated, the master’s whip, the only variance in the long days of punishment. Luckily for them, their black faces did nothing to reflect the moon which was now and then peering from behind the eerie clouds that moved at an alarming pace across the sky. An irate squirrel chattered his annoyance at his lost nut as if it was the fault of the clandestine visitors gathered below his tree.

“Don’t thtop,” Harriet lisped in a hushed voice. “We have a long wayth to go before the nektht thtation.”

The five escaping slaves let out the breath that had been captive too long. If the moon had been full and bright, you would have seen five black faces turn blue. Though fear had turned their legs to cooked spaghetti, they managed to command their feet to place themselves one in front of the other. The darkness rarely brought relief from the mid-summer heat in those southern states. Although the nearness of water was a blessing, it was also a curse. The mosquitoes did about as good a job at eating away their flesh and blood as would the shrapnel from the overseer’s rifle if they were found. Days and nights of barely more than a corn kernel to nibble on had worn away at the steely muscles built over a lifetime of slavery, and fear gnawed away at sanity.

“I ain’t got no mo’ lef’ Miz Tu’man.” One of her charges faltered a step, and Harriet caught the huge man on her shoulders and half dragged him through the tangled brush and thick, sticky mud on the river bank. “Keep awn keepin’ awn brutha,” she whispered back. Although her own strength was failing her, Harriet was driven by the precious lives placed in her hands. “Go down, Moses,” she sang softly to quiet the thumping hearts of her charges, “Way down to Egyptaland.” Five other voices harmonized in the eerie tune sending a strangely sweet and pathetic cry to heaven. “Tell ol’ Pharaoh, Let my people go.” And they trudged on in search of a hideaway to rest during the light hours. Dawn broke on the flat horizon, turning the sky blood red; as red as the Nile River when Moses touched his staff to it. To the exhausted escapees it spoke of the Lord’s miracles for the freedom of His people; and with this promise in their hearts, they slept.

Slight vibrations in the ground awoke Harriet, who always seemed to sleep with one eye open. She put her ear to the earth to assess the source and the distance. Horses! Perhaps one mile! Fortunately, they did not seem to be moving fast. Without a word she awoke her sleeping charges, trying to appear calm so as not to rile them. It was still daylight, and the horses were getting closer to their hiding place; not knowing how close they would come.

“Tis sumthin’ da matta’ Miz Tu’man?” came the sleepy-eyed questions.

Ho’ses. Many. Don’t know where they’s aheaded and we ain’t gonna stay t’ find out neitha,” Harriet answered forcefully. Though they had crossed into a free state the previous night, the passing of the Fugitive Slave Law demanded the return of human property to the owner, which meant that they would not be safe so close to the border dividing the free states and the slave states.

“Why, dey might’nt come here! We’s safe hidin’ here.”

“No, they’s gunna look wherever’s a good hidin’ spot. Move out!”

“No! We’s safe not ta move!”

At this Harriet pulled the pistol from her ankle holster and aimed it at the defiant slave. What did he know of the tactics of the slave hunters? She had helped over 300 slaves to escape safely so far, and a single defiant slave would not jeopardize the rest if she could help it.

“You trust Ms. Tu’man now! I ain’t let one slave get caught, not now, not neva eitha!” Whether shocked or frightened into submission, the persuasion worked and they headed out to the station which was now just a few miles away, and not another word was spoken. Though the tactic was unpleasant and rather unconventional, it was one that had served to press on slaves beaten by fatigue, hunger, fear, and despair, and never once had Harriet lost one of her charges.

“Praise be!” went a jubilant cry. Into the deepest recesses of memory went the horror of their journey as the large estate of their white redeemers came into sight. A green flag was hanging from the gate, signaling that all was well for them to enter.

Entering into the parlor of the huge mansion, each slave, safely freed, bent to kiss the aged face of their tough savior, and gave thanks to God.

“Miz Moses, thank ya kindly.”

Harriet Tubman helped over 300 slaves escape from slavery before the Civil War. Her service to her fellow slaves earned her the nickname, Moses of her People. On her death bed she was able to boast, “I never ran my train off the track and I never lost a passenger.” And indeed not one slave Harriet Tubman guided toward freedom was ever captured.

Alicia Freedman works at Steps to Life as a part of the LandMarks team. She can be reached by e-mail at: aliciafreedman@stepstolife.org

Children’s Story – Jolanta’s Names

by

There is no time! You agreed I would take her! You must let her go!”

“No, please! Jolanta, please! No!” The terrified mother turned her back on her child’s last chance for life. Her body shook with fear and anguish.

“If you don’t, you condemn her to death, woman! Please! Give me the baby!” Jolanta pleaded, but the woman’s back remained turned to the rescuer.

The ambulance driver honked, warning Jolanta that their time was well passed. Every moment of delay brought danger ever closer. Any deviation from the carefully planned rescues could spell death to the children they were trying to save, as well as themselves. With a heavy heart, Jolanta turned from the pathetic scene and clamored into the truck as it drove off.

The year was 1942; the place: the Warsaw Ghetto. The Nazis had herded over 500,000 Polish Jews into less than one square kilometer of Poland where they were held in wait of transport to the Nazi extermination camps. Irena sat silent and solemn in the ambulance as they bounced down the war-torn road—everything was in shambles these days. So much had changed … and so quickly. Just six months ago she was Irena Sendler, a social worker whose life was a blissful broken record. But World War 11 had shattered her record player. Now, even thinking of her old identity could get her shot. Jolanta, Jolanta, she would repeat over and over to herself. Criminal, savior, Jew.

Jolanta looked out her rear-view mirror and her heart jumped into her throat. The red light swirling on the vehicle’s roof broke the comfort of the thick darkness, and the distance between the ominous crimson beam and the ambulance was closing quickly. Jolanta gnawed on her heart for several moments as she watched the car gain on their ambulance with its precious cargo. Finally she saw the headlights disappear around the other side of their transport as it passed them on the other side of the road. Her heart returned to her chest. Hearing a noise in the back of the ambulance, Jolanta opened the partition and climbed into the back, happy to have something to distract her frantic nerves.

“No, no, not you, Fritzy!” she said, turning her face away from the over-friendly German shepherd just to get a wet nose in her ear. Shoving the large animal out of the way, Jolanta climbed over the three other dogs and reached for the crying baby. She held the little one close, thanking God that there were some parents who had the strength to let go of their children that they might have a chance at survival. Fritzy nuzzled the little baby and he calmed, nodding off again despite the constant jostling.

“Jolanta! We’re coming to a checkpoint. Best get back up here quickly!” The German shepherds snarled, baring their teeth. “Not yet, not yet, you ferocious beasts! You don’t want to wake the children if you don’t need to.”

She had just closed off the partition as they were slowing down to meet the guards at the gate. “Passes!” they yelled, their flashlights and rifles aimed at Jolanta and her partner. They each held up their badges, which allowed them to move somewhat freely through the cities. “What is in the back?” the guard asked, inching his weapon a little closer to her counterpart’s face. “Cargo to be shipped from Poland, due to the war effort.” “Check it!” the Nazi barked. Two guards moved to the back of the vehicle. Immediately the four dogs began barking and growling ferociously. The two men exchanged a fearful look and took a step. “Check it!” the order was barked once more. The men stood there wondering whose bite would be worse—their commanding officer’s or the shepherd dogs’. Seeing the reticence of his underlings, the officer made a move to check himself. With the dogs’ vicious clamor intensified, covering the noise of the fearful, crying children and scaring off the guards, they were doing a capital job! The commanding Nazi also backed off and waved them on. Jolanta smiled at her counterpart. “Not even their own dogs like them,” she whispered to him. A smile played at her mouth, and her eyes twinkled with ironic humor.

As they drove through the checkpoint, Irena took a jar out, cleverly concealed somewhere in the ambulance interior. She had kept careful record of each child’s name and stored it safely in this small glass container, in hopes of one day restoring the children to any surviving family. She clutched her jar close to her heart and bowed her head silently. “One hundred eighty-six, Lord. Thank you. You have saved one hundred eighty-six. Yet, this is still too few. If you help us, we can have ten times as many. Please, Lord,” she prayed over her precious treasure trove. Her life’s work was summed up in this little jar with wads of paper jammed into it.

Irena Sendler continued her operation with Zegota, until, eventually, the Nazis became suspicious and arrested her in 1943. She was tortured and sentenced to death for her treachery against the Third Reich—a sentence she bore proudly, never once breathing even a hint of information that might endanger her associates, the children, or their cause, no matter the ferocity of the Nazi rage. En route to her execution, a guard, bought by Zegota, arranged for her escape. Though listed among the executed, Irena was yet among the living, and active. She returned to her work with Zegota protected by the German’s belief in her death. And, in the time that followed, God continued to work in answer to her prayers. Before her death on May 12, 2008, she was awarded the Order of the White Eagle, Poland’s highest civilian honor, among others, and was credited with saving the lives of over 3,000 Jewish children from the terror of the Nazi regime, far more than what she had asked of Him.

Alicia Freedman works at Steps to Life as a part of the LandMarks team. She can be reached by e-mail at:
aliciafreedman@stepstolife.org.

Children’s Story – The Kitten and the Cobra

by

It was unusually dark for being just eight o’clock in the evening. A 16-hour power cut had left our small community in India in a thick blackness. Dinner was over and we were congregated on the porch waiting for the electricity to come back on. A kerosene lamp dimly lit the corridor. The evening prayers would be said at nine o’clock. Perhaps the lights would turn on by then. Children gathered in small groups and spoke quietly as the adults lounged sleepily here and there amongst them. Mosquitoes swarmed in the night air creating a strange, quiet hum.

Five year old Johnson, affectionately known as Johnny, had been sitting quietly at my feet playing contentedly with his little black and white kitten. She batted playfully at the finger Johnny twirled in the air just above her tiny, pink nose. Suddenly, the kitten stopped, perked her ears, and went stone still for a moment. Her gaze fixed on something beyond the area illuminated by our small lamp. She hopped gracefully from Johnny’s lap in pursuit of whatever her beady eyes had fallen upon. Johnny gleefully fell in step behind her, despite my warning him to come back.

Johnny was after his kitten and paid me no heed. Finally, I sent Siva after him. Siva was a bright youngster in the sixth grade, and readily obeyed me. She followed in the direction Johnny and his kitten had gone, and was out of sight for just moments before running back to me, obviously panicked. Taking me by the hand, she led me to the scene that caused her fear. As I looked, my heart leaped to my throat and I went rigid. There, coiled in front of me, was a black cobra; its hood flared and head moving hypnotically back and forth, hissing at the kitten, which was moving in circles around it. Terrified and stunned, I stood motionless alongside Siva, peering in the darkness to see what would happen. The next thing we knew, we were blinded by bright light—the electricity was turned back on. As our eyes adjusted, we could see clearly the little kitten as it stared down the cobra, still waving back and forth in the air. Two men cautiously approached the terrible snake from behind and struck it in the head, killing it.

That night as we said our prayers, I knelt beside little Johnny’s bed. Curled in his arms, purring softly, was his kitten. In the darkness we are unaware of what may visit us, and his little kitten had saved us from a very dangerous predator. Yes, God uses not just humans, but animals, too, for His purpose. He used ravens to feed His prophet, a great whale to carry Jonah, a donkey to check a servant—and just tonight, Jesus had used a tiny kitten to warn us of the venomous serpent so that we could sleep safely in His care. God is ever present to safeguard His people, and His mightiest helpers are sometimes the smallest.

Children’s Story – A Glass of Milk

by

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, when a lovely young woman opened the door, he lost his nerve and instead of asking for a meal, he asked for a drink of water.

The young lady thought that he looked hungry, so she brought him a large glass of milk instead. He drank it very slowly, and then asked, “How much do I owe you?”

“You do not owe me anything,” she replied. “Mother has taught us to never accept pay for a kindness done.”

“Then I thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” he said.

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was also strengthened. He had been ready to give up and quit, but was given the courage to go on.

Years later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled, and 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 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 bent over to look at her, and he recognized her at once. He returned to his office determined to do his best to save her life.

From that day on he gave special attention to the case, and after a long struggle, the battle was won. On the day that his patient was to be discharged from the hospital, Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked it over, then wrote something on the edge of the bill and sent it to her room. She was afraid to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for such a long and expensive hospital stay as hers had been. Finally she could endure the suspense no longer, and she opened the bill. Something scribbled in the margin caught her eye, and she read these words: “Paid in full with one glass of milk.” And it was signed by Dr. Howard Kelly.

Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed, “Thank You, God, that Your love has spread abroad through human hearts and hands.”

Editor’s note:
Each day as we pass through our humble lives, we never know when a kind touch, a word of encouragement and cheer or a humble act of generosity might give a discouraged, hurting human being just the lift that will make the difference in his or her life. We must remember, also, that our harsh words, our criticism and coldness can also destroy someone who is already hurting, and can be the final straw to make him or her lose all hope. Let us remember to share love, as Jesus shared love, always lifting each other up, and pointing the way to heaven.