Tell Me This Story: Your Opportunity to
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The following are stories submitted to us by readers. If you haven't yet joined in, we invite you to click the link at the bottom of this page to share YOUR story with the Storycatcher community.

Following the Beeline

"In the spring of 1975, when I was a horribly shy, misfit teenager new to my Catholic junior high school, my science teacher Sandy Curtis thought to come stand next to me at a school dance where she was chaperone, and where I was trying hard to blend in with a tall potted plant. She told me, "That's a great dress. Do you know you look wonderful in yellow?" I was amazed. No one in my life had ever taken the time to tell me I looked good in ANYTHING, let alone an entire color. We talked that night about her love of astronomy, about mushrooms and fungi, about life...she made me feel normal, smart, and interesting. I still have that yellow dress - a talisman and a remembrance of the day my self-image began to turn around. "
Anonymous

"This may sound strange, but the one in my childhood who put honey in my heart was my dog, Rusty. Rusty was a collie and something mix we got at the pound to chase squirrels out of the yard because they had made a nest in our attic and my dad never wanted to deal with that again. He saw Rusty as a house maintenance aid. I saw Rusty as a friend. We slept together, we played together, he watched me do homework and then as soon as I'd slap closed the book, he got his ball and we played. He lived until I went to college. A few years ago I read this book by Jane Goodall and she said her dog was the inspiration that led her to study chimpanzees, and suddenly I didn't feel so strange. Thanks for asking."
Anonymous

"It seemed I was invisible until 8th grade when I had a teacher who was really there herself, and because she was, she had a sense of us, her students as people who were really there and had needs apart from the deadly dull, required Catholic school curriculum. The day she played Swan Lake for us in a school that didn't offer a music curriculum, and suggested we put our heads down on our desks while it played, cut an opening in my invisibility to myself. My body sank into the desk, the music, the resting, and began to exist. "
Joan

"Well, let me say it happened again quite recently. I was attending a spiritual conference about love and healing, and the facilitator whom I recognized as a man of true integrity, somehow reminded me of some clear sweet honey in my heart that I'd long forgotten. I couldn't keep my heart or mind off his open heart and kind words throughout the weekend. On the last day as it was coming to a close, I happened to be sitting in the front row and suddenly as he was saying goodbye, he walked over and knelt at my feet. He said something about starlight inside, and tears welled up and I knew he was an angel God had sent to remind me of my innocence and worthiness. I loved reading Isaiah's hearing God's voice which says "for you shall be led forth in peace, the mountains and the hjills before you shall break forth into singing and the trees of the field shall clap theri hands". That's how this angel of God made me feel as he knelt before me. It was only a couple of weeks ago, but it was a wondrous awakening of truth within myself. "
I will be out to purchase this book today. Thank you for this email.

"This past week I went to see one of my college professors, a mentor, not just in Mathematics but also in life, discipline, and order. Typically I stop by and ask a question about the homework, or perhaps a formula of some kind, maybe an interesting theory we discussed in class. But not this time, this was a special visit for a special question about a formula of a different kind. I had been spending some time with another young lady, also a student, but at a distant school. I had been coincidently bumping into her pretty regularly, for almost six months. Her mannerisms, jokes, and quirky comments had been slowly yet continuously taking over my mental faculties. I was troubled about how to proceed, thinking about balancing school, work and a potential relationship, while also trying to be sensitive to her commitments and guarding her heart. I’ve always believed it wrong to be careless with someone else’s heart. So I went to my professor, my teacher, and presented him with this problem or equation. As he sat back in his old green 1970’s rolling chair, his gaze left mine and moved towards the window. I looked to see what it was he was looking at and soon realized I couldn’t, because he wasn’t looking outside but instead he was looking at the winter of 1962, the year he met his bride, while still a young college student. He told me about the snowstorm and the old station wagon with the shift on the column (long before my time) that forced them to meet for the first time. He told me about all the ups and downs, and struggles in between, including a break-up. After he had finished, came back to 2006, I still had a decision to make about a young lady. At least now I had some wisdom and some guidance about counting the costs and what I might expect. I left his office, still unsure of how to proceed. I did realize though, when I asked him for his advice, his opinion, I really asked him for his story."
Anonymous

"After battling cancer for seven years, my husband, Dave, died on June 2, 1997. The last six months of Dave's life were amazing. Although exhausted from the days and nights of caring for him as he became weaker and weaker, I also rejoiced for the special times we shared and the privilege to experience his incredible love as he prepared to die. In the three weeks following Dave’s death our 18-year-old son Andrew, graduated from high school, I celebrated our 29th wedding anniversary on June 22 and on June 25 Andrew left for the United States Air Force Academy for Basic Training, the first step in a grueling freshman year. On the morning of October 17th, what would have been Dave's 51st birthday, I awoke to the dread. I was still in my flannel pajamas when the doorbell rang and I greeted a messenger from a local florist shop who handed me a single rosebud in a vase. The tiny card stuck into the fern read, "From the Phantom Rose Exchanger". Before Dave and I had married, he had given me a rosebud when I moved in to the apartment we would soon share. After the rose wilted and before I could throw it out, he had sneaked in and switched the dead rose with a fresh bud and left a note, "From the Phantom Rose Exchanger." From that time on, every time he gave me flowers they were always from “the Phantom Rose Exchanger.” My sister offered to call the florist to find out who had done such an incredibly thoughtful thing. When she called me back she told me the florist didn’t know who had sent the rose, but they could tell where it came from. I held my breath as she explained that the rose had been sent from the United States Air Force Academy. Through my son’s thoughtfulness I started to take my first steps toward healing. I’ve learned that grief is a process and although it changes it actually never goes away. It is also a teacher whose lessons I didn’t want to learn. I now see the importance of those lessons. I am so grateful. An anonymous rose put honey in my heart "
Donna Oiland, I wrote this to honor my son who graduated the United State Air Force Academy 2001.

"The organization whose story I most deeply know is my own little business. I don' t think of it as a business really, but as an educuational outreach, a service, even a ministry. I guess I describe it differently to different people, but the way I hold it in my heart is the same. And the other thing I notice is that once I call it a business to someone for whom that is the correct label, I can still speak of it in inspirational terms and they don't seem to take offense. However, if I said that consulting was a kind of "ministry" to me, they'd back off the phone fast. What this teaches me is that the story can hold shape, and it's the "title" of the story that set's the impression. When I read your chapter eight in the book, I kept thinking that for the founders of the company, Hewlett Packard was a mission-- and for the third or forth generation it's a business. Thanks for letting me have this little insight. I can now think of The organization whose story I most deeply know is my own little business. I don' t think of it as a business really, but as an educuational outreach, a service, even a ministry. I guess I describe it differently to different people, but the way I hold it in my heart is the same. And the other thing I notice is that once I call it a business to someone for whom that is the correct label, I can still speak of it in inspirational terms and they don't seem to take offense. However, if I said that consulting was a kind of "ministry" to me, they'd back off the phone fast. What this teaches me is that the story can hold shape, and it's the "title" of the story that set's the impression. When I read your chapter eight in the book, I kept thinking that for the founders of the company, Hewlett Packard was a mission-- and for the third or forth generation it's The organization whose story I most deeply know is my own little business. I don' t think of it as a business really, but as an educuational outreach, a service, even a ministry. I guess I describe it differently to different people, but the way I hold it in my heart is the same. And the other thing I notice is that once I call it a business to someone for whom that is the correct label, I can still speak of it in inspirational terms and they don't seem to take offense. However, if I said that consulting was a kind of "ministry" to me, they'd back off the phone fast. What this teaches me is that the story can hold shape, and it's the "title" of the story that set's the impression. When I read your chapter eight in the book, I kept thinking that for the founders of the company, Hewlett Packard was a mission-- and for the third or forth generation it's "
Anonymous

"Sometimes I read aloud to my cat, write in my journal, do crossword puzzles, or read whatever interests me before bed. When the kids were younger I used to read to them and they liked it a lot. Now they are teens and the situation is different, but I could try to have a 10 minute reading to close the day. Will let you know if I get anywhere with that. Right now it is a success to sit down and watch TV together (no cable, so limited choices). Here is a selection of books I have read aloud to my children: a dozen books by Arthur Ransome, The Lord of the Rings, all the Harry Potter books (except the last one, we each read it ourselves), Moby-Dick, Captains Courageous, Treasure Island, Five Children and It, Narnia books, Poetry for Cats, Sammy Keyes mysteries, one of Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus books (we read the other 2 individually). Books that did not work well read aloud: Goosebumps series by R.L. Stine. Only a good writer can stand up to reading aloud for long. I mean that I can only stand reading aloud from good writing. By the way, Moby-Dick is hilarious and poetic (Chapter 11, "Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.")"
Jennifer in Vancouver, BC

"My husband certainly put honey in my heart; he and I were married for 40 yrs. in joy, mostly joy, occasionally there were heated words, but few. He appreciated me in a way that was extraordinary. Lovely elegant man! I realize this moreso now that he has passed, not quite a year ago. It's been a yr. of anxiety since that last day. Now I am at peace again. Recently, I met a man, very spiritually oriented, who recognized something in my self that even I did not. I don't remember ever being in the company of anyone with such integrity of mind and heart. I was at a heaing seminar that he was facilitating. At one point near the end of that healing weekend, quite by surprise, he walked over and knelt at my feet; he said there was a light, a knowing in me that he said was quite wonderful and needed more of my nurturing. I remember tears flooded my eyes and I was humbled by this beautiful soul's saying such a thing. That was purest honey for my heart. "
Anonymous

"His name is Ivan, he is now my husband. We knew each other when I was a child of 18 and he was an "adult of 26" with a 9 year old son. My parents said NO, he is too old for you. They prefered my boyfriend Carl(22) a drinker,emotional, spiritual, physical/sexual abuser like both of them. I married Carl and lived the life I chose for 25 years. Carl asked me to leave the day after our daughter graduated from high school. I didn't want to go because I felt so "safe" in that very unsafe environment that I was too terrified to leave, but I finally did. One week later as I was driving to evict our tennents out of our rental, I ran into Ivan. He had been married, divorced and we met for coffee for several months just to talk. He still thought I was wonderful, I would cover his mouth and tell him "you don't really know me". Eight years later we got married. It was difficult because I had not done my "work". Thru God's Grace I learned about unconditional love. I did my "work". Ivan stayed "
Judi: I wrote this to honor Gods Grace, Ivan and my personal recovery

"It was a November morning (1968)when I answered the door. My body slowly angeled down the stairs as I was overweight, anxious and eight months pregnant. We had moved to the small Wisconsin town in August, had one car, huge college loans and no friends. Behind the front door was Lucille, a neighbor down the street. She introduced herself and wanted to visit. I said: NO. I am busy" and she left. About one week later she came again, bringing cookies and a huge smile. Her appearance was like an angel. She had a pregnant daughter in California and wanted to talk. The honey she put in my heart was simple and quiet and always shared with love and laughter. Lucille knew about trust. She knew we would survive the current story of our life and live by trusting in the moment. After my baby girl was born and my nipples were bleeding and my body aching she continued to encourage me with that trust. Lucille died this year at the age of 95 with a trusting smile on her face"
mkg@chibardun.net

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