Sample Stories & Narrative Essays
Each Cup of Comfort anthology is filled to the brim with uplifting true stories about the extraordinary experiences of “ordinary” people. We hope you’ll enjoy this small sampling, excerpted from the more than 35 Cup of Comfort books now available at your favorite booksellers and our online Bookstore.
A Few Minutes in the Shade
Author: Pedro H. Calves
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Fathers
Story Excerpt: I have a son. He’s five. About three times a week since he was an infant, I have given him a bath. It’s been a gauge as to the passage of time.
When he first came home, all tiny red and premature, it was a struggle. He cried and wiggled and tried to get away. I tried not to lose my grip; he was so slippery.
Then he got a little bigger, and we graduated to the kitchen sink and that blue monster of a baby bathtub. He enjoyed it, as did I.
He continued to grow and we moved into the “big” bathtub. I was more scared than he was, always trying to make sure he didn’t drown. Every bath was an adventure.
Then my daughter was born, and her baths renewed the cycle: the fear of losing my grip, the kitchen sink, the blue monster, the “big bathtub.” My son watched it all . . . and wanted toys. He got his sister. [Read Full Story]
Aglow with Gratitude
Author: Randi Israelow
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Adoptive Families
Story Excerpt: I tell myself that the sweat doesn’t matter, that the black turtleneck I am wearing blends in with the Phoenix, Arizona, asphalt and that the itching around my neck is just to keep me alert. The cramp in my right hamstring that has developed from eight hours of driving and that has now stiffened into a stubborn crunch doesn’t matter either. What matters is that I am convinced that my body is full of lights, and I am on my way to the hospital.
Through my windshield, I can see all the workers in their cars on the interstate being guided home by the sun’s low rays. For an instant, I consider seeing myself in one of those cars as if I had been raised here all along, as if I had stayed in this city of my birth instead of moving to Los Angeles and to all of the other cities I have lived in over the years. Adopted people tend to think in “what-ifs,” I suppose.
The lights inside my body rattle with the rhythm of my car’s tires hitting the bumps and cracks in the highway. They are not just any lights, but multicolored bulbs strung together and encased in plastic tulips the shades of pale green, pink, blue, and yellow. They have been inside my body since the moment I began as a child to imagine my biology and what it is like in there, under my skin, inside the parts of me that I cannot see. [Read Full Story]
Only Love Remains
Author: Amy Hudock
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Families Touched by Alzheimer’s
Story Excerpt: “If my hands are fully occupied in holding on to something, I can neither give nor receive.” -Dorothee Sölle
Who was this little old man hobbling along beside me? He may have been wondering the same thing: Who is this woman walking beside me? Yet, he seemed to know one thing for sure: I was going to take him to see his sweetheart, his bride of sixty-four years. So he was working as hard as he could to put one foot in front of the other as we exited the Alzheimer’s center. He willingly—no, eagerly—eased himself into the passenger seat of my car, looking up at me hopefully through clouded, blue eyes.
After I’d helped Dad buckle his seat belt, I wasn’t sure what to say as we drove toward the hospital. I wasn’t certain if his old ears could even hear me. And if he did hear, I wasn’t sure how much he could comprehend. I decided to talk about Mom. I knew she was his only goal, the only person he could remember. The staff at the center told me Dad hadn’t slept all night. Instead, he’d sat near the reception desk, hoping the front door would open and the love of his life would return to him. He couldn’t function without Mom around. [Read Full Story]
Part of the Gift
Author: Thomas Cannon
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Parents of Children with Autism
Story Excerpt: My wife and I sit together on one of the couches in the doctor’s examining room, which is at least 30 feet long with many toys in plastic bins.
“Yep, he’s autistic,” the doctor says nonchalantly, labeling our son as if she were stating the color of his hair.
Looking over at my little boy as he plays with a figurine of a knight on a galloping horse, I find her diagnosis impossible to believe. He’s too engaged in the world around him. Because I work with disabled children at a mental health hospital, the doctor had asked me if I thought Sawyer had autism. I had said no. He is too loving and too involved with me and his mom and two sisters. No, he didn’t respond much to the doctor, but he is only three. [Read Full Story]
You Bought Me Sleep
Author: Shelley Seale
Book: A Cup of Comfort for a Better World
Story Excerpt: The idea of volunteering in another country has long been considered the province of students and recent graduates; images of intrepid, twenty-year-old Peace Corps workers in a remote Sierra Leone village might spring to mind. Today, however, the idea has reached far beyond and become an accessible and highly popular pursuit among travelers of all ages and backgrounds. Volunteer travel has grown so popular that a term has even been coined for it: “voluntourism.” Foreign destinations are luring American citizens who want to sightsee while simultaneously engaging in community service. Companies and websites specializing in voluntourism have sprung up by the hundreds, and volunteer vacations can be found in all parts of the world, doing all kinds of activities—from digging wells for clean water in South America, to protecting the elephant population in South Africa, to working with children living in orphanages. [Read Full Story]
Inga
Author: Lauren Reece Flaum
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Breast Cancer Survivors
Story Excerpt: I played a little game with Inga’s face—well, chin mostly, her deep, plunging chin that reminded me of an icicle with its tip snapped abruptly off, I’d never seen another chin like it; it was more a caricature than a real feature. And I had nothing but time to study it, watching her enter and exit my room, sometimes with a Styrofoam cup of chicken noodle soup, sometimes with a printout of the day’s blood counts, all too often with thick plastic bags of toxic fluids targeting my tired veins. Each time she was in my presence, I’d seek out that odd triangular shape and in its recognition know that, somehow, Inga would yet again get me through the difficult day ahead.
The little game involved finding this same slightly askew triangle in the patterns that adorned Inga clothing, in the vee of her wrap-style nursing smock, in the turquoise stones of her bracelet, in the spaces created on her feet by the crisscrosses of her sturdy shoes. I don’t know if she knew she had a triangular theme going, or if it was some deep unconscious reiteration of what she saw when she looked in the mirror each morning getting ready for her hard day’s work as head nurse in the chemotherapy suite. For me, scrutinizing Inga and her chin and her crazy triangular patterning became a ritual. The triangles kept recurring—in her cheekbones and her barrettes and the creases of her eyelids—and finding them never failed to bring me a surprising measure of comfort. [Read Full Story]
Silky and the Woman Whose Hair Smelled Nice
Author: Gary Presley
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Cat Lovers
Story Excerpt: “Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.” -James Herriot
When I was a boy, the cats I knew had jobs, like regular folks. Orange Tom, my father’s favorite, and Tom’s gray-haired female companion worked in our dairy barn keeping mice out of the feed. They earned a splash of fresh cow’s milk twice a day.
It was a beneficial association—legitimate contract labor and one entirely appropriate to a cat’s inherent dignity.
Things change. I have a cat now. No barn. Only a cat. My cat, Silky the Siamese, has no idea that mice and feed don’t mix. Silky doesn’t work for a living, a thing I thought common in the feline world. I have Silky, the unemployed cat, because I wanted my wife.
After I met this really smart, funny, and sweet-smelling woman—after we had snuggled in movie theaters and held hands across restaurant tables and undertaken other semiromantic adventures not requiring feline participation—she began to tell me more about herself, about her childhood, and about a female Siamese cat she’d had for more than twenty years. I learned Tammy—the cat’s name, not the woman’s… [Read Full Story]
A Christmas to Remember
Author: Linda Stork
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Christmas
Story Excerpt: “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” -Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol)
He toddled around the corner and into the living room, where he stopped cold. His little mouth dropped open, and the light in Ryan’s eyes rivaled the glow of the lights on the Christmas tree. What he saw there were two big shiny Tonka toys, a tractor and a fire truck with a ladder. There were other packages, too, mostly from his grandparents and one or two small ones from me. But those would have to wait. He only had eyes for those trucks.
I looked at Mike, who was looking at Ryan. I couldn’t tell whose eyes were brighter.
“Those are for you, Ry,” I said.
That was all the encouragement he needed. He ran to the fire truck, climbed on, and rode three laps around the living room on top of the truck. Then he hopped off and lay down on his belly, pushing the tractor and making engine noises. [Read Full Story]
The Well Driller
Author: Mary Jane Chew
Book: A Cup of Comfort Classic Edition
Story Excerpt: “From the beginning of the human race stories have been used—by priests, by bards, by medicine men—as magic instruments of healing, of teaching, as a means of helping people come to terms with the fact that they continually have to face insoluble problems and unbearable realities.” -Joan Aiken
This is a story you won’t find in the newspapers today. It didn’t change the world, the course of events, or even someone’s mind. It isn’t complicated or deep. It’s simply a story about a good man who did a great thing.
Leslie M. Chew was my grandfather. He drilled water wells in Indiana and started his business during the Great Depression. Although nearly everyone was out of work, people still needed water, so he didn’t lack for jobs. Most of his drilling was for residential properties in small towns amid the flat plains so well suited to farming.
Even during those tough times, Gramps never used a written contract for his business. He had faith in the integrity of his neighbors, and he always believed that a discussion and a handshake were good enough to go on. My grandmother often voiced her misgivings about these arrangements, but Gramps wasn’t one to say no to a family in need of water. [Read Full Story]
On the Road to Redemption
Author: Janet Baker Hayhurst
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Divorced Women
Story Excerpt: Coastal Mexico’s road from Puerto Vallarta inland to Mascota is sweet. It winds for a breathtaking ninety minutes through the velvety Green Mountains. Driving it, you can get into a rhythm like dancing: looking ahead, judging the curve, letting the arm muscles make just enough effort to take the inside and ease back over. It’s a great game to never use the brakes to slow down, just the motor, downshifting. Once I followed a hightailing, rusty pickup I thought had no brake lights until the very last switchback, when he lost the zone (thoughts of dinner?) and they flashed on. Driving with skill on these mountain roads is fun, and it makes you thank God you have a car.
But most times now when I make that trip, I take the 3:30 bus out of Vallarta. It’s a rickety, old, beat-up blue thing with no suspension left, and the windows don’t shut, so the wind whistles, but I’ve learned to like it fine.
You see, in the car, there’s only one story—mine. On the bus, there are other stories, not sad like mine, but often happy and brave stories, in spite of the fact that the other people who take the blue bus certainly would take their car if they had a car. But they are too poor and thank God for their shoes, instead. Unfortunately, for me, these stories are in Spanish—and not even recognizable Castilian, but the drawled Spanish of country people. And with the wind whistling and with my aging, failing ears popping from the altitude changes as we ascend and descend, I have to guess at the plot lines. But never at the characters; they are always large and clear. [Read Full Story]
Penny’s Protection
Author: Linda Stork
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Dog Lovers II
Story Excerpt: I heard the kitchen door slam and then Dad’s clunky footfalls. I lay there in the dark trying to sleep. At seven years old, I was afraid, mostly of the dark, but I also imagined mean, awful men breaking in and hurting me. If only my dog Penny could sleep with me. Penny, my black lab, was outside in a cold, concrete pen all by herself. If she’d been in bed with me, I’d have snuggled with her and stroked her head. If Penny were there in my room, she’d protect me, but I was alone.
My brothers, Jeff and Barry, and I had just gone to bed. Mother was in the kitchen folding laundry.
Dad yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Laundry,” mother explained in a low voice.
My bedroom was the closest to the living room and the kitchen. I heard everything. I heard fear mixed with anger.
Dad slurred his words. “That’s a stupid thing to be doing at this time of night.” He fumbled over “time of night.” [Read Full Story]
My Jar of Self-Esteem
Author: Sigrid Stark
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Friends
Story Excerpt: Karen and I met when our first children were both eight months old. She was a new member of the church in which my husband was a pastor. We soon discovered that we had a number of things in common: a particular favorite shade of blue, a passion for obscure hymns, similarly designed wedding bands, and a mutual faith. Both creative, I expressed myself best through music and Karen through art.
As a pastor’s wife, I’m usually friendly with the people who attend the churches that my husband serves, but I usually don’t form deep friendships with them. Another pastor’s wife had even advised me not to pursue close friendships with parishioners. However, when I met Karen, I knew immediately that she saw me beyond my role in the church and that I could trust her.
Our instant bond strengthened as our lives continued to run parallel with one another’s. Although completely unplanned, Karen’s three children were born within two weeks of mine. Our friendship grew with our families, forged on barfy pregnancies, colicky babies, and early childhood illnesses. Our husbands both worked long hours, and so our daily phone calls became our mutual lifeline, a connection to reality filled with laughter and reassurances to one another that we would live through whatever challenges life presented us. [Read Full Story]
Hope
Author: Marybeth Lambe
Book: A Cup of Comfort for the Grieving Heart
Story Excerpt: Our holidays of 1990 were a time of anticipation and wonder. Snow had fallen in late November, a rare occurrence in Seattle. We were greedy for more snowflakes as I wearied our children with stories of white Christmases when I was growing up in Michigan. Though the cold weather meant hand-carrying water from the house to the horses, cows, and chickens, it also meant snow forts, tracking coyote trails, and nighttime walks through the still woods. My husband Mark took our two children to sled on the hills of the west pasture. Even I, eight months pregnant, risked a few journeys down into the valley below. At the end of my long ride down, I would roll off the sled, beached in the high snow and laughing as our children, Brendan and Sara, tumbled down beside me.
Our baby was due after the holidays, and Christmas seemed even more touched with magic than ever. This was to be our last infant born to us; afterward, we planned to expand our family by adopting. Eventually, if we could manage it, we wanted six or seven children. We began the adventure to adoption while I was still pregnant with our third child. Mark and I filled out forms and questionnaires from our agency while resting beneath the Christmas tree. There was no hurry to adopt; it would take at least a year. Better, though, we decided, to get the papers in before the tumult and excitement of a new baby. We sent all our information off, knowing it would be a long time before we heard more. [Read Full Story]
The Pony Farm
Author: Nancy Shaufele
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Horse Lovers
Story Excerpt: The kids and grandkids were home for the holidays, and the house was chaotic with noise and motion. In the midst of swirling holiday activities, I was sorting through Christmas cards and found one from someone I hadn’t thought of in nearly forty years. The inscription read, “Do you remember the pony farm?”
I was instantly transported back in time. Age, miles, menopause, life, and death had not erased memories so well-etched in my mind that I often still dream of the horses and people who saved my young life. I put away the card. There would be time to think about it later.
I waited until the house was silent and everyone was asleep before I crept downstairs to retrieve the card from so long ago. The Christmas tree lights gave the soft glow I needed to reminisce. I poured a glass of wine and curled up on the old leather couch. It was the perfect time to invite some cherished old memories back into my life.
I closed my eyes and softly hummed the song that a motley group of preteen girls made up one rainy afternoon. We substituted the lyrics to “We’re Poor Little Sheep Who Have Gone Astray” with these words… [Read Full Story]
Angel Wings
Author: Joyce Holt
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Inspiration
Story Excerpt: “There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” -Edith Wharton
I answer the ringing phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, darling, it’s Patty. Haven’t seen you in a while. How’re you doing?”
It’s not a rhetorical question. Patty knows I’ve been struggling recently with mood swings and insomnia as my hormones adjust to the approach of menopause.
“Pretty good today,” I answer. “How about you?”
“Fine, as ever. Can you come over tomorrow around noon and change a phone number for me?” [Read Full Story]
The Illusion
Author: Justin Ballard
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Military Families
Story Excerpt: “The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home.” -Confucius
I write this sitting on my bed in my room, a room much like a dorm room in a college or barracks. My laptop computer sits on a small wooden table that another airman here before me made and eventually discarded behind the pods, as we military types call them, the trailer-like living quarters I live in. I found this little table there one night as I scavenged for exactly those sorts of things, cleaned it up and made it mine, a small comfort that makes this place a bit more like home.
In my room are two steel bunk beds with two mattresses, worn and beaten down. I have my own pillow, sheets, and comforter that I brought from home, an amenity that keeps me from those itchy wool blankets the military seems to love so much. There are also two wooden wardrobes, each with a mirror inside and a closet rod. The walls are light wood paneling and the floors an off-white linoleum tile.
This room is quite civilized and comfortable compared to the tents I’ve lived in before. Of course, there are pros and cons to both styles of living, but you’d have to have experienced them both to really… [Read Full Story]
Heart Stories
Author: Katherine Barrett
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Mothers
Story Excerpt: The twins are two; Thomas is three and a half. And I am forty-two . . . today. We’re celebrating my birthday at my parents’ house because we’ve sold ours and set our furniture to sea. We’re en route from central Canada to South Africa, where we will live for the next three years. Carl, my husband, is overseas right now, scouting rental properties.
So the birthday party is small, just my children and parents. We’ve had my favorite dinner, baked scallops, and we’ve gorged on homemade chocolate cake. It may be small, but the party is raucous. Chocolate propels young children sugar-sky high. For an hour, Thomas, Jon, and Alex have been chasing each other around the loop of my parents’ first floor. We eventually corral them to open my presents.
Carl left behind a lovely writing journal and some restorative eye cream (truly), and my parents have promised to babysit while I buy myself some decent clothes. There’s one final present and it’s from Thomas. He and my father slipped out yesterday for a covert excursion to the Dollar Store. That’s all I know—but they’re both beaming now. [Read Full Story]
A Perfect Baby
Author: Jennifer Busick
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Mothers to Be
Story Excerpt: At my six-week postpartum visit, Dr. Wigginton hands me a small box with a pink lid. Inside is a stainless steel, long-handled baby spoon engraved with my daughter’s name and birth date.
“Thank you,” I say, and then wait, because Dr. Wigginton is looking everywhere except at me, his face pinched with concentration. He is trying, I soon realize, to find the right words; there is something he wants to say.
Finally, he looks at me. “I just . . .” he begins, but it takes two tries. “I just wanted you to have a perfect baby.”
Now, I am the one who can’t look him in the eye.
Everyone looks forward to the twenty-week ultrasound—to that first glimpse, grainy and shifting, when the ultrasound tech says things you’ve been waiting so long to hear: “It’s a boy,” or, “See that, she’s sucking her thumb,” or, “Oh look, toes!”
I took a videotape to my ultrasound so that my husband could see it later. He’d planned to come, but our older daughter woke up with a fever of 102, so we decided to cancel the sitter, and he stayed home instead. [Read Full Story]
Time Out
Author: Nancy Massand
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Mothers and Daughters
Story Excerpt: I flung aside the covers and bolted upright, wide-eyed. “Wake up!” I shook Mike’s shoulder gently, then harder. “We overslept!”
I raced to the girls’ room, frantic and smelling of morning breath, pulled the two older ones out of the bunk bed and led them to the bathroom with their eyes closed. Trusting that they could walk through the morning routine in their sleep, I pulled open drawers and laid out their clothes, while the baby slept on in her crib. Then I sped down the hall, pulling open the bathroom door in transit. “Your clothes are on the bed! Dress fast; we’re really late!”
“Can we have pancakes today, Mommy?”
“No! Daddy will butter some toast for you to take out the door. Hurry!”
I threw on a pair of yellow slacks and a matching T-shirt. Dress at the school where I taught was casual. Permanent press, great! No time for ironing. No time for a shower, either. I ran a brush through my hair and while I dashed on a little makeup, I listened to the girls… [Read Full Story]
Hero
Author: Inez Hollander
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Mothers and Sons
Story Excerpt: My hero never carried me out of a burning building or cracked a walnut with his biceps. He did not earn a Purple Heart or a boxing championship. He is no famous quarterback, and he does not have the leading-man looks of Robert Redford. He is no Aeneas, Spartacus, or Hamlet—a legend beyond his time. My hero has not even come of age yet, for he is my six-year-old son, William.
I had the first glimpse of my son’s unique brand of quiet heroism when his sister was born and screamed her head off the first three months of her life. William exhibited no sibling rivalry or jealousy, but instead showed sympathy for my inability to console colicky Caroline. He did not ask me why I was running the vacuum cleaner again just so I would not hear her rage in the other room. He understood without being told how frustrated I was when I got up repeatedly to go to her room. One time, he told me to sit down, that he would take care of it. And he did. I can still see him walking into her room, his little redhead barely tall enough to peep inside the high crib. With his arm at an odd angle, he patted her tense back with his chubby little hand, cooing, “Hush, little sister. Don’t cry.” Hearing her brother’s voice, she grew quiet momentarily. [Read Full Story]
A Tale of Two Mothers
Author: Barbara D. Diggs
Book: A Cup of Comfort for New Mothers
Story Excerpt: The battle began while I was still in the hospital. As I lay in bed, trying to follow the nurse’s instructions to shove what seemed like my entire breast into the sweet, rosebud mouth of my two-day-old son, the phone rang. I knew it would be my mother, calling to check on her youngest daughter and seventh grandchild for the millionth time that day. I couldn’t fault her itchy dialing finger; Teodor was my first child, and we were more than 3,000 miles away in France. If she could have crawled through the telephone wires to get to us, she would have.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie! What are you up to?”
“Trying to feed Teo,” I answered, wincing slightly as my little one latched on and began to suck vigorously. Too vigorously? Why was he sucking so hard? I wondered, frowning down at him. Was he latched on correctly? Was he getting anything? Was I producing anything? Might I be starving my baby? [Read Full Story]
Reach and Pull
Author: Elizabeth King Gerlach
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Parents of Children with Special Needs
Story Excerpt: Ruth’s eyes twinkled like the lights reflecting off the water of the pool. She held the orange safety cone up to her mouth, using it as a makeshift megaphone. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to watch the amazing Nick as he attempts to swim to the other side of the pool. Come on, Nick, let’s see you reach and pull, reach and pull. That’s the way! Use those arms to swim across the water.”
I inhaled sharply as my son, wearing his favorite red goggles, gasped a big breath and bobbed across the surface. Maybe I took a breath every time his mouth tilted sideways for air and his arm came up and over. Maybe my feet kicked just a little bit underneath the chair where I sat and watched. I was on the edge of my seat, and it felt more like watching an Olympic event than a beginning swimming class.
It had taken a long time for my son to reach this level of skill and confidence. Nick has autism, and just about every activity outside our home posed huge challenges for both him and me. There was the indoor kinder-gym, where we lasted about three visits, until one day my son took all the riding cars and carefully lined them up, refusing to let anyone touch his creation, and screamed bloody murder when they tried. That (understandably) didn’t go over very well with the other parents or kids. [Read Full Story]
Altars of Sacrifice
Author: Amy Hudock
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Single Mothers
Story Excerpt: “The most important thing she’d learned over the years was that there was no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one.” -Jill Churchill
I can’t sleep. Again.
I sit on my upper front porch, door open so that I can hear if my daughter wakes up and calls for me from her room. in the pasture across the street, horses graze in the moonlight. I hear their soft snorts as they move lazily along the fence, heads down, jaws grinding.
I remember taking my sleeping bag to the barn when I was child and hearing the same soothing noises as I drifted off to sleep in the hay. Once, I woke n the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep. My pony, Rainyday, was not at all surprised when I gave him a midnight snack and climbed on his back. As I lay back on his haunches, his slow rolling walk rocked me back toward sleep. Part of me wants to go to the horses now and let them help me end this sleeplessness, this anxious being alone in the dark. [Read Full Story]
Sister Power
Author: P. Avice Carr
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Sisters
Story Excerpt: “Mom . . .”
“Can we . . .”
“Have . . .”
“Ice cream . . .”
“Please?”
There they stood, five little girls, hair moist from the heat, proud of their newly discovered power to deliver single sentences in five sequential parts. How could I resist five sisters cooperating? They got ice cream. It was the first time they’d used their united strength to get what they wanted, but it wouldn’t be the last. [Read Full Story]
Why I Teach
Author: Whitney L. Grady
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Teachers
Story Excerpt: “Teachers perform major miracles . . . daily.” -Meryl Streep
I know my students. Masses of awkward seventh graders swarm the halls of my rural middle school each day, hauling backpacks over one shoulder, talking and shuffling along the tile hallway floor from class to class. I watch them like a general from my post (my classroom door) and smile at the fact that I can call each one by name.
I know their secrets, their stories. Dora slouches and is shy, and I know it is because she spends all her time at home trying not to get noticed, so she won’t feel the brunt of her stepfather’s angry hand. Jay can pitch like a tenth grader, and all the girls swoon when he and his blond hair strut by, but I know he doesn’t really even like baseball that much (he plays because his dad wants him to) and he is too scared to ask out the girl he likes. The kids think Keith is just the class clown, but I know of his dreams to become an astronaut (and I’ve recommended him for space camp). I know my students because I am their writing teacher. They trust me with their stories and so I am given the privilege of having a secret bond with each and every one of them. [Read Full Story]
Author: Judith Ann Squier
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Weddings
Story Excerpt: The little white church stood proudly with its steeple reaching to the sky, a daily reminder for the farmers in Scarboro, Illinois, that they were not alone.
The little white church was the center of community life. On Sunday, they worshipped there. Monday through Saturday they worked, hard. Come spring, they planted. Come summer, Farmers’ Almanac in hand, they prayed for sunshine, fearing deadly droughts or severe storms with strong winds, both of which challenged their faith that autumn’s harvest would be plentiful.
The Lee County house of God stood on a short street along with the grain elevator, a dozen houses, and an old school house. The church was surrounded by cornfields and bordered by Highways 30 and 51. Fifty-two Sundays a year—barring blizzards—the farmers and their families filled the old oak pews. They bowed their heads in the sanctuary until the final “amen” redirected them to the basement for a smorgasbord of homemade delicacies. Folks of all ages loved the summer picnics and ice cream socials, but weddings were the highlight of the year.
On wedding days the squeaky-clean Chevys and Fords parked every which way on the grass outside. Fathers, their deeply suntanned cheeks contrasting against their bone-white foreheads, climbed out from behind the steering wheels. Smiling mothers whispered final orders to… [Read Full Story]
Hummingbird’s Journey
Author: Cassie Premo Steele
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Writers
Story Excerpt: “I shall live badly if I do not write, and I shall write badly if I do not live.” -Françoise Sagan
Years ago, in the midst of dreaming of becoming a writer, seeing the shadow of my future writer-self outside my window, I entered a crisis.
An identity crisis.
A breakdown.
A depression.
A block.
There are many names in our culture for such experiences. Sometimes they come after a life change—a death, a divorce, a move. Sometimes they sneak up on us—we are driving merrily down our lane, and suddenly we see a stop sign from God. [Read Full Story]
Christian Editions
Author: Penny Smity
Book: A Cup of Comfort Big Book of Prayer
Story Excerpt: At last it was being delivered. I had been living out of packed cartons for five months while searching for another house. It hadn’t been my idea to move from my mobile home in the mountains. In fact, I thought I’d be there for the rest of my days, but my children had finally convinced me that it would not be worth the expense to fix the old place, especially since it was located on a rented lot. Besides, the outside work was so demanding. I decided that my time could be spent in more meaningful ways.
So, the house search began. At first, we looked at fixer-uppers that, in my opinion, were worse than the home I had. We turned our attention to house after house that would require less work but found the prices beyond our financial resources. “Lord, lead us to the right place,” I prayed.
I realized that I was sentimental about the old place, but I had good reason to be. I had often received missionaries, evangelists, and ministry leaders there when they came to minister at my church. In fact, I had lovingly named the place “Bethany House.” Jesus had often been entertained at the home in Bethany where Mary, Martha, and Lazarus lived, and I, too, wanted to welcome the presence of the Lord and His people to my home. Now, I had made the decision to move, and it wasn’t easy. It was a decision that had been bathed in prayer. Daily, I had asked the Lord to lead me to the right place. [Read Full Story]
Amazing Grace in Glasgow
Author: Laurie Modrzejewski
Book: A Cup of Comfort Book of Bible Promises
Story Excerpt: But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man Jesus Christ. -Romans 5:17
I stepped away from the dusty surface of the chalkboard and took a deep breath. Was I really in Glasgow, Scotland, thousands of miles from home? And did these seventh-graders still have as much trouble understanding me as I did understanding them? A dark-haired girl in the front row raised her hand, “’Scuze me, Miss, but I can’t find me jotter.”
Her what? My mind catapulted through the possibilities. Jotter? Like to jot down something. Oh, I know—her journal. She can’t find her journal. Aha! With a sigh of relief, I squatted down next to the worn desk and picked up a bound book with a colorful cover lounging on the floor near the aisle.
She smiled at me as I handed it to her. From his perch at the back of the room, my supervising teacher gave me a slight nod. Wow, I needed that. After weeks of trying to adjust to a new culture, language, and environment, relief washed over me. [Read Full Story]
Advent at Hall House
Author: Cathy C. Hall
Book: A Cup of Comfort Book of Christmas Prayer
Story Excerpt: I live in the sunny south, so I’ve rarely experienced those cold temperatures that usher in the Christmas season for so many others. I’ve never enjoyed shopping much, so I don’t start Christmas searching for sales and discounts and coming home with my arms laden with packages. At my house, Christmas officially starts when I yell for my youngest son, “Bring up the box marked ‘Advent Wreath’!”
Most Christians think of the Advent wreath as a cherished spiritual tradition of prayers, candles, and greenery. Perhaps, when they picture the wreath, they see a loving family, gathered around the warm glow of the deep purple tapers rising majestically from the ring of holly. Maybe they get a warm feeling inside, recalling all the prayers recited and sent heavenward. Of course, that would be the Advent wreath tradition over at the perfect house. At the Hall house, the Advent wreath tradition is a little less than perfect.
I introduced my husband to the Advent wreath in the early days of our marriage. He accompanied me to church where the candles were lit and the priest said a special prayer on the four Sundays leading up to Christmas Eve. Growing up in a Catholic home, there had always been an Advent wreath in the house, and when our first Christmas together arrived, my husband and I had a little Advent wreath of our own. For a brief, shining moment we shared something close to a prayerful, meaningful Advent wreath tradition. Then, we had a little boy. [Read Full Story]
Ramp of Hope
Author: Jennie Hilligus
Book: A Cup of Comfort Book of Prayer
Story Excerpt: “. . . Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son so he can give glory back to you. For you have given him authority over everyone. He gives eternal life to each one you have given him. And this is the way to have eternal life—to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, the one you sent to earth. I brought glory to you here on earth by completing the work you gave me to do. Now, Father, bring me into the glory we shared before the world began.” —John 17:1–5 (NLT)
When we entered the gymnasium at 10:30 p.m., we found things had already settled down for the night. We were instructed by an older woman to pull an air mattress from a lofty stack hidden in a far corner of the room. Burdened with our bed for the next week, we carefully maneuvered our way through seemingly lifeless bodies spread across the floor like small fortresses. Our only guidance was the occasional snore that erupted from a sleeping bag here and there. We pushed through the shadows, attempting to find an empty spot on the floor where we, too, could build our own little fortress. We tripped over suitcases and blow dryers at every step. Eventually, we found a space, dropped our bags, and took a deep breath while our eyes adjusted to the darkness. [Read Full Story]
The Ultimate Sacrifice
Author: Larkin Huey
Book: A Cup of Comfort for Christians
Story Excerpt: People who didn’t grow up the way I did, in a foster home, can’t understand what it’s like not to have a family. Without a place to call home, I always felt that I was somehow less than other people.
My counselor in high school was the first to show me how to come to terms with my feelings of inferiority. He told me to accept my situation and my life the way it was: accept that I will never have that “family of origin,” as he called it, and move on. Then I was to create the concept of my “family of destiny,” and make that idea a part of my life now: hold it, care for it, nurture it, and keep it in my heart until I was old enough to accomplish it. Although it wouldn’t be a family of origin, I could have a family, a real family all the same. He told me to have faith that it would happen, but also to understand that whatever God gives me is all that I need. God had already given me foster parents who were Christians, and faith was their gift to me. But it would take many, many years for me to realize that faith truly is all I need.
I was eighteen years old, with high school graduation a month away. My foster parents and I knew that I might be drafted and sent to the front lines of the war in Vietnam. As Christians, we opposed the war, so we started looking for alternatives. We learned that if I joined the Air Force, not only would I fulfill my military obligation and not have to worry about the draft, but I would also be safe from direct involvement in the war. [Read Full Story]
New Year’s Resolutions
Author: Jewell Johnson
Book: A Cup of Comfort Devotional
Story Excerpt: “Open my eyes to see the wonderful truths in your law.” -Psalm 119:18
“Mom, what New Year’s resolutions are you making this year?” my daughter asked at the first of the year.
“I don’t make New Year’s resolutions,” I said. “I only break them.”
“You have to make at least one,” Ann said. “Listen to my list.” She rambled through about a dozen. Not to be outdone by an eighteen-year-old, I promised to make at least one resolution.
First thing the next morning, as usual, I grabbed the newspaper and read about fatal accidents, drive-by shootings, child abuse, and domestic violence. That’s when I came up with my resolution.
I resolved to change the way I begin each day. Every morning I’ve decided that the first imprint on my mind will be words that have stood the test of time—the encouraging, eternal words of God’s Word. [Read Full Story]
Peace—Only a Prayer Away
Author: Karin Lindstrom
Book: A Cup of Comfort Devotional for Mothers
Story Excerpt: “Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. If you do this you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:6–7
The day was off to a bad start. I awoke to see everything covered in snow and the white flurries continued to fall at a rapid clip. Later that morning, my husband’s car stalled while he was out driving, and despite our repeated efforts, we couldn’t coax it to start back up. We managed to push it into a nearby parking lot and call a tow truck. Our mechanic told us to tow it to his shop, but he was sorry, it would be ten days before he could take a look at it and fix it.
Then later that day, while I wasn’t looking, my son put on a little jumping routine on the sofa, which ended with a loud thud and a nice cut to the head. As I held a washcloth over my son’s bleeding head, called my husband on the phone, and searched for my car keys so I could take him to the emergency room, the tension increased. I felt my anxiety level rising dangerously close to the O.O.C. (out of control) line. [Read Full Story]
Desperately Seeking Susan
Author: Susan Estribou Ramsden
Book: A Cup of Comfort Devotional for Mothers and Daughters
Story Excerpt: “You didn’t choose me. I chose you. I appointed you to go and produce lasting fruit, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask for, using my name. This is my command: Love each other.” -John 15:16–17
When my mother died in 1985, I felt like a rudderless ship adrift on the high seas. Though separated by many miles, we remained close, and her passing left a void that threatened to engulf me. I was happily married and had a darling young daughter, but I longed for the understanding and comfort that only a mother can give. I asked God to send someone to fill the aching emptiness in my heart. I was young and immature in my faith and did not understand that the loneliness I experienced was the Lord’s way of drawing me closer to Him.
As the months dragged on, I spent more and more time in prayer. I gained solace from reading my Bible, and I found myself growing closer to the Lord. I began to see Him as a friend and confidant. I continued to pray for a mother figure to enter my life, but none materialized.
Months turned into years, and I stopped badgering God. Perhaps He wants me to go it alone, I thought, and I decided I could handle it. I knew the source of my strength. I still missed Mom, but the terrible ache had subsided, and I had found meaning and fulfillment in raising my own family and teaching school. [Read Full Story]
Time Is Not The Enemy
Author: Jane Heitman
Book: A Cup of Comfort Devotional for Women
Story Excerpt: “I am the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end,” says the Lord God. “I am the one who is, who always was, and who is still to come, the Almighty One.” -Revelation 1:8
Every day at work I played Beat the Clock. While I might beat my ticking torturer occasionally, I often lost my perspective. You see, my job is filled with deadlines. Outgoing mail has to be in the basket by 11 a.m. Incoming requests have to be processed in the morning, and any returns have to go out by 4:30 p.m. Incoming materials have to be processed immediately, with customers contacted within the hour.
I felt deadlined to death, and it showed. Woe to anything or anyone who got in my way! Snapping at my coworkers earned me low marks on my performance review, which came just after New Year’s Day.
When my supervisor told me to shape up during the year ahead, I studied time-management self-help books. Most of them seemed aimed at a company’s higher echelon of employees, with tips on how to delegate and deal with subordinates. What if you are the subordinate? Other suggestions, such as taking a bubble bath, didn’t seem practical in the middle of a hectic day at the office!
Then something my pastor said helped me call a time-out. As I rushed into a Sunday study of Revelation, he remarked, “God is in charge of all time.” [Read Full Story]
Clouds Overhead, Rainbows on the Horizon
Author: Lori Z. Scott
Book: A Cup of Comfort Women of the Bible Devotional
Story Excerpt: “When everything was ready, the Lord said to Noah, ‘Go into the boat with all your family, for among all the people of the earth, I can see that you alone are righteous.’” -Genesis 7:1
About three days before we moved from Nebraska to Indiana, my son Michael asked, “Mom, where are my books?”
“Sorry,” I said, putting the finishing touches on the cardboard box I’d just taped shut. “They’re already packed.”
Michael frowned. “But I finished this one, and there’s nothing else to do. Can you just tell me what box they’re in?”
“Forget it.” I said. “You’re not going to open up boxes and rummage through them for a book. I spent all morning packing up the toy room. I still have to pack the kitchen and bathrooms, and I need to clean the house again. Why don’t you go play with your sister?”
He shook his head. “She’s sitting in an empty box pretending it’s a boat.” [Read Full Story]