Cover image for More stories for the heart : over 100 stories to warm your heart
More stories for the heart : over 100 stories to warm your heart
Gray, Alice, 1939-
Publication Information:
Sisters, Or. : Multnomah Publishers, [1997]

Physical Description:
299 pages ; 21 cm
Compassion -- Encouragement -- Virtue -- Love -- Family -- Life -- Faith.
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BV4515.2 .M665 1997 Adult Non-Fiction Non-Fiction Area

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A sequel to Stories for the Heart, More Stories for the Heart offers up over one hundred stories that hug readers' hearts and encourage their souls. This treasury of timeless tales-written by some of the best Christian communicators today-offers a wealth of compassion and love certain to minister to multiple generations. Readers will find themselves sharing these uplifting tales in conversation and letting the stories' wisdom inspire their thinking. These are stories that will add flavor to readers' views...and will be carried in their hearts. Whether read during peaceful moments spent cuddled up by the fire, during moments basking in the sunshine...or during read-aloud family times with loved ones, More Stories for the Heart is certain to encourage the soul.

Author Notes

Inspirational conference speaker Alice Gray has written Stories for the Heart: Over 100 Stories to Encourage Your Soul, Stories for the Heart, Keepsakes for the Heart: Friendship, and Christmas Stories for the Heart.

(Bowker Author Biography)



The Day Philip Joined the Group PAUL HARVEY with acknowledgement to Rev. Harry Pritchett Jr., rector of All Saints Episcopal Church in Atlanta, who called my attention to a boy named Philip. He was 9--in a Sunday school class of 8-year-olds. Eight-year-olds can be cruel. The third-graders did not welcome Philip to their group. Not just because he was older. He was "different." He suffered from Down's syndrome and its obvious manifestations: facial characteristics, slow responses, symptoms of retardation. One Sunday after Easter the Sunday school teacher gathered some of those plastic eggs that pull apart in the middle--the kind in which some ladies' pantyhose are packaged. The Sunday school teacher gave one of these plastic eggs to each child. On that beautiful spring day each child was to go outdoors and discover for himself some symbol of "new life" and place that symbolic seed or leaf or whatever inside his egg. They would then open their eggs one by one, and each youngster would explain how his find was a symbol of "new life." So... The youngsters gathered 'round on the appointed day and put their eggs on a table, and the teacher began to open them. One child had found a flower. All the children "oohed" and "aahed" at the lovely symbol of new life. In another was a butterfly. "Beautiful," the girls said. And it's not easy for an 8-year-old to say "beautiful." Another egg was opened to reveal a rock. Some of the children laughed. "That's crazy!" one said. "How's a rock supposed to be like a 'new life'?" Immediately a little boy spoke up and said, "That's mine. I knew everybody would get flowers and leaves and butterflies and all that stuff, so I got a rock to be different." Everyone laughed. The teacher opened the last one, and there was nothing inside. "That's not fair," someone said. "That's stupid," said another. Teacher felt a tug on his shirt. It was Philip. Looking up he said, "It's mine. I did do it. It's empty. I have new life because the tomb is empty." The class fell silent. From that day on Philip became part of the group. They welcomed him. Whatever had made him different was never mentioned again. Philip's family had known he would not live a long life; just too many things wrong with the tiny body. That summer, overcome with infection, Philip died. On the day of his funeral nine 8-year-old boys and girls confronted the reality of death and marched up to the altar--not with flowers. Nine children with their Sunday school teacher placed on the casket of their friend their gift of love--an empty egg. A Song in the Dark MAX LUCADO, from God Came Near On any other day, I probably wouldn't have stopped. Like the majority of people on the busy avenue, I would hardly have noticed him standing there. But the very thing on my mind was the very reason he was there, so I stopped. I'd just spent a portion of the morning preparing a lesson out of the ninth chapter of John, the chapter that contains the story about the man blind from birth. I'd finished lunch and was returning to my office when I saw him. He was singing. An aluminum cane was in his left hand; his right hand was extended and open, awaiting donations. He was blind. After walking past him about five steps, I stopped and mumbled something to myself about the epitome of hypocrisy and went back in his direction. I put some change in his hand. "Thank you," he said and then offered me a common Brazilian translation, "and may you have health." Ironic wish. Once again I started on my way. Once again the morning's study of John 9 stopped me. "Jesus saw a man, blind from birth." I paused and pondered. If Jesus were here he would see this man. I wasn't sure what that meant. But I was sure I hadn't done it. So I turned around again. As if the giving of a donation entitled me to do so, I stopped beside a nearby car and observed. I challenged myself to see him. I would stay here until I saw more than a sightless indigent on a busy thoroughfare in downtown Rio de Janeiro. I watched him sing. Some beggars grovel in a corner cultivating pity. Others unashamedly lay their children on blankets in the middle of the sidewalk thinking that only the hardest of hearts would ignore a dirty, naked infant asking for bread. But this man did none of that. He stood. He stood tall. And he sang. Loudly. Even proudly. All of us had more reason to sing than he, but he was the one singing. Mainly, he sang folk songs. Once I thought he was singing a hymn, though I wasn't sure. His husky voice was out of place amid the buzz of commerce. Like a sparrow who found his way into a noisy factory, or a lost fawn on an interstate, his singing conjured up an awkward marriage between progress and simplicity. The passersby had various reactions. Some were curious and gazed unabashedly. Others were uncomfortable. They were quick to duck their heads or walk in a wider circle. "No reminders of harshness today, please." Most, however, hardly noticed him. Their thoughts were occupied, their agendas were full and he was...well, he was a blind beggar. I was thankful he couldn't see the way they looked at him. After a few minutes, I went up to him again. "Have you had any lunch?" I asked. He stopped singing. He turned his head toward the sound of my voice and directed his face somewhere past my ear. His eye sockets were empty. He said he was hungry. I went to a nearby restaurant and bought him a sandwich and something cold to drink. When I came back he was still singing and his hands were still empty. He was grateful for the food. We sat down on a nearby bench. Between bites he told me about himself. Twenty-eight years old. Single. Living with his parents and seven brothers. "Were you born blind?" "No, when I was young I had an accident." He didn't volunteer any details and I didn't have the gall to request them. Though we were almost the same age, we were light-years apart. My three decades had been a summer vacation of family excursions, Sunday school, debate teams, football, and a search for the Mighty One. Growing up blind in the Third World surely offered none of these. My daily concern now involved people, thoughts, concepts, and communication. His day was stitched with concerns of survival: coins, handouts, and food. I'd go home to a nice apartment, a hot meal, and a good wife. I hated to think of the home he would encounter. I'd seen enough overcrowded huts on the hills of Rio to make a reasonable guess. And his reception...would there be anyone there to make him feel special when he got home? I came whisker-close to asking him, "Does it make you mad that I'm not you?" "Do you ever lie awake at night wondering why the hand you were dealt was so different from the one given a million or so others born thirty years ago?" I wore a shirt and tie and some new shoes. His shoes had holes and his coat was oversized and bulky. His pants gaped open from a rip in the knee. And still he sang. Though a sightless, penniless hobo, he still found a song and sang it courageously. (I wondered which room in his heart that song came from.) At worst, I figured, he sang from desperation. His song was all he had. Even when no one gave any coins, he still had his song. Yet he seemed too peaceful to be singing out of self-preservation. Or perhaps he sang from ignorance. Maybe he didn't know what he had never had. No, I decided the motivation that fit his demeanor was the one you'd least expect. He was singing from contentment. Somehow this eyeless pauper had discovered a candle called satisfaction and it glowed in his dark world. Someone had told him, or maybe he'd told himself, that tomorrow's joy is fathered by today's acceptance. Acceptance of what, at least for the moment, you cannot alter. I looked up at the Niagara of faces that flowed past us. Grim. Professional. Some determined. Some disguised. But none were singing, not even silently. What if each face were a billboard that announced the true state of the owner's heart? How many would say "Desperate! Business on the rocks!" or "Broken: In Need of Repair," or "Faithless, Frantic, and Fearful"? Quite a few. The irony was painfully amusing. This blind man could be the most peaceful fellow on the street. No diploma, no awards, and no future--at least in the aggressive sense of the word. But I wondered how many in that urban stampede would trade their boardrooms and blue suits in a second for a chance to drink at this young man's well. "Faith is the bird that sings while it is yet dark." Before I helped my friend back to his position, I tried to verbalize my empathy. "Life is hard, isn't it?" A slight smile. He again turned his face toward the direction of my voice and started to respond, then paused and said, "I'd better get back to work." For almost a block, I could hear him singing. And in my mind's eye I could still see him. But the man I now saw was a different one than the one to whom I'd given a few coins. Though the man I now saw was still sightless, he was remarkably insightful. And though I was the one with eyes, it was he who gave me a new vision. Excerpted from More Stories for the Heart: The Second Collection by Alice Gray All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Compassionp. 13
ComfortingCharles Swindoll
I Want That OneCharles Stanley
He Needed a Son
Little FlowerJames McCutcheon
SignificanceR. C. Sproul
Information PleasePaul Villiard
Beethoven's GiftPhilip Yancey
At the Winter FeederJohn Leax
Make Me Like Joe!Tony Campolo
Lady, are You Rich?Marion Doolan
To My NeighborMother Teresa
A Guy Named BillRebecca Manley Pippert and Alice Gray
Autumn DanceRobin Jones Gunn
To My Nurses
A Second ChanceBilly Graham
Eternal HarmonyJohn MacArthur and Casandra Lindell
Are You God?Charles Swindoll
Words Must WaitRuth Bell Graham
Encouragementp. 43
The SecretPaul Harvey
Mr. Roth
I Don't Believe a Word Of ItHoward Hendricks
A Perfect Pot of TeaRoberta Messner
Encouraging WordsSusan Maycinik
Three Letters From TeddyElizabeth Silance Ballard
The Comfort of a Cold, Wet NoseBarbara Baumgardner
Giving and ReceivingBillie Davis
Teacher DanMarilyn McAuley
The MenderRuth Bell Graham
Long Range VisionHoward Hendricks
The Red CoatMelody Carlson
The Young WidowAlice Gray
Michael's Story Begins at Age SixCharlotte Elmore
Another ChanceH. Stephen Glenn and Jane Nelsen
Come in TogetherStu Weber
First ThingsTony Campolo
Virtuep. 81
These Things I Wish for YouPaul Harvey
Why I'm a Sports MomJudy Bodmer
To Whom Shall I Leave My Kingdom?Donald E. Wildmon
The Magnadoodle MessageLiz Curtis Higgs
Beauty ContestCarla Muir
BouquetDavid Seamands
Olympic GoldCatherine Swift
A Candy BarDoris Sanford
What to Listen forTim Hansel
Good TurnNola Bertelson
Behind the Quick SketchJoni Eareckson Tada
Androclus and the LionAutus Gellius and Casandra Lindell
GossipBilly Graham
The Toe-TapperJoan Sparks
Taking SidesZig Ziglar
The DressMargaret Jensen
Distant RelativesCarla Muir
It's More Than a JobCharles Swindoll
A Tender WarriorStu Weber
Lovep. 119
The Pencil BoxDoris Sanford
She's My PreciousRobertson McQuilkin
The Final BidRobert Strand
The Good StuffRobert Fulghum
Shooooppping!Gary Smalley
HeirloomAnn Weems and Alice Gray
It Happened on the Brooklyn SubwayPaul Deutschman
Love is a GrandparentErma Bombeck
Love From the HeartChad Miller
Extraordinary PeopleJo Ann Larsen
50 Promises for MarriageSteve Stephens
The TreasureAlice Gray
That Little China ChipBettie B. Youngs
The DanceThelda Bevens
Don't Forget What Really MattersPaul Harvey
The Last "I Love You"Debbi Smoot
Familyp. 157
A Moment in TimeMatthew Norquist
When Grown Kids Come to VisitErma Bombeck
Running AwayChristopher de Vinck
Why My Wife Bought HandcuffsPhilip Gulley
Too BusyRon Mehl
When the Moon Doesn't ShineRuth Senter
Father's Day: a TributeMax Lucado
Releasing the ArrowStu Weber
Laughter in the WallsBob Benson
Dad's HelperRon Mehl
Legacy of an Adopted Child the GiftGeorge Parler
Papa's Sermon
Alone Time for MomCrystal Kirgiss
Words for Your FamilyGary Smalley and John Trent
Gift of LoveJames Dobson
A Mother's WayTemple Bailey
Tender IntuitionRobin Jones Gunn
Slippery RisksHeather Harpham Kopp
Family Vacations and Other Threats to MarriagePhilip Gulley
When God Created FathersErma Bombeck
Lifep. 197
No BoxKenneth Caraway
Lookin' GoodPatsy Clairmont
A Street Vendor Named ContentmentMax Lucado
Death and the DawnPearl S. Buck
Growing RootsPhilip Gulley
PerspectiveMarilyn McAuley
Saving the Broken PiecesRobert Schuller
Train to BarcelonaJori Senter Stuart
SandcastlesMax Lucado
The Crazy QuiltMelody Carlson
One Man's Junk...Another Man's TreasureRon Mehl
Commence PrayerCharles Swindoll
Secret Cracks and CrevicesMelody Carlson
Back on CourseSandy Snavely
Redwood CanyonCasandra Lindell
Life Begins at 80
Bus StopPatsy Clairmont
Faithp. 243
Seeing God
CinderellaMax Lucado
A New PerspectiveBilly Graham
Treasures in HeavenBob Welch
Hide and SeekBrother David Steindl-Rast and Brennan Manning
The LamplighterMarilyn McAuley
Soft CriesRuth Bell Graham
Spiritual HeroJames Dobson
DriftingTony Evans
Only GlimpsesAlice Gray
The Castle of God's LoveLarry Libby
A Vision of ForgivenessGigi Tchividjian
A Meeting of the MindsKevin Keller
Frightened SparrowsPaul Harvey and Philip Yancey
Running for Daddy!Kay Arthur
Real TreasureRobin Jones Gunn
Calm in the StormRon Mehl
A Parable of God's PerspectiveRobin Jones and Casandra Lindell
Worship and WorryRuth Bell Graham
Are all the Children in?
Making AdjustmentsRon Mehl
The Artist
RagmanWalter J. Wangerin
The Bells are RingingJames Dobson
Notesp. 285