#20967 - 08/23/10 11:04 AM
write the ending for my story
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Maureen
enthusiast
Registered: 08/31/04
Posts: 310
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This is a very personal and true story. I want to share it with you and have your take on the moral. I have two more sentences at the end of the story. What do you see in it and how would you end it? Thank you for allowing me to share. Maureen
I sat on the patio at the motel. I was distressed. "Father God, please show Yourself to me," I said.
Immediately a door opened. A man and child came into the courtyard. He was a tall, fair man; she a tiny girl, just learning to walk. She toddled, her little arms going as her short legs walked. The father never took his eyes from her. Bam! She fell on the cruel, cement walk. I gasped! He then noticed I was there. "Is she alright?" I asked.
"Yes, she falls all the time," he said. She was crying miserably.
"That's why their legs are so short, so they don't have far to fall," I responded.
Quickly he picked up the crying child, held her close, comforted her, and almost as quickly her sobbing stopped. The father held the girl. She was hurt. He picked her up. Her crying stopped. That was all she needed.
They walked away, the man holding his child.....
Maureen
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#20968 - 08/23/10 11:11 PM
Re: write the ending for my story
[Re: Maureen]
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Anonymous
Anonymous
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I sat on the patio at the motel. I was distressed by my own doubt in the almighty. "Father God, please show me a sign to let me know you are real," I said. At the very instant, my prayer ended a door of the motel opened. A man carrying a child stepped into the courtyard. He was a tall, fair man; the girl he carried was tiny. I recognized she was just learning to walk when he sat her feet onto the paved walkway. She toddled, her little arms straight out circling to help maintain her balance as her short legs felt for the hard surface beneath her feet. The father never took his eyes from her. Bam! After only a few steps, she fell onto the cruel, cement walk.
I gave out a loud gasp! He only then seemed to notice I was there. "Is she alright?" I asked.
"Yes, she falls all the time, but is learning little by little to walk on her own" he said.
She was crying miserably as if her heart were broken.
"That's why their legs are so short, so they don't have far to fall," I responded.
Yes, not so far to fall, but frightening none the less. You will see she nearly always falls backward onto her little well padded butt, so she won’t be hurt. He picked up the crying child, held her close and comforted her by lightly patting her back while repeating the words “little by little, little by little” and she quickly stopped her sobbing. The father held the tiny girl in the crook of his arm and continued comforting her. She was unhurt. He had picked her up. Her crying then stopped. That was all she had needed, a tiny bit of reassurance until she could walk without falling. Perhaps that was what I needed as well. They walked away, the man holding his child and repeating “little by little you will learn little by little”.....
BENTLINK
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#20969 - 08/24/10 10:50 PM
Re: write the ending for my story
[Re: Maureen]
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Anonymous
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I pulled aside one of the all-weather chairs that littered the patio at the motel, and I sat. I noticed nothing but the concrete toward which I stared. Then I didn’t see that either as distress again filled me. Or emptied me. Which is it?
"Father God, please show Yourself to me," I pleaded.
Immediately a door opened. A man and child came into the courtyard. He was a tall, fair man; she a tiny girl, just learning to walk. She toddled, her little arms going as her short legs walked. The father never took his eyes from her. Bam! She fell on the cruel, cement walk. I gasped! He then noticed I was there.
"Is she alright?" I asked.
"Yes, she falls all the time," he said. She was crying miserably.
"That's why their legs are so short, so they don't have far to fall," I encouraged.
Quickly he scooped up the crying child, held her close, comforted her, and almost as quickly her sobbing stopped. The father held the girl. She was hurt; he’d picked her up. Her crying stopped. That was all she needed.
They walked away, the man holding his child.....
I didn’t look back to the concrete. I looked to the heavens, though I didn’t see whether clear sky or something else. I didn’t see through the tears that came.
“Thank you,” I gushed. “That was a quick response… when I finally cried out aloud. And of course it would be, as you were always watching… always listening. Thank you for lifting me all the times I’ve fallen and cried on this journey of learning to walk. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my Father.”
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#20990 - 08/31/10 11:56 PM
Re: write the ending for my story
[Re: Maureen]
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Cyrano
Pooh-Bah
Registered: 12/17/01
Posts: 1733
Loc: San Francisco / Isle of Mull.
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Sitting on a rickety bench on the patio of this broken down motel, head bowed, I knew I was asking for help. I knew that the kind of help I needed would only come from the humility of prayer. Hardly was the word ‘Amen’ out of my conscience when a door opened onto the courtyard. In the yellow light stood a man, tall, his hair flaxen in the light, holding a child’s hand, clearly still needing his support; as if the open door was an invitation to adventure the child shook free of her father’s grasp, and ‘bam!’ The child stumbled backward. There is nothing on God’s beautiful earth more frightening than to observe a child falling backward. My next breath was as deep as despair. Poor child! Holding the child in his arms, kissing her head, consoling her tears, he noticed me. “Is she alright?” I asked.
"Yes, I believe so, it isn’t her first fall, and I’ll be just as close for those to come. If only we could find a way to protect every child from this kind of learning.” He said, softly. She was crying miserably, head buried in his shoulder. “I’ve learned that crying is a good sign, part of healing.”
“And short legs help…not quite so far to fall.” I said, brightening the tragedy.
I observed how the man was holding his child, as the shoreline holds the ocean, all encompassing. After a few moments the crying ebbed to lip trembling. She had fallen from grace and been swept up into the arms of someone who loved her, nurtured her, surrounded every moment of her being. He lifted her high, heard her chuckle, saw the trust in her eyes. That was all she needed, all she would ever need. Love.
The man walked away, carrying his blessed child.
And I remembered this:
I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was one only. This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord, “You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?” The Lord replied, “The years when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you."
I sat, comforted by a kind of warmth and, with tears welling, thanked the Lord for being with me.
Footprints in the Sand
Copyright © 1984 Mary Stevenson
_________________________
For me writing is a national park of underdone thoughts and ideas.
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#21214 - 02/01/11 12:55 PM
Re: write the ending for my story
[Re: Sorcerer]
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Anonymous
Anonymous
Unregistered
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I pulled aside one of the all-weather chairs that littered the patio at the motel, and I sat. I noticed nothing but the concrete toward which I stared. Then I didn’t see that either as distress again filled me. Or emptied me. Which is it?
"Father God, please show Yourself to me," I pleaded.
Immediately a door opened. A man and child came into the courtyard. He was a tall, fair man; she a tiny girl, just learning to walk. She toddled, her little arms going as her short legs walked. The father never took his eyes from her. Bam! She fell on the cruel, cement walk. I gasped! He then noticed I was there.
"Is she alright?" I asked.
"Yes, she falls all the time," he said. She was crying miserably.
"That's why their legs are so short, so they don't have far to fall," I encouraged.
Quickly he scooped up the crying child, held her close, comforted her, and almost as quickly her sobbing stopped. The father held the girl. She was hurt; he’d picked her up. Her crying stopped. That was all she needed.
"How about some ice cream, Hon?" he asked the little girl. Her smile answered him with a gleam that lit up the gathering dusk, pain forgotten.
Which is the greater power, to hold darkness at bay with an innocent smile, or to have the ability to generate the smile? Finding the answer to that is the reason for life.
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