Box of Kisses and other stories


if(typeof(networkedblogs)==”undefined”){networkedblogs = {};networkedblogs.blogId=1267163;networkedblogs.shortName=”my-page-my-blog”;} !function(d,s,id){var js,fjs=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0];if(!d.getElementById(id)){js=d.createElement(s);js.id=id;js.src=”//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js”;fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js,fjs);}}(document,”script”,”twitter-wjs”);!function(d,s,id){var js,fjs=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0];if(!d.getElementById(id)){js=d.createElement(s);js.id=id;js.src=”//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js”;fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js,fjs);}}(document,”script”,”twitter-wjs”);

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));http://www.facebook.com/pages/Khariharan/115524648579725

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

power by BLOGSPOT-PING

A Box of Kisses………………….
The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. 

Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.” He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found the gold box was empty. Annoyed, he said to his daughter, “Don’t you know that when you give someone a present, there’s suppose to be something inside the box? A box isn’t a present!” The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, “But Daddy, it’s not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you Daddy.” The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

It is told that the man kept the gold box by his bed for years and whenever he was discouraged he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there. In a very real sense, each of us as humans have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, friends, family and God. There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

Father and Son…………………
An 80 year old man was sitting on the sofa in his house along with his 45 
years old highly educated son. Suddenly a crow perched on their window.

The Father asked his Son, “What is this?”

The Son replied “It is a crow”.

After a few minutes, the Father asked his Son the 2nd time, “What is this?”

The Son said “Father, I have just now told you “It’s a crow”.

After a little while, the old Father again asked his Son the 3rd time,

What is this?”

At this time some ex-pression of irritation was felt in the Son’s tone when
he said to his Father with a rebuff. “It’s a crow, a crow”.

A little after, the Father again asked his Son t he 4th time, “What is
this?”

This time the Son shouted at his Father, “Why do you keep asking me the
same question again and again, although I have told you so many times ‘IT
IS A CROW’. Are you not able to understand this?”

A little later the Father went to his room and came back with an old
tattered diary, which he had maintained since his Son was born. On opening
a page, he asked his Son to read that page. When the son read it, the
following words were written in the diary :-

“Today my little son aged three was sitting with me on the sofa, when a
crow was sitting on the window. My Son asked me 23 times what it was, and I
replied to him all 23 times that it was a Crow. I hugged him lovingly each
time he asked me the same question again and again for 23 times. I did not
at all feel irritated I rather felt affection for my innocent child”.

While the little child asked him 23 times “What is this”, the Father had
felt no irritation in replying to the same question all 23 times and when
today the Father asked his Son the same question just 4 times, the Son felt
irritated and annoyed.

So..

If your parents attain old age, do not repulse them or look at them as a
burden, but speak to them a gracious word, be cool, obedient, humble and
kind to them. Be considerate to your parents.From today say this aloud, “I
want to see my parents happy forever. They have cared for me ever since I
was a little child. They have always showered their selfless love on me.

They crossed all mountains and valleys without seeing the storm and heat to
make me a person presentable in the society today”.

Say a prayer to God, “I will serve my old parents in the BEST way. I will
say all good and kind words to my dear parents, no matter how they behave.

For my syster……………….
The boy couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old. 

The Cashier said, ‘I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough money to buy this doll.’

Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him: ”Granny,

are you sure I don’t have enough money?”

The old lady replied: ”You know that you don’t have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.”

Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look a round. She left quickly.

The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to.

‘It’s the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas.

She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.’

I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry.

But he replied to me sadly. ‘No, Santa Claus can’t bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there.’

His eyes were so sad while saying this. ‘My Sister has gone to be with God.
Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.”

My heart nearly stopped.

The little boy looked up at me and said: ‘I told daddy to tell mommy not to go yet.
I need her to wait until I come back from the mall.’

Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing.
He then told me ‘I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won’t forget me.’

‘I love my mommy and I wish she doesn’t have to leave me, but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.’

Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.

I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. ‘Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll?”

‘OK’ he said, ‘I hope I do have enough..’ I added some of my money to his with out him seeing and we started to count it.
There was enough for the doll and even some spare money.

The little boy said: ‘Thank you God for giving me enough money!’

Then he looked at me and added, ‘I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough
money to buy this doll, so that mommy could give It to my sister. He heard me!”

‘I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn’t dare to ask God for too much.
But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose.”

‘My mommy loves white roses.’

A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my basket.

I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started.

I couldn’t get the little boy out of my mind.

Then I remembered a local news paper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young

woman and a little girl.

The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-sustaining machine, because the young woman would not be able to recover from the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the news paper that the young woman had passed away.

I couldn’t stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wishes before her burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest.

I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed for ever.. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine.

And in a fraction of a second, a drunk driver had taken all this away from him.

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = “//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=283013265118296”; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, ‘script’, ‘facebook-jssdk’));

DlvrWidget({ width:300, items:5, widgetbg:’FFFFFF’, widgetborder:’CCCCCC’, titlecolor:’CCCCCC’, containerbg:’F9F9F9′, containerborder:’CCCCCC’, linkcolor:’86D8D5′, textcolor:’45240D’ }).render();

Published by

harikrishnamurthy

a happy go lucky person by nature,committed to serve others and remove their sufferings through all possible help. POSTS IN MY BLOG ARE MY OWN OPINION, COLLECTIONS OF INTERESTING ARTICLES FROM FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. MY ONLY AIM IS TO SHARE GOOD THINGS WITH OTHERS WHICH MAY BE USEFUL TO OTHERS AND NOT TO HURT ANY ONE'S FEELINGS. If you like my blog, like me,follow me, share with others, reblog If you have some suggestions post comments your suggestions and comments are eagerly awaited

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s