Inspire Others: 100 Inspirational Stories That Would Change Your Life

INSPIRE

OTHERS

100 Inspirational Stories

That Would Change

Your Life

By Guy Njoukam

Copyright 2014 Guy Njoukam,

Published at Smashwords

Be the light in the dark, be the calm in the storm, and be at peace while at war

~ Mike Dolan~

1The Protégé

I used to teach music to high school students and at the same time, teaching piano lessons as a sideline. Over time, I have learned to easily recognize students with musical potential. I have encountered a lot of students who are musically inclined and fast learners. However, I did not even think of developing them as my protégé. I never had one and I never thought that I needed it. 

On the other hand, I have also taught a lot of students who are musically-challenged. They learn really slowly and sometimes they gave up after just a few sessions. Out of those students, one that really made a mark is a boy named Robbie. He is in his early teens so I was a bit hesitant to accept him into my class at first. For one, I prefer students to start at an early stage – at around 5 or 6 so that I can hone their talent more easily. But because of Robbie’s passion and insistence, I let him join my class. 

After all, I thought to myself, He will only be here for a few weeks. 

Robbie proved to be the most difficult student that I've handled because he lacks the musical ability to easily grasp each lesson. However, I really like his attitude as he is very eager to learn. 

Mrs. Hondorff, he said as he approached me after one of our sessions. Thank you for taking the time to teach me how to play the piano. I am doing this for my mom. She will one day hear me playing it beautifully. 

I admire his passion and dedication but I doubt that he will be able to play any piece correctly so I just gave him a tap at the back to show my halfhearted support. 

I never met Robbie’s mother face-to-face although I can see her sometimes at a distance after our class. She seems to be a thinly woman with a very short hair.

As I have expected, Robbie soon dropped out of my class. I felt guilty because in reality, I am a little relief that I no longer have to teach a very difficult student.  

To my surprise, he came back to me to ask if I can possibly include him in the upcoming class recital. I initially reject his request as he is no longer a part of my active class. However, she looked at me with such determination and begged me for a part in that class activity.

I have been practicing on my own Mrs. Hondorff, he said passionately. If not for my Mom's sudden hospitalization, I could have been in your class still. Please let me play in the recital. This would mean a lot to me. 

I don't know if I felt pity or I just have a got feel that it will be alright, but I let him join the recital. As a last precautionary measure, I put him on the final performance in case that he messed up, it won't matter that much. 

The day of the recital came and everything was perfectly fine until I call on Robbie for the final performance of the night. He came to the stage in a very rugged form - uncombed hair, very casual clothes and a swollen eye.  

What was he thinking? I thought. It is supposed to be a special class performance. Why is he dressed like that? 

Whatever disappointment that I have felt, it all soon vanished when he started playing the piano. I wasn't prepared for what I heard next. Robbie's fingers were light on the keys, they seemed to dance nimbly on the ivories - from pianissimo to fortissimo and from allegro to virtuoso. Overall, his chords were magnificent! Never had I heard anyone of his age played so excellently! 

After five minutes Robbie ended in a grand crescendo and everyone gave him a standing ovation. Overjoyed and in tears I ran up on stage and hugged him. I never knew that you can play like that! How did you do it? 

Through the microphone, he explained: Well Ma'am, remember that I told you my mom was sick? Actually, she had cancer and sadly, passed away this morning. Aside from that, she was also born deaf, so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it extraordinary. 

There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robbie from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even they are teary-eyed. I realized how much richer my life had been for taking Robbie as my pupil. That night I became a protégé of Robbie. He was the teacher and I was the student. He taught me the meaning of determination, love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone even though you don't know why.

2The Old man and The Dog

My father had been a lumberjack in Oregon. He mostly lived the life of an outdoorsman, was sturdy and liked to pit himself against his work, against nature and against other lumberjacks.

But even strong lumberjacks grow old. The ravages of time crept slowly upon him. Dad tried to make a light joke of the first time he could not lift a log; but I saw him a bit later outside, all by himself, stubbornly straining to lift that same log, and again failed at it. He resented any well-intentioned hint to take things a little easier.

A few days after his sixty-seventh birthday, Daddy had a heart-attack. The timely arrival of the paramedics saved his life. Yet something inside him died that day. He lost his enthusiasm for life, refused his medication, and made it difficult for the hospital staff to deal with him. Fewer and fewer visitors came to see him, until finally no one came for him.

After Dad was discharged from the hospital my husband, Dick, and I invited him to stay with us. We lived in a farm and we were hoping that the open space, the fresh air and the peaceful atmosphere would be calm whatever inner troubles he had.

But almost immediately after Dad moved in with us, we regretted the invitation. He was always criticizing, often sarcastic and insulting. Nothing we did was good enough for him. Eventually all the frustration resulting from having to deal with Dad’s incessant outbursts put pressure on the relationship between my husband and me. We started bickering and blaming each other; and petty arguments spoiled many of our days.

Dick and I asked the help of our pastor who started visiting us weekly. We prayed together, and asked God to grant Dad the inner peace he needed. Our weekly sessions helped Dick and myself find strength together, but our prayers did not seem to help Daddy at all. Weeks passed, his mind was as troubled as ever, and God seemed to have just kept quiet.

I knew I had to do something more. So, one day I tried calling all the mental health clinics listed in the local Yellow Pages and asked for advice. Each one I called was sympathetic and suggested bringing Dad to the clinic. But this I knew he would never agree to.

I was starting to feel desperate when somebody from one of those clinics said, You know, I read an article about an experiment done recently in a nursing home where patients of chronic depression were each given responsibility for the care of a dog. The patients showed dramatic improvement in their attitude because of that.

That very day, I drove down to the animal shelter. After I filled out a form, the uniformed caretaker and I inspected the kennels. There were all kinds of dogs (big ones, small ones, black ones, spotted ones, etc.) all yelping and jumping trying to reach me. I did not find myself interested in any of these for various reason (too big, too small, not friendly looking, etc.). Then at the last pen, there was a single dog, and as we approached the dog slowly stood up, approached the front of the pen and sat down.

He was a pointer, but it was obvious he had seen his best days. He was old, thin and did not look handsome at all. But his eyes gently looked at mine and totally got my attention. I asked the caretaker about him.

The caretaker said, This one is a strange case. He simply appeared at the shelter’s front door and just waited. We thought that whoever brought him here would be back to claim him, so we just took him in. That was two weeks ago, but we never heard from anybody … and tomorrow his time is up.

The caretaker’s last words did not sink right away, but when he sadly shook his head, I stammered, …you mean he will be killed?

With a deep sigh, the caretaker explained, That’s the policy here Ma’am. We don’t have a place for every stray dog.

I looked at the dog, and he looked straight into my eyes like he wanted to say something. I then turned to the caretaker, nodded and simply said, I will take him.

I drove home with the dog beside me. Then excitedly presented him to my Dad. Look Dad, what I got for you!

My father took one look at the dog then gave me a scornful stare and shouted at me, If I wanted a dog, I could have gotten myself a much better-looking one than this bag of bones! Keep him for yourself, I don’t want him! Then he started to walk away.

Feeling hurt, I sensed all of my anger suddenly possessing me and for the first time in my life, I shouted back at my father, You better get used to him, because this dog is staying! Did you hear me, Dad?

My father turned around and started approaching me, eyes ablaze with anger, his hands clenched at his side and was about to yell back to me when the dog gently wobbled towards him, then sat down before him, looking up at him. My father stopped and stared at the dog as the dog gently put out his right paw towards my father. There was a long awkward pause, after which my father took the dog’s paw, anger gone from his face, then started to gently stroke the dog’s head. It was the start of an intimate friendship. Dad named the dog Cheyenne.

They were inseparable after that. They took long walks around the neighborhood together, amiably greeting people they met along the way. Many afternoons they spent together sitting by the river bank, in quiet, peaceful reflection as they tried to fish for trout. Cheyenne slept beside Dad’s bed in the evening. They even attended Sunday services together, with Cheyenne sitting by the pew where Dad sat. Their companionship lasted three years.

One early morning I was still asleep when I felt Cheyenne’s cold snout seek my hand under the bed sheets. He never did that before. I immediately rose up and rushed to my Dad’s room, and saw him serenely lying still on the bed no longer breathing. He had died a little earlier.

Two days after Dad died, while we were still waiting for the funeral, I passed by Dad’s room and happened to glance at Cheyenne lying very still besides Dad’s bed. I approached the dog but even before I got close to him, I knew that Cheyenne too had passed away. Dick and I buried him by the riverbank where Dad and he spent many hours together.

The following day, after we had Dad’s funeral services, our pastor approached us and gently said We have to give thanks to God too for the angel that He sent to your Dad.

I could not help but cry, now suddenly realizing that Cheyenne was God’s answer to our prayers. Everything now became clear to me and dropped neatly into place. Cheyenne’s surprise appearance at the shelter, his total devotion to my father, their dying almost at the same time. God had been quiet but for us it is beyond question that by sending Cheyenne, He answered our prayers.

3What he valued the most

Like most city guys, Jack devoted all his time and attention to his career. He was in his early 30s and professionally, things were looking up for him. But that meant very little time for anything else. He was working for his and his family’s future. This, for him, justified his foregoing time with his wife and growing kid, or his skipping any social involvement except those directly related to his job.

That’s how things were since he moved to the big city right after graduating from college. He was a busy man in pursuit of his dreams and he was totally focused on the future.

A telephone call from his mother, however, made him pause and think back of the time he was growing up in his hometown. Mr. Belser passed away last night, Jack. his mother called to inform him. The funeral will be on Wednesday.

Jack remembered spending a lot of time in Mr. Harold Belser’s home as a teenager. Mr. Belser was their next door neighbor. The old man was almost like a father to him, taught him carpentry and a lot of other useful skills, and spent time helping him with his school work.

 Jack, are you still there?

 Oh yes, sorry, Mom. I am still here. I was just thinking of the poor fellow … it has been such a long time and I feel guilty not having called him at all.

 Well Mr. Belser never forgot you, the mother softly said. He always asked how you were doing, and quite often he’d reminisce about how you spent much time in his house.

 Yes, I always loved going over to his house, especially after Dad died. He taught me a lot of things and I could always talk things out with him, Jack replied. I will take the last plane for home on Tuesday so I can be there for his funeral.

The funeral was a simple one. Mr. Belser did not have kids of his own and did not seem to have many surviving relatives.

After the services and after everyone else had left, Jack and his mother lingered for a while inside Mr. Belser’s house. Everything was exactly as