The Is A Miracle : A Good Story

Within Christian communities, enthusiasm to respond to injustice around the world with compassion continues to increase. Regrettably, well-meaning people who have good intentions but neglect to consider best practice principles are ultimately doing a disservice to the individuals and communities they intended to help. Moreover, a lack of understanding of holistic social action results in dependency and disregards the dignity of the poor. In From the Roots Up, Dr. JoAnn Butrin challenges Christians, both individually and as the larger body of Christ- the church, to respond to injustice thoughtfully and holistically. Butrin (2010) asserts:

was exciting our family began to have some challenges. We moved to Wisconsin for a job offer my dad got. Things began to look up for me. I was in an established home, with a family that wanted me, and my father had a stable job. What could go wrong? But cold weather was difficult for my mother. The doctors informed her that she needed both of her knees replaced because of the freezing weather. After the operation, she was unable to take care of herself for the next year. Then my dad went to get a health check himself to make sure he was healthy. The worst possible news came back, he had prostate cancer. Devastated by the news, our family began to pray. But since my dad’s job offered insurance, he was able to undergo surgery. After a year of treatment, my dad became cancer free. Our time in Green Bay, Wisconsin ended up being difficult but also a

The uplifting story of an underdog hockey team at the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, New York is told by the film Miracle. The team is composed of many college hockey players trying to better their game play. Tryouts come and go and it is when Coach Herb Brooks reads the final roster of the 1980 Olympic Men’s Hockey Team that starts the beginning of the greatest moment in sports history.

Those with a devastating illness often have a need to tell their stories. How can others ensure that they are able to tell their stories, and how does telling one’s story impact the way patients are treated?

Blind, deaf, and mute. Have you ever met someone like that? Chances are you haven’t but have you heard of Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan. Well, I am going to talk about the play “The Miracle Worker” written by William Gibson in 1956 and the movie “The Miracle Worker” directed by Arthur Penn, released in 1962. Both of them are about Annie Sullivan and how she unlocked the world to Helen Keller. There are many similarities and differences between the play and the movie.

As you write your narrative please bear in mind that it is your story- a story that will inspire your family, friends, colleagues, your congregation, organization,

In a world that does not know the Gospel anymore, we must indulge in it, and love our fellow community though they may not share similar values, but find balancing in still remaining in our own values. Though many of times we find ourselves in opposition of the majority of the world, we must exude Christ love onto others as He does to us unconditionally. The author addresses ways in which we are able to live out our faith and still find a place within our community though they may not share similar values.

In the American society, storytelling continues to play a critical role. Each story, storytellers tells, serves a deep meaning towards their life and provides a medium, allowing the storytellers to keep the information they hold as a remembrance. Indeed, storytelling would bring meanings into one’s life as well. Storytelling offers a pathway that allows ones to stimulate continuous learning, development, connection and to look ahead to their future. Storytelling is an expression of power providing pathways to spiritual knowledge.

I remember thinking about how fortunate I was for having none of my family members to die from cancer. It was just another late night of working hard in the laboratory trying to find something. It was precisely 10 o’clock at night where I had never felt so accomplished. I had finally done it, I found the cure to cancer. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes when I had been reading the chart, but when I gave the antibodies to cancer patients their symptoms left and their cancer had been cured. I was 35 when I had found the cure and I lived in Iowa City, which is where I met my wife. I called my wife, Selena, and told her about my discovery and she started crying. It was a different type of cry..no it wasn’t tears from joy, it was tears from sadness. I asked Selena why she was crying. That day was never forgotten, not because of my discovery, but of the news that my wife told me. Our son passed away that afternoon from Lung Cancer. I was devastated. I went into a deep depression and I kept asking myself, “why couldn’t you have found the cancer just a couple hours earlier.” My story was all over the news, for awhile I never cared about anything but my son. I had received an extremely high number of money. I didn’t care about money anymore. I gave over half of it to people who needed it more than I did. I didn’t feel like doing interviews until about 6 months after his death. I learned something from my experience, In order to achieve your goal, sacrifices will need to be made. I found the cure to the most deadliest thing in the world but I had lost my most prized

From fairy tales to Shakespeare stories have become an intricate part of our world. A story is something all of us have some are short some are long, and they always define who we are as people. My story is much longer than most it is one of sorrow, happiness, loneliness, friendship, love, regret, pain, and sorcery. You shall see a part of my story through my eyes alone, and I hope that in the end you will properly understand my life. Most stories begin with the birth of the main character, and mine is no different. My mother Emma Griffith was the princess of a kingdom whose name history has long since forgotten. My mother was the free spirit of her family never one for rules and never allowing anyone to control her life. My grandfather Nathaniel

At that point all I would ever hear from people was, “oh you poor thing”, or “I’m sorry!” The only thing I heard was people pitying me, but in contrary, those words and moments only sparked a strength that I never thought was achievable. I promised myself to turn those words that represented sorrow into drive to fuel that strength. The first memory that I realized that inner strength was when I was first told that I had cancer. I heard the door click open, five doctors appeared in their white coats, they would come in surrounding me at the hospital bed. I just laid there confused about why all of this was happening. None of them spoke for a minute. My guess is that they were trying to figure out how to tell a fourteen-year-old that she has cancer as if they expected me to start breaking down sobbing. Instead, my eyes refused to shed a single tear as just hearing the words, “ You have cancer.” Those three words turned my life upside down in a matter of a second. Then I proceeded to process them in my mind. Trying to calculate a solution as if it were a math problem. As if it was that easy, but I still managed to ask the question that I never

Her name is Erin, and her story doesn’t begin tonight. Her story actually began a week ago while she was sitting on her bed. It was her birthday and she had just turned seven. She was busy going through the contents of an old shoe box, and she was crying. In her hand, she held a photograph of her and her mother. They were in their backyard next to a rose garden, and her mother had her arms around her, holding her tightly. Erin remembered every moment of that day. How the sunlight warmed her skin, the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the air, the rhythmical buzzing of a humming bird’s wings that had flown into the yard only fleetingly right before her father had taken the picture. That day was two years ago now, and seventeen months before ovarian cancer had taken her

16 years old. That’s how old I was when my whole life changed. Not only did I lose a man that raised me and taught me to be the best version of myself, but I was also diagnosed with Wegener’s Granulomatosis with Polyangiitis. The beginning of my junior year was, to put it lightly, hectic. The first day I missed went by, my head pounding as I sat in a hospital room. My grandfather laid in the hospital bed and I caught word of the diagnosis. Stage Four Pancreatic Cancer. That word, “cancer”, spoke volumes within my buzzing mind. I laid my head on my Papa’s bed next to him and began to cry, keeping my face hidden because I didn’t want him to see me cry. He ran his fingers through my hair and sang a song I’d heard my whole life, “You Are My Sunshine”;

When I turned 11-years-old my whole childhood began to change my life went from being perfect to everything but perfect. One day I came home to hear the news my father, my best friend; my hero was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. Not knowing the struggle my family was about to take on I just began to cry. I had a million things running through my head what’s going to happen? Will everything be okay? Why him? What is going to happen? With all these things rushing through my head all I could do was cry not knowing this was least worse to come.

The next stories that I heard a lot about were war stories from my grandpa; these particular stories made me realize just how lucky I am and how good I really have it. Although he did not like to tell these stories, my aunt would badger him until he would. Once he got started though you could tell he enjoyed passing on the experiences that he has had. These stories made me realize that life is never predictable; he was my age when he was in Germany to fight for our country, and I’m sure he never planned on something like that happening to him just as I never could either. I could not even imagine carrying out the missions he was assigned, but it was still interesting to hear about all he has gone through.