The Birth of Jesus Christ

In a small town Nazareth, there lived a young girl, Mary by name.

She has got an open heart and she loved God very much. Once Angel Gabriel* came to her.

He was sent by God. The angel told her that she would give birth to a son whose name would be Jesus.

In some time Mary and her husband Joseph started off to Bethlehem. The way was long. They went for several days. When they came to Bethlehem, they had no place to live in. Little time was left till Jesus’ birth. That is why

The Bullock Cart – A Story about Equality

by Sia Reddy

On a farm in the heart of India, there lived a farmer and his wife. They were rather poor, but earned their living by collecting milk from all the farms in the area to sell it on the market in the city.

One day, like all the other days, the farmer set off to work. He fed the oxen and attached them to the cart. Everything seemed to work smoothly, until the front wheel started to speak.

“I am so great. Look how well I am made. The best iron bars have been used to shape my wonderful, round frame. The wood is still in brilliant condition after so many rides and see, what a beautiful pattern I make in the earth! Without me, this whole cart would not move an inch!”

“You are terribly vain, dear wheel” called one of the wooden planks. “Without us, there would be no cart! We planks are holding the whole cart together, keep the milk from falling and offer our farmer a place to sit.”

“Well, maybe.” Said the wheel. “But after all, I and my three wheel brothers are

Shanti Hears Her Inner Voice or We Are Messengers

by Sia Reddy

Early one morning, Mum, Dad, Shanti and her little brother were sitting in meditation. Mum was leading the meditation and asked everyone to put their right hand on the left swadisthan. “Shri Mataji, please give me the pure knowledge,” Mum said and everyone repeated after her. Daddy even worked on his left swadisthan with a candle – Shanti would have loved to do that, but she knew she was not allowed to do it on her own yet. After some time Mum asked everyone to put the left hand on the right swadisthan and say “Shri Mataji, You are the Doer. You do everything. I am not doing anything.”

“What does this mean, Mummy?” Shanti asked.

“See, Shri Mataji is the doer. We are only the messengers,” Mummy answered.

“What is a messenger?” Shanti asked.

“The postman is a messenger for example. He does not write the letters, but he delivers them, so that they reach the right destination…look, that is interesting: In the word “destination” is the word “destiny”, which means; a destination is, where things are MEANT to go. Angels are messengers; messengers of God. We are also messengers or tools, instruments through which the Divine plays – like a flute. The flute itself is hollow, Shri Mataji once explained to us. It is not making any music on its own. Only if Shri Krishna blows into it, then the music is being born, through the flute as a channel, as a tool. Like this, we also have to be empty, thoughtless, and listen deep inside to what Shri Mataji is telling us.”

Shanti thought for a minute, then she turned to Mum again. “So, if the postman is the messenger, if he is the one who brings the letters to the people, are we messengers of Shri Mataji?”

“Yes” Mummy replied. “We are there to give realisation to the people, to pass on Shri Mataji’s message. But it is Shri Mataji who sends it. That is why we pray at the left swadisthan level to receive the pure knowledge from Shri Mataji – inside. If we listen inside, we might hear what Shri Mataji says to us.”

Shanti closed her eyes and just a short while later turned to Mum. “Shri Mataji said that it is the love. That we have to give love to the people.”

“Exactly” Mum replied, excited about the beautiful words Shanti had just said. “We spread the love, Shri Mataji’s love”.

But Shanti was not finished.

Shanti cannot sit still or The First Step

by Sia Reddy

It must have been the fifth time during the morning meditation that Mum told Shanti to just sit still! But no use. She is fidgeting around, playing with the song book, and if there is nothing to grab near by, she plays with her toes, her trousers, her fingers…

“Shanti!” Mum scolds again. “Please! I told you! Sit properly! Hands on your lap”. Shanti follows Mummy’s instructions for just about a second, until she finds the pattern of the carpet really interesting again and follows the lines with her fingers.

“Ok”, says Mummy now. “Listen. Why do you meditate? Hm? Tell me.” Almost six years old, Shanti has heard a lot about vibrations and knows a lot of mantras, but she has not yet really thought about WHY she should be meditating…

“To make Shri Mataji happy!” she replies. “That is also true.” Says Mummy. “Of course. But you really meditate for yourself and nobody else, not even Mummy”. “But why?” Shanti asks. “Why do I need to meditate?” “Mummy takes a deep breath and looks at Shri Mataji’s  picture. After about a minute she turns to Shanti and says “Look. When we meditate, all the bad things in and around us run away. We can feel happy and light again. But meditation is so much more than just sitting here. If you imagine meditation being a huge beautiful mountain, we have properly not even reached the first step. But you know what the first step is?”

The Seven Fairies

by Sia Reddy

A Story to teach Sharing

The story is kept short and simple and can be retold with more details and beautiful wording by the Reader 🙂

Once upon a time, seven Fairy children lived in their small, pretty flower house with their Fairy mother and Fairy father. The children quarrelled a lot and did not enjoy sharing their toys at all.

One day, Fairy Mother returned from the forest and saw the children fight about their animal toys. Ada did not want to share her tiger, Aba his elephant, Dina her lion and so forth. Suddenly the mother had an idea.

The Hen that Laid Golden Eggs

A story for the little ones with the idea greediness vs generosity

Tina was a little chubby girl. She belonged to a poor family. Though she was very poor, yet she was very charitable. She would give away even her bread to anybody who needed it.

A magician was very pleased with her goodness. He gave her a fat hen. Tina was very happy to have the hen. She could now get an egg every day to eat.

She waited for the next day excitedly. Early in the morning, she went to the hen to get an egg. The hen had laid an egg. But to Tina’s surprise,

Best Attitude

A kindergarten teacher has decided to let her class play game. The teacher told each child in the class to bring along a plastic bag containing a few potatoes. Each potato will be given a name of a person that the child hates, so the number of potatoes that a child will put in his/her plastic bag will depend on the number of people he/she hates.

So when the day came, every child brought some potatoes with the name of the people he/she hated. Some had 2 potatoes; some 3 while some up to 5 potatoes. The teacher then told the children to carry with them the potatoes in the plastic bag wherever they go (even to the toilet) for 1 week.

Days after days passed by, and the children

The Daffodil Principle

 

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, ‘Mother, you must come to see the daffodils before they are over.”

I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. ‘I will come next Tuesday’, I promised a little reluctantly on her third call.

Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and reluctantly I drove there. When I finally walked into Carolyn’s house, I was welcomed by the joyful sounds of happy children. I delightedly hugged and greeted my grandchildren.

‘Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in these clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see badly enough to drive another inch!’

My daughter smiled calmly and said, ‘ We drive in this all the time, Mother.’

‘Well, you won’t get me back on the road until it clears, and then I’m heading for home!’ I assured her.

‘But first we’re going to see the daffodils. It’s just a few blocks,’ Carolyn said. ‘I’ll drive. I’m used to this.’

‘Carolyn,’ I said sternly, ‘Please turn around.’

‘It’s all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience.’

After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a s mall gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand lettered sign with an arrow that read, ‘Daffodil Garden.’

We got out of the car, each took a child’s hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, as we turned a corner, I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight.

It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it over the mountain peak and its surrounding slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, creamy white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron and butter yellow. Each different-colored variety was planted in large groups so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers.

‘Who did this?’ I asked Carolyn.

‘Just one woman,’ Carolyn answered. ‘She lives on the property. That’s her home.’ Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house, small and modestly sitting in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to the house.

On the patio, we saw a poster. ‘Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking’, was the headline.

The first answer was

Pencil Story

The Pencil Maker took the pencil aside, just before putting him into the box.

“There are 5 things you need to know,” he told the pencil, “Before I send you out into the world. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best pencil you can be.”

“One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in Someone’s hand.”

“Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, but you’ll need it to become a better pencil.”

“Three: You will be able to correct any mistakes you might make.”

“Four: The most important part of you will always be what’s inside.”

“And Five: On every surface you are used on, you must leave your mark. No matter what the condition, you must continue to write.”

The pencil understood and promised to remember, and went into the box with purpose in its heart.

Now replacing the place of the pencil with you. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best person you can be.

One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in God’s hand. And allow other human beings to access you for the many gifts you possess.

Two:

The Golden Touch (full version)

Once upon a time there lived a very rich King, whose name was Midas. He had one little daughter whom he loved very much, and whose name was Marigold.

King Midas loved gold more than anything else in the world, except his little daughter.

One day Midas was enjoying the sight of gold in his treasure room, when a stranger appeared before him.

“You are a rich man, King Midas,” he said. “You have a lot of gold in this room. Nobody else in the world has as much.”

“Yes, I have,” answered Midas, “but not as much as I wish to have. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold.”

“The Golden Touch?” said the stranger. “But are you quite sure that this will make you happy?”

“Of course, I am,” said Midas.

“And will you never be sorry to have the Golden Touch?”

”Never!” cried Midas. “I’ll be very happy”. “Be it as you wish then,” replied the stranger.

“Tomorrow at sunrise you will get the Golden Touch.” In the morning, when the sun rose, the King woke up and saw that his bed had been changed to gold.

Midas was very glad, indeed.

He jumped out of bed and ran about the room touching everything. He took up a book, and turned over the leaves; at once the leaves changed to gold, and the words of the book could not be read.

He put on his clothes and found himself dressed in gold which was very heavy. He took out his handkerchief, and it also became gold.

In the garden he found a great number of beautiful roses. He went from bush to bush touching each one as he passed until every flower was changed to gold. Then, very happy, he went back to the palace to have breakfast.

King Midas sat at table waiting for little Marigold. Soon she came into the room, crying.

“Now, now, my little lady!” cried Midas. “What is the matter with you, this bright morning?”

Marigold held a rose in one of her hands. It was one of the roses Midas had turned into gold.

“Beautiful!” cried her father.

“Ah, dear Father, it is not beautiful. I ran into the garden to get some roses for you. But, oh, dear, dear, there are no more beautiful roses there. They no longer smell sweet, and they are quite yellow.”

“Oh, my dear little girl, don’t cry about it,” said Midas. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”

Then he took a cup of coffee and wanted to drink it. He was astonished to find that he could not. When his lips touched the coffee, it became gold. Then he put a nice little fish on his plate and carefully touched its tail with his finger. It at once changed to gold.

“I don’t quite see,” he thought to himself, “how I’ll have my breakfast.”