Jack Canfield - A Taste Of Chicken Soup For The Couples Soul

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Thinking of You. Reprinted by permission of Alicia von Stamwitz. 1998 Alicia von Stamwitz.

Someone to Watch Over Me. Reprinted by permission of Sharon M. Wajda. 1998 Sharon M. Wajda.

The Fortune Cookie Prophecy. Reprinted by permission of Don Buehner. 1998 Don Buehner.

The Promise. Reprinted by permission of Thomas F. Crum. 1998 Thomas F. Crum.

Love Me Tender. Reprinted by permission of Jacklyn Lee Lindstrom. 1998 Jacklyn Lee Lindstrom.

A Legend of Love. Reprinted by permission of LeAnn Thieman. 1998 LeAnn Thieman.

Baby, You Are... Reprinted by permission of David L. Weatherford. 1998 David L. Weatherford.

A Sign of His Love. Reprinted by permission of Patricia Forbes. 1998 Patricia Forbes.

One Last Good-Bye. Reprinted by permission of Karen Corkern Babb. 1998 Karen Corkern Babb.

Belonging. Reprinted by permission of Bob Welch. 1998 Bob Welch.

copyright 2012 Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC

ISBN: 978-1-4532-7947-2 (ePub)

Cover design by Andrea C. Uva

From our hearts to yours,

we dedicate this book to everyone

who has ever been in love, or

hopes to be in love again.

We are each of us angels

with only one wing. And we can fly

only by embracing each other.

Luciano de Crescenzo

Contents

Alicia von Stamwitz

Sharon Wajda

Don Buehner

Thomas F. Crum

Mark and Chrissy Donnelly

Jacklyn Lee Lindstrom

LeAnn Thieman

David L. Weatherford

Patricia Forbes

Karen Corkern Babb

Bob Welch

Love is the most powerful, magical force in the universe, and there is nowhere it displays its beauty and wonder more than in the intimate relationship between two people. We wrote Chicken Soup for the Couples Soul hoping to capture that mystery and wonder in words. This tasteful excerpt from that book is for husbands and wives and lovers and anyone who dreams of finding their souls true mate.

Some loves endure a lifetime; others are destined to last only a while. But no matter what the outcome, when love enters our lives, it never leaves without transforming us at the very depth of our being.

Like love itself, the stories in this book reflect every season, mood and color of emotion: sweet beginnings; challenging and deepening intimacy; grief at good-byes; astonishment when we rediscover lost love.

Some stories will make you laugh. Some will make you cry. But above all, these stories pay tribute to loves ability to endure, beyond years, beyond difficulty, beyond distance, beyond even death.

There is no miracle greater than love. It is Gods most precious gift to us. We offer this book as our gift to you. May it open your heart, uplift your mind, inspire your spirit, and be a sweet companion on your own hearts journey. And may your life always be blessed with love.

To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.

Thomas Campbell

Sophies face faded into the gray winter light of the sitting room. She dozed in the armchair that Joe had bought for her on their fortieth anniversary. The room was warm and quiet. Outside it was snowing lightly.

At a quarter past one the mailman turned the corner onto Allen Street. He was behind on his route, not because of the snow, but because it was Valentines Day and there was more mail than usual. He passed Sophies house without looking up. Twenty minutes later he climbed back into his truck and drove off.

Sophie stirred when she heard the mail truck pull away, then took off her glasses and wiped her mouth and eyes with the handkerchief she always carried in her sleeve. She pushed herself up using the arm of the chair for support, straightened slowly and smoothed the lap of her dark green housedress.

Her slippers made a soft, shuffling sound on the bare floor as she walked to the kitchen. She stopped at the sink to wash the two dishes she had left on the counter after lunch. Then she filled a plastic cup halfway with water and took her pills. It was one forty-five.

There was a rocker in the sitting room by the front window. Sophie eased herself into it. In a half-hour the children would be passing by on their way home from

school. Sophie waited, rocking and watching the snow.

The boys came first, as always, running and calling out things Sophie could not hear. Today they were making snowballs as they went, throwing them at one another. One snowball missed and smacked hard into Sophies window. She jerked backward, and the rocker slipped off the edge of her oval rag rug.

The girls dilly-dallied after the boys, in twos and threes, cupping their mittened hands over their mouths and giggling. Sophie wondered if they were telling each other about the valentines they had received at school. One pretty girl with long brown hair stopped and pointed to the window where Sophie sat watching. Sophie slipped her face behind the drapes, suddenly self-conscious.

When she looked out again, the boys and girls were gone. It was cold by the window, but she stayed there watching the snow cover the childrens footprints.

A florists truck turned onto Allen Street. Sophie followed it with her eyes. It was moving slowly. Twice it stopped and started again. Then the driver pulled up in front of Mrs. Masons house next door and parked.

Who would be sending Mrs. Mason flowers? Sophie wondered. Her daughter in Wisconsin? Or her brother? No, her brother was very ill. It was probably her daughter. How nice of her.

Flowers made Sophie think of Joe and, for a moment, she let the aching memory fill her. Tomorrow was the fifteenth. Eight months since his death.

The flower man was knocking at Mrs. Masons front door. He carried a long white and green box and a clipboard. No one seemed to be answering. Of course! It was FridayMrs. Mason quilted at the church on Friday afternoons. The delivery man looked around, then started toward Sophies house.

Sophie shoved herself out of the rocker and stood close to the drapes. The man knocked. Her hands trembled as she straightened her hair. She reached her front hall on his third knock.

Yes? she said, peering around a slightly opened door.

Good afternoon, maam, the man said loudly. Would you take a delivery for your neighbor?

Yes, Sophie answered, pulling the door wide open.

Where would you like me to put them? the man asked politely as he strode in.

In the kitchen, please. On the table. The man looked big to Sophie. She could hardly see his face between his green cap and full beard. Sophie was glad he left quickly, and she locked the door after him.

The box was as long as the kitchen table. Sophie drew near to it and bent over to read the lettering: Natalies Flowers for Every Occasion. The rich smell of roses engulfed her. She closed her eyes and took slower breaths, imagining yellow roses. Joe had always chosen yellow. To my sunshine, he would say, presenting the extravagant bouquet. He would laugh delightedly, kiss her on the forehead, then take her hands in his and sing to her You Are My Sunshine.