masterwordsmith-unplugged

It was 1935 and we were a group of friends enjoying an after-dinner conversation.
Because Thanksgiving was just around the corner and prosperity wasn't, we fell to
talking about what we had to be thankful for.

"Well I for one am grateful to Mrs. Wendt, an old school teacher, who 30 years ago
in a little West Virginia town went out of her way to introduce me to the works
of the poet, Tennyson."

Then I launched into a colorful description of Mrs. Wendt, a lovely little old lady
who had been my high school teacher and who had made a deep impression on my life.

"And does this Mrs. Wendt know that she made that contribution to your life?" one
of my friends asked me.

"I'm afraid she doesn't. I have been careless and have never, in all these years,
told her either face-to-face or by letter."

"Then why don't you write her? It would make her happy if she is still living, and
it might make you happier, too. The thing that most of us ought to do is to learn
to develop the attitude of gratitude."

That friend's challenge made me see that I had received something very precious
and hadn't bothered to say thanks. That very evening, I tried to atone. On the chance
that Mrs. Wendt, might still be living, I sat down and wrote her what I call a "Thanksgiving
letter."

In the letter I reminded her that it was she who had introduced my young mind to
the works of Tennyson and Browning and others and that she had made a major difference
in my life.

It took a couple of weeks for Mrs. Wendt's letter to reach her after being forwarded
from town to town. Finally it reached her, and this is the handwritten note I had
in return. It began:

"My Dear Willie," (The introduction itself was quite enough to warm my heart. Here
I was, a man of 50, fat and bald, and to be addressed as "Willie.")

"I remember well your enthusiasm for Tennyson and the Idylls of the Kings when I
read them to you for you were so beautifully responsive. My reward for telling
you about Tennyson did not have to wait until your belated note of thanks came to
me in my old age. I received my best reward your eager response to the lyrical beauty
and the idealism of Tennyson."

"But in spite of the fact that I got much of my reward at that time, I want you
to know what your note meant to me. I am now an old lady in my 80's, living alone
in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and seemingly like the last leaf of
fall left behind."

"You will be interested to know, Willie, that I taught school for 50 years and,
in all that time, yours is the first note of appreciation I ever received. It came
on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered my lonely old heart as nothing has cheered
me in many years."

I wept over that simple, sincere note from my teacher of long ago. I read it to
a dozen friends. One of them said, "I believe I'm going to write Miss Mary Scott
a letter. She did something similar to that for my boyhood."

That first Thanksgiving letter was so successful and satisfying that I made a list
of people who had contributed something definite and lasting to my life and decided
to write at least one "Thanksgiving letter" every month.

For 10 years, I have kept up this exciting game of writing Thanksgiving month letters.
I have a special file for answers, and now I have more than 500 of the most beautiful
letters anyone has ever received.

A Thanksgiving letter isn't much. Only a few lines and a stamp to mail it. But the
rewards are so great that only eternity can estimate them.

Thanks to the challenge of a friend, I have learned a little, at least, about gratitude.

- Written by William L. "Big Bill" Stidger (1885-1949) who was one of the preachers" The Monthly Thanksgiving Letter "
It was 1935 and we were a group of friends enjoying an after-dinner conversation.
Because Thanksgiving was just around the corner and prosperity wasn't, we fell to
talking about what we had to be thankful for.

"Well I for one am grateful to Mrs. Wendt, an old school teacher, who 30 years ago
in a little West Virginia town went out of her way to introduce me to the works
of the poet, Tennyson."

Then I launched into a colorful description of Mrs. Wendt, a lovely little old lady
who had been my high school teacher and who had made a deep impression on my life.

"And does this Mrs. Wendt know that she made that contribution to your life?" one
of my friends asked me.

"I'm afraid she doesn't. I have been careless and have never, in all these years,
told her either face-to-face or by letter."

"Then why don't you write her? It would make her happy if she is still living, and
it might make you happier, too. The thing that most of us ought to do is to learn
to develop the attitude of gratitude."

That friend's challenge made me see that I had received something very precious
and hadn't bothered to say thanks. That very evening, I tried to atone. On the chance
that Mrs. Wendt, might still be living, I sat down and wrote her what I call a "Thanksgiving
letter."

In the letter I reminded her that it was she who had introduced my young mind to
the works of Tennyson and Browning and others and that she had made a major difference
in my life.

It took a couple of weeks for Mrs. Wendt's letter to reach her after being forwarded
from town to town. Finally it reached her, and this is the handwritten note I had
in return. It began:

"My Dear Willie," (The introduction itself was quite enough to warm my heart. Here
I was, a man of 50, fat and bald, and to be addressed as "Willie.")

"I remember well your enthusiasm for Tennyson and the Idylls of the Kings when I
read them to you for you were so beautifully responsive. My reward for telling
you about Tennyson did not have to wait until your belated note of thanks came to
me in my old age. I received my best reward your eager response to the lyrical beauty
and the idealism of Tennyson."

"But in spite of the fact that I got much of my reward at that time, I want you
to know what your note meant to me. I am now an old lady in my 80's, living alone
in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and seemingly like the last leaf of
fall left behind."

"You will be interested to know, Willie, that I taught school for 50 years and,
in all that time, yours is the first note of appreciation I ever received. It came
on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered my lonely old heart as nothing has cheered
me in many years."

I wept over that simple, sincere note from my teacher of long ago. I read it to
a dozen friends. One of them said, "I believe I'm going to write Miss Mary Scott
a letter. She did something similar to that for my boyhood."

That first Thanksgiving letter was so successful and satisfying that I made a list
of people who had contributed something definite and lasting to my life and decided
to write at least one "Thanksgiving letter" every month.

For 10 years, I have kept up this exciting game of writing Thanksgiving month letters.
I have a special file for answers, and now I have more than 500 of the most beautiful
letters anyone has ever received.

A Thanksgiving letter isn't much. Only a few lines and a stamp to mail it. But the
rewards are so great that only eternity can estimate them.

Thanks to the challenge of a friend, I have learned a little, at least, about gratitude.

- Written by William L. "Big Bill" Stidger (1885-1949) who was one of the preachers