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CONTENTS
Introduction
I: HEAVENLY SENT
Reverence Mary Zelinka
Watching Over Eric Debralee James
Expect a Miracle Patti Schechter
A Hand to Hold Veronica Lewis
Message Received Michele S. Wallace
Elusive Love Catherine Lanigan
The Upward Spiral Yvonne Clare Provost
The Angel Tree Marlene L. King
II: A LOVE FOR ALL AGES
The Mother Load Claudia McCormick
Sex in the Eighties Wendy J. Natkong
Looking My Age and Proud of It! Candis Fancher
A Gift Beyond Time Ursula Bacon
My First Kiss Cher Laughlin McClintock
The Uplifting Surprise Judith Bader Jones
III: LOVING YOURSELF FROM THE INSIDE OUT
Wild Heart Michelle Carrington
The Mirror Sharon Kinder
Dr. Bob Donna Hartley
The Popcorn Can Laurie Wierbick
Ten Again Susan LaMaire
Standing Ovations Chris Clarke-Epstein
IV: DESIGNING A LIFE
On a Scale of 0 to 10 Kay Allenbaugh
Is Anybody in Charge Here? Susie Troccolo
This Is Only a Test Kathlyn Hendricks
August Love Song Jo Ann Townsend
My Counselor Denise Allen Jakob
Writing My Own Script Barbara Arnstein McCormack
Predicting the Future Nancy Kiernan
My Intimate Celibacy Adventure Donna Marie Williams
V: WEATHERING THE STORM
The Tip of the Pirate's Blade Kyla Merwin
If That's the Worst Thing...Garnet Hunt White
Buon Natale Becky Lee Weyrich
My Accidental Lover Sue-Ellen Welfonder
To Catch a Cop Joanne McCall
The Circle of Love Polly Camp Kreitz
VI: LOVE IS A SPLENDID THING
The Dance of Love Lola D. Gillebaard
Trophy Wife Mary Northrup
Always the Ocean Sheila Stephens
When Hayward Met Sherry Sherry Gipson
Meant to Be Carole Bellacera
The Right Bus Dorothy Hutchins Klingbeil
Jake's Kittens Christine Davis
I Dare You! April Kemp
VII: LOVE POTIONS
For the Love of Teddy Robin Ryan
Yard Work Marlene R. Jannusch
Living with the Easter Bunny Linda Ross Swanson
Cupid's Crooked Arrow Judy Brand
Overlooking the Obvious Jennifer Brown Banks
A Dime a Dozen Terry Cohen
Our Rescue Dog Lynne Swartzlander
Sailing Through the Storm Jo Hinds
More Chocolate Stories?
Contributors
Acknowledgments
The New copy of this book will include any supplemental materials advertised. Please check the title of the book to determine if it should include any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.
The Used, Rental and eBook copies of this book are not guaranteed to include any supplemental materials. Typically, only the book itself is included. This is true even if the title states it includes any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.
Love stories give us hope, make us feel whole, and allow us to see a reflection of ourselves in someone else's eyes. When I collected the love stories in this volume, I intentionally sought out a rich variety of experiences. And soChocolate for a Lover's Heartoffers up a bounty of all kinds of love: finding that perfect mate, loving ourselves enough to go after our dreams, endless love and unforgettable passion, sweet -- and bittersweet -- love.
Just as women and chocolate go together, so do chocolate and love! That sigh of satisfaction you make after savoring a delicious piece of chocolate is akin to that feeling of wholeness when you experience a great, encircling love. The power of love -- whether for another person or for ourselves -- is what moves mountains, lets us soar to new heights, and adds richness to our lives.
I am grateful that forty-nine women -- including motivational speakers, therapists, bestselling authors, entrepreneurs, and homemakers -- have shared their favorite true-life love stories inChocolate for a Lover's Heart.These contributors reveal all ages and stages of love, from that first important kiss, to passion still burning brightly into the twilight years, from divine messages of love that change your life, to seeing the beauty within yourself for the very first time. You will laugh, cry, and always remember these stories, stories with surprise endings and interesting twists and turns -- all offered in love to warm your heart.
Virtually all these stories remind us of a woman's unique, enormous capacity to love, especially when it's hard to, when it's unexpected, and even when it's meant to be.
Chocolate for a Lover's Heartis my heartfelt response to readers who demanded more "chocolate" after consumingChocolate for a Woman's SoulandChocolate for a Woman's Heart.If you're like me, you might take great pleasure from treating yourself to as much chocolate as you can get your hands on and devouring all these stories in one sitting! But you can also savor them, one at a time, and prolong what I hope will be a very satisfying experience. Read these stories in sequence, or randomly select a story title that speaks to you that day; knowing you will always hear the perfect message when you need it most.
I hope you enjoy these tales of inspiration as much as I enjoyed collecting them and getting to know the wonderful women behind each story.Chocolate for a Lover's Heartis proof positive that if we nurture that part of ourselves that believes we deserve meaningful love, then love is truly available to us all.
Copyright © 1999 by Kay Allenbaugh
CHAPTER I: HEAVENLY SENT
What is important is that one is capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity.
Helen Hayes
***
It's in being known that we flourish.
Jan Carothers
REVERENCE
His advertisement in theNew York Timestook me by surprise; I hadn't thought of him or Missouri for such a long time. "The Muse's Refuge: Fine and Rare Books." Underneath a drawing of an overstuffed chair was a phone number and an address. As I remember, that street defined a very exclusive part of downtown St. Louis. Apparently, he'd done well.
I first saw Daniel after he moved into his newly purchased used-book store in a run-down section of St. Louis. I had just started working at the First National Bank, a few blocks away, and had walked past on my lunch hour. He stacked books on shelves two, sometimes three, deep, and boxes overflowing with old books crowded the aisles. History, music, poetry, literature, romance, biographies, were all mixed together. A beautiful old copy ofThe Secret Gardensat on the shelf right next to a tawdry romance paperback.
I wandered between the aisles, breathing deep that wonderful rich musty old-book smell. I've always loved used-book stores. I love to browse and run my fingers along the spines and wonder about the people who once held and read and loved these books. I must have closed my eyes and been dreaming, because I walked right into him and very nearly stumbled into the box he was emptying. I remember he laughed a kind, quiet laugh. Too embarrassed to say much, I didn't even look directly at him. I used to be so afraid of people then!
I went back. At least once a week, usually more. The Muse's Refuge began to look like a "real" bookstore. Daniel told me his dream: He wanted to sell fine, very rare books. Someday. He had to start somewhere. Daniel called me by my name now, and he always looked up when I came in. I liked it that he always seemed pleased to see me.
And I liked to watch him work. Organizing, putting away. He touched his books with such reverence. "If you have the choice and can afford it, always buy the first edition," he instructed. I started paying attention to the copyright pages of used books.
One day, I asked him if he had ever seen a copy ofJane Eyrewith very unusual illustrations. I had seen one as a child and had been fascinated by the pictures. I'd never forgotten the mysterious allure of the artwork even after all these years.
"The Eichenberg set," he answered without hesitation. "Woodcut engravings. I don't have a copy, but I'll look for one." The next week, he had a boxed set ofJane EyreandWuthering Heightswith the Eichenberg engravings waiting for me. He wouldn't let me pay for them. "It's a necessity," he explained. "If you love a book, you should have it."
One snowy day, I braved the icy walk on my lunch hour and found him sitting in his worn overstuffed chair, gently cleaning an old leather-bound book. I thought,This is what I would want for my life: to sit in an old comfortable chair, watching the world move by slowly through the snow, caressing a book, drinking a cup of hot tea.
On that day, he kissed me. Daniel made me a cup of tea, and when he brought it to me, he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. His lips stayed there, tender and warm, for a good long minute. Then he straightened up and went to his chair and we sat together in silence. I felt that kiss throughout every pore of my body.
We never talked about our lives. Only books and ideas. I knew he wasn't married, but he must have known that I was, because of my wedding ring. I didn't tell him I had a four-year-old son. And of course I didn't tell him about my husband and his violence. I was too ashamed.
We made love only once. Not long after that kiss on my head. In the thick of a conversation he got up to make tea, and I followed him up the stairs to his small apartment, talking all the while. That sun-filled bright room, the white snow outside reflecting through the heavy old window glass, silenced me. The room was so bright, so unlike, yet exactly like, the friendly dark of the bookstore below. Books were piled everywhere. Bright, modern art prints papered the walls. I stood still in that golden light that exists in St. Louis in the wintertime and thought:This is where Daniel lives.I looked over at him standing there by his stove. He was watching me. "Yes," I whispered.
I didn't go back to work that afternoon and Daniel kept his shop closed. No one had ever touched me with such reverence before.
I never went back to The Muse's Refuge after that day. I don't know why. Everything I had ever wanted existed in that room. I left my job the next week and didn't venture downtown again.
Years later, after I finally left my husband, I did go back to the store. Leaving the state and having no intention of ever returning to Missouri, I visited some of my past. The Muse's Refuge wasn't where I had remembered, so I looked it up in the phone book and found it a few blocks over in a slightly better area.
The new shop featured mostly rare books. I found a copy ofMistress Masham's Reposeby T. H. White that I'd been looking for. I checked to see if I'd selected a first edition and then went to pay for it. I hadn't seen him when I first came in, but now saw his worn overstuffed chair behind the counter. He had been sitting there, reading. He wrote out my receipt and put my book in a smart dark brown sack that said, "The Muse's Refuge" in silver letters. He didn't recognize me. Or maybe he did. I thanked him, put the package under my arm, and left the shop's cozy darkness into the October crisp city air.
This morning, before I put theTimesout for recycling, I clipped out Daniel's ad and stuck it between the pages ofJane Eyre.The Eichenberg set ofBrontëbooks aren't the finest or the rarest books I own, but they are my most dear.
Mary Zelinka
WATCHING OVER ERIC
On a scorching summer day in Arizona, I hurried to get to an appointment on time. Halfway there, I noticed the arrow on my car's gas gauge sitting on empty. As I scanned the street in search of a gas station, I saw him. Head down, thumb out, he moved ahead. He appeared to be in his early twenties, unkempt and sweating from the heat. I gave him but a glance as I passed, and then I heard the voice. As clearly as if spoken by someone seated in the back of my van came the words, "Stop, Eric needs a friend today." Many thoughts ran quickly through my mind, including the very real danger of picking up hitchhikers. Even though Eric is my oldest son's name and this young man looked quite weary, I passed him by and turned into the next gas station.
It seems that everything takes much longer when you are already late and so it was at the gas station. Finally fueled up after waiting in line at the pumps, I proceeded toward my appointment. I looked up ahead, and saw the young man again. His persistent stride and my delay in getting the gasoline were causing our paths to cross again.
I wondered about my own son, Eric. I wondered if a kind stranger would someday be there for him. Fear prevailed, though, and I decided to pass him by once more. This time, the voice spoke with more urgency: "Please trust me and stop. Eric needs a friend today." I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and pulled over to offer the young man a ride.
A broad smile creased his dirty face as he scrambled into my van. "Gee, thanks, ma'am," he said cheerfully. "It sure is hot here in Arizona, and I really appreciate the ride." He was going in my direction and he talked quietly as I drove. He told me of coming to Arizona two years ago and of how much trouble he had encountered. Jobs fell through as he lived with one friend after another and now his car was finally beyond repair. At the end of his rope and not sure where he would spend the night, he asked me to pull over so that he could get out. He claimed to have a friend within walking distance who might put him up for a few days. His sadness tugged at my heart and I offered him my hand in friendship. As he placed his hand in mine, he smiled and said, "Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Eric."
As I held his hand, I feltherpresence filling the van, and I heard myself speaking. "Eric, your wife loves you very much. She wants me to tell you that she's at peace and that it is time for you to forgive and go home." He held my hand tightly and stared at me in disbelief and burst into tears. I held him and stroked his hair while he cried from the depths of his soul.
He grew quiet, thanked me, and said, "My wife was killed two years ago in an automobile accident. She was pregnant with our first child. A drunk driver ran a red light and she and the baby were killed instantly. We were childhood sweethearts." He had been unable to stay in the city where they had grown up together. Each place he saw held a precious memory of her and aroused his uncontrollable rage at their senseless deaths. He spoke of how he hated the driver who had taken his wife and child from him and so he had left town and headed to Arizona. He had attempted to run from the pain only to find that it had followed him. He had turned his back on his own parents and friends, abandoning their support as he fled to Arizona.
It seemed as if I were watching a movie as I described his pretty wife to him and explained that I could see her standing contentedly with a brown-haired little boy who looked to be about two years old. Again, I felt her encouraging me to speak and I said, "She wants you to go home, Eric. Now I know it was her voice I heard telling me to stop and give you a ride." Eric then admitted he had just received a letter that morning from his parents begging him to come home. He showed me the airline ticket that they had included. He whispered, "I wasn't going to go. I stopped praying when she died, but then this morning I did ask for help. I did ask for direction to know what to do."
Again, her words flowed from me. "She wants me to tell you she is always with you and that you will see her and your son someday. She wants you to get on with your life. She says that she loves you, always has and always will."
I could see the change come over him, like a burden had been lifted from his heart. He held onto the airline ticket: "It looks like I'm going home." He smiled. He kissed my cheek softly and got out of the van. "Thank you, ma'am, thank you so much!" As he walked away, I smiled to myself and thought,Don't thank me, Eric, thank your angels.I know I do.
Debralee James
Expect your every need to be met, expect the answer to every problem, expect abundance on every level, expect to grow spiritually.
Eileen Caddy
EXPECT A MIRACLE
After years of infertility treatments, miscarriage, and heartbreak, my husband and I decided our third in vitro fertilization attempt would be our last. Already emotionally devastated, we determined that if it wasn't meant to be, we would close this chapter of our lives and move on, no matter how painful it might be. Since we both agreed adoption was not an option for us, I knew that if this last procedure didn't work, my hope of being a mother would be forever dashed.
After surrendering myself to the arduous round of medical procedures -- the necessary drugs, and shots, and going through the outpatient surgery procedures -- I finally got to the big day. I took the pregnancy test in the morning at the clinic before going to my job as a court reporter. I knew that at 4:00 P.M. the nurse would call with the results and dramatically change my life one way or the other.
When I got to work, the courtroom was empty, and we weren't expecting the next case for at least an hour. As I sat at my desk and reviewed some files, an older woman I'd never seen before entered and took a seat.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"No," she said, "I'm here to observe the cases today."
"Nothing will be happening for at least an hour," I explained.
She didn't respond.
I continued to work, but every time I glanced up, I found her staring at me. Finally, I told her she would probably be more comfortable in a courtroom where a case was in progress. Beginning to feel really distracted by her presence, I picked up my papers and left.
When I returned in about ten minutes, she was gone, but a business-sized card lay on my desk. I was busily preparing for a new trial, and I didn't stop to read it.
At 4:00 P.M., I nervously waited for the nurse's call. Yet, as soon as the phone rang, a warm, loving feeling washed over me and my anxiety vanished. I knew the news would be good.
"Congratulations," the nurse said. "You're pregnant!" She rattled on about what vitamins to take and what foods to avoid, but I paid little attention. Instead, I stared at the card I now grasped in my hand left by the stranger in the courtroom. It simply read,"Expect a miracle."
Although I've never seen her again, I'll forever carry the card she left me in my wallet, right next to the picture of my beautiful little girl.
Patti Schechter
Copyright © 1999 by Kay Allenbaugh
Excerpted from Chocolate for a Lovers Heart: Soul-Soothing Stories That Celebrate the Power of Love by Kay Allenbaugh
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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