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<!--Generated by Squarespace Site Server v5.11.5 (http://www.squarespace.com/) on Sun, 01 Aug 2010 00:48:59 GMT--><rss xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/" xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" version="2.0"><channel><title>The Wooden Bowl</title><link>http://www.kellyilebode.com/the-wooden-bowl/</link><description></description><lastBuildDate>Mon, 13 Apr 2009 15:10:02 +0000</lastBuildDate><copyright></copyright><language>en-US</language><generator>Squarespace Site Server v5.11.5 (http://www.squarespace.com/)</generator><item><title>The Wooden Bowl</title><dc:creator>kilebode</dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 13 Apr 2009 15:06:21 +0000</pubDate><link>http://www.kellyilebode.com/the-wooden-bowl/2009/4/13/the-wooden-bowl.html</link><guid isPermaLink="false">343723:3646836:3632797</guid><description><![CDATA[<p><span ><strong>A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. <br /> <br /> The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.<br /> "We must do something about father," said the son. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>"I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor." <br /> <br /> So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. <br /> <br /> When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. <br /> <br /> The four-year-old watched it all in silence.</strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong><br /> One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy responded, </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>"Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up. <br /> " The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.<br /> <br /> The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. <br /> <br /> That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. </strong></span></p>
<p><span ><strong>For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 120%;"><strong><span >-Author Unknown</span><br /></strong></span></p>]]></description><wfw:commentRss>http://www.kellyilebode.com/the-wooden-bowl/rss-comments-entry-3632797.xml</wfw:commentRss></item></channel></rss>