A woman who was kicked out of her wealthy father’s house at sixteen for marrying a poor man ended up living on the streets with her four children after her husband passed away.
Steve Walton was not happy when his butler informed him that Pastor Morris was waiting to see him. After a long flight from Singapore, he was tired and not interested in hearing the pastor’s lectures or requests for community support.
He had the pastor brought in and, showing his impatience, said, “Get on with it, man! What do you want this time?”
“Mr. Walton, I saw Susan,” the pastor said quietly. Steve’s heart nearly stopped. His only daughter had left his house nearly fifteen years ago, and he hadn’t seen her since.
“Susan?” Steve asked anxiously. “Where? When? How is she?”
“I was in Los Angeles, helping out a friend with a mission for the homeless, and that’s where I saw her,” the pastor explained.
“Was she volunteering? Did you tell her I’ve been looking for her?” Steve asked.
“No,” Pastor Morris replied gently. “She wasn’t a volunteer, Mr. Walton. She’s homeless. She and her children are living in a car.”
Steve felt so dizzy he had to sit down. “Homeless? My Susan? With children?” he gasped.
“I’m afraid so,” the pastor said. “And she wouldn’t even listen to me when I told her to come home.”
“But why?” Steve asked angrily. “She’s not still with that loser, is she?”
“Her husband passed away three years ago, Mr. Walton,” the pastor explained. “She told me she wouldn’t bring her children into a house where their father was hated.”
Steve Walton felt a wave of old rage sweep over him. Even fifteen years later, Susan was still defying him! He remembered the scene in his study, and how Susan had looked him in the eyes as he ranted.
“Pregnant at sixteen, and by the GARDENER!” he had screamed. “We are going to have THAT taken care of, and HE’S fired! You will never see that man again!”
“THAT is my baby, daddy,” Susan had said with a trembling voice. “And HE is the man I love. I’m going to marry him.”
“You marry that man and you’re on your own, Susan, do you hear?” Steve shouted furiously. “No more money, nothing! You marry him and you get out of my house!”
Susan had looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I love you, daddy,” she said. Then she turned and walked away. Despite hiring detectives to find her, no one had been able to trace her.
“How many children?” Steve asked Pastor Morris.
“Four,” the pastor replied. “Three girls and a boy. Beautiful children.”
Steve picked up his phone and demanded that his plane be prepared. “Pastor, would you come with me to Los Angeles and take me to my little girl?” he asked quietly.
The pastor nodded, and within two hours, he and Steve were on Steve’s private jet heading south. When they landed, a limo was waiting to take them to a parking lot outside a large mall.
At the far end of the lot, they found a pickup truck with a tent set up in the back. Pastor Morris had told Steve that after Susan’s husband died in a work accident, the insurance company refused to pay out, and the bank foreclosed on their home.
Susan had packed her children and their few belongings into the old pickup. She worked as a cleaner at the mall and used the mall’s facilities. She also bought leftover food from the restaurants at the end of the day.
Despite everything, Susan managed to keep her four children fed, clean, and in school. As Steve and the pastor approached the truck, they heard cheerful voices and laughter. Two children tumbled out of the back, excited to see them.
The oldest girl, around fourteen, was laughing as she tickled a boy of about seven. When Steve and Pastor Morris approached, the children stopped and stared.
“Mom!” the girl shouted. “That old preacher friend of yours is here!”
From inside the tent, a familiar voice asked, “Preacher Morris?” Susan then emerged, and Steve saw the shock on her face when she saw him standing next to the pastor.
“Daddy?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.
Steve was taken aback. His daughter was only thirty-one, but she looked much older. Her face was lined with worry and hardship, and her hands were rough from hard work.
“Susan,” Steve cried. “Look at you! Look at what HE did to my princess! I wanted so much more for you! And you married that loser! What could he have given you? Poverty?”
Susan shook her head and said, “He loved me, Daddy, and he gave me four beautiful children. He passed away, and I had nowhere to go, but I’ve done my best for my kids. I will always love their father, just like I’ve always loved you.”
Steve found tears streaming down his face. “Forgive me, Susan,” he sobbed. “Please forgive me. Come home, I want you all to come home with me. Let me help you take care of the children!”
As Steve held his weeping daughter, he knew that everything would be alright. Susan introduced him to his three granddaughters and then placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And this,” she smiled, “is little Stevie!”
“You named him after me?” Steve asked, amazed. “After what I did?”
Susan looked at her father and said softly, “I love you, Daddy. Don’t you know that?”
That afternoon, they all flew back to Texas together. It marked the start of a new, better life for the whole family.
What can we learn from this story?
– **Love Your Children Unconditionally:** Steve’s anger at Susan for loving someone poor led him to lose his daughter. Accept your children no matter who they love.
– **Don’t Judge People by Wealth:** Steve didn’t like Susan’s husband because he was poor, but he was a loving and dedicated father. Don’t judge people by their money or status.
Share this story with your friends. It might bring them hope and inspiration.
My Son Stays Quiet as His Wife Insults Me — But He Soon Teaches Her a Lesson in Front of Guests
Kate cannot wait to spend the holidays with her son and his wife — it’s her first Christmas with the family. But when Liz criticizes her cooking, and John chooses silence over defending his mother, will the holidays be ruined?
I was always the feeder — especially after I got married, it was always me cooking for every family dinner and during the major holidays, like Christmas. But after Oliver, my husband, passed, I lost hold of that part of me.
Now, I barely cook, just enough to keep myself going, and barely that.
Except during the holidays because this is when my son, John, comes for his annual roast dinner. And then, it’s time for me to shine. But this year, things got very heated in the kitchen.
This was the first year with Liz, John’s wife, joining us. When they were dating, she always went home to her parents instead of visiting us. Which, I’ll admit, is fair because being with your family is everything during the holidays. Anyway, I was intrigued to see how Liz would mix with the rest of our family for the day.
Person chopping vegetables | Source: Unsplash
I got up early and began the Christmas meal, knowing that it would be an early dinner with many side dishes and different desserts to follow. I made the usual Christmas dinner that we’ve done for years — chicken, with roasted potatoes and gravy being the main attraction, but with lots of little dishes. Things that John loved.
But Liz? Oh, she definitely wasn’t a fan.
I was putting the final touches on the chicken when Liz strolled into the kitchen, cell phone in hand, eyeing my cooking. She looked around the kitchen with an expression that looked like she had smelt something terrible. I tried to ignore her because I was already sweating away.
Roast chicken on plates | Source: Pexels
Then, she hit me with a line that slammed through me. “Hey, Kate,” she said, “maybe we should order food. Not everyone wants what you’ve cooked. I don’t know if everyone enjoys your cooking, either. Every aspect of Christmas is supposed to be enjoyed by everyone. They should enjoy the food, too!”
I was completely blindsided by her words.
I saw John leaning against the archway, nibbling on a carrot. He altogether avoided my gaze, looking over me and out the window across the room. I held back my tears and bit my lip.
Family get together | Source: Pexels
The guests were almost all present, sitting all over the house, and I didn’t want to put a damper on the dinner, even if Liz had hurt me. Dinner rolled around, and the table groaned beneath the weight of the food. My guests, John included, were digging in and singing praises for the food I had been cooking for most of the day.
“The food’s great, right? Everyone’s enjoying it?” John asked the table.
His uncle laughed and helped himself to another serving of roasted potatoes. “Why wouldn’t we enjoy my sister’s food?” my brother said.
“Because Liz said that the dinner might be ruined by Mom’s dishes. She wanted us to order in.”
“Nonsense!” my brother exclaimed, drowning his potatoes in gravy.
Roasted potatoes | Source: Pexels
John looked at me and smiled. Which was when I realized that my sweet boy’s silence wasn’t meant to hurt me. No. He was trying to bide his time until he could teach Liz a lesson and embarrass her in front of our family.
Liz turned red from his comment as everyone stared at her. I’ll admit that I felt bad for her. It was her first Christmas with us, and already, it wasn’t looking promising.
Later on, when I was in the kitchen again, packing the dishwasher and emptying dishes of food, Liz came in.
“Kate, I’m sorry,” my daughter-in-law said. “I was so wrong to do what I did. I am sorry, please understand.”
“Understand what?” I asked her.
I did feel bad, yes. But I was still hurt.
Loaded dishwasher | Source: Pexels
“I only said that because John loves your food. He always talks about how you make all these special things for him. I can’t make a basic mac and cheese without him saying yours is better. I looked at the food, smelt all the delicious smells from this kitchen, and panicked.”
“Liz, you should know that a boy and his mother’s food is a relationship in and of itself,” I laughed, trying to diffuse the tension. “I can teach you how to cook just like me. My mother taught me everything I know.”
“Really?” she asked. “Even after I’ve been so horrible?”
“Yes,” I said with a softening smile.
Then, I led her to the Christmas tree, ready to give Liz her present.
I still think the whole thing hurts me, but I’m grateful she didn’t say what she said for a nasty reason. Liz felt threatened by John’s relationship with my food instead of fostering a relationship with Liz’s cooking.
But I can teach her.
Christmas present wrapped with red thread | Source: Pexels
If the same thing had happened to you, what would you have done? Would you have been silent until the truth came out, like me? Or would you have retaliated immediately?
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