Assamese Cartoon

07/09/2026

The gift of the Gods

It was a warm summer day when the gods placed it in her hands. She trembled with a strange emotion as she saw how fragile it appeared. This was a very special gift the gods were entrusting to her. A gift that would one day belong to the world. Until then, they instructed her, she was to be its guardian and protector. The woman said she understood and reverently took it home, determined to live up to the faith the gods had placed in her.

At first, she barely let it out of her sight, protecting it from anything she perceived to be harmful to its well-being; watching with fear in her heart when it was exposed to the environment outside of the sheltered cocoon she had formed around it. But the woman began to realize that she could not shelter it forever. It needed to learn to survive the harsh elements in order to grow strong. So with gentle care she gave it more space to grow… enough to allow it to grow wild and untamed.

One day, she became aware of how much the gift had changed. It not longer had a look of vulnerability about it. Now it seemed to glow with strength and steadiness, almost as if it were developing a power within. Month after month she watched as it became stronger and more powerful. She knew deep within her heart that her time with the gift was nearing an end.

The inevitable day arrived when the gods came to take the gift and present it to the world. The woman felt a deep sadness, for she would miss its constant presence in her life. With heartfelt gratitude she thanked the gods for allowing her the privilege of watching over the precious gift for so many years. Straightening her shoulders, she stood proud, knowing that it was, indeed, a very special gift. One that would add to the beauty and essence of the world around it. And the mother let her child go.

- Renee R. Vroman

06/09/2026

Almie Rose

It was at least two months before Chirstmas when nineyear-old Almie Rose told her father and me that she wanted a new bicycle. As Chirstmas drew nearer, her desire for a bicycle seemed to fade, or so we thought. We purchased the latest rage, Baby-Sitter`s Club dolls, and a doll house. Then much to our surprise, on December 23rd, she said that she “really wanted a bike more than anything else.”

It was just too late, what with all the details of preparing Christmas dinner and buying lastminute gifts, to take the time to select the “right bike” for our little girl. So, here we were -Chirstmas Eve around 9:00 p.m, with Almie Rose and her six-year-old brother, Dylan, nestled snug in their beds. We could now think only of the bicycle, the guilt, and being parents who would disappoint their child.

“What if I make a little bicycle out of clay and write a note that she could trade the clay model in for a real bike?” my husband asked. The theory being that since this is a highticket item and she is “such a big girl,” it would be much better for her to pick it out. So he spent the next four hours paintstakingly working with clay to create a miniature bike.

On Chirstmas morning, we were excited for Almie Rose to open the little heart-shaped package with the beautiful red and white clay bike and the note. Finally, she opened it and read the note aloud.

“Does this mean that I trade in this bike that Daddy made me for a real one?”

“Yes.” I said beaming. Almie Rose had tears in her eyes when she replied,

“I could never trade in this beautiful bicycle that Daddy made me. I`d rather keep this than get a real bike.”

At that moment, we would have moved heaven and earth to buy her every bicycle on the planet!

05/09/2026

Tommy’s essay

Soon Tommy`s parents, who had recently separated, would arrive for a conference on his failing schoolwork and disruptive behavior. Neither parent knew that I had summoned the other.
Tommy, an only child, had always been happy, cooperative, and an excellent student. How could I convince his father and mother that his recent failing grades represented a brokenhearted child`s reaction to his adored parents` separation and pending divorce?

Tommy`s mother entered and took one of the chairs I had placed near my desk. Then the father arrived. They pointedly ignored each other.

As I gave a detailed account of Tommy`s behavior and schoolwork, I prayed for the right words to bring these two together to help them see what they were doing to their son. But somehow the words wouldn`t come. Perhaps if they saw one of his smudged, carelessly done papers.
I found a crumpled, tear-stained sheet stuffed in the back of his desk. Writing covered both sides, a single sentence scribbled over and over.

Silently, I smoothed it out and gave it to Tommy`s mother. She read it and then without a word handed it to her husband. He frowed. Then his face softened. He studied the scrawled words for what seemed an eternity.

At last, he folded the paper carefully and reached for his wife`s outstretched hand. She wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled up at him. My own eyes were brimming, but neither seemed to notice.
In his own way God had given me the words to reunite that family. He had guided me to the sheet of paper covered with the anguished outpouring of a small boy`s troubled heart.

“Dear Mother… Dear Daddy… I love you… I love you… I love you.”

04/09/2026

Making memories

It was the holiday season, with the “big three”- Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas – just ahead. My father was battling cancer at that time; he was very ill. Afraid that he wouldn`t be around for Christmas, I wanted to make that year extra special. I thought the perfect gift was a grandfather clock, handbuilt by me. It was one of the things he had always wanted but could never afford. Although I had not built anything of that complexity, I felt it would not only make my dad proud of me, but it would give him something from me that he could treasure.

I purchased a magnificent self-assembly kit and immediately devoted my time to the overwhelming task of putting it together.

Every day after work I went to my brother`s house to secretly work on the clock. Three hours a day, six days a week I labored all alone, trying to figure out those complicated instructions. As it started to take form, the anticipation and internal excitement were almost too much to bear. I was really proud and couldn`t help visualizing how surprised, appreciative, and amazed my dad would surely be when he unwrapped the masterpiece. On October 10, I finally finished the clock and wrapped it up with a big red bow, ready to be delivered in a couple of months on Christmas Eve. The next morning I left on a trip to Washington.

Two days later at 7:00 A.M., the phone rang in my hotel room. It was my brother. “Dad just died,” he cried.

That was a sad and brutal Christmas for me. Mom had a gorgeous Christmas tree, there were gifts galore. And there in the corner of my mother`s living room stood the tall, solid oak grandfather clock that I had spent 63 hours building. But there was no Dad! The presents meant nothing and the clock meant nothing in comparison to the loss of my dad.

Not a day goes by that I don`t regret the time I spent on that clock, now knowing that I should have spent those final, most sacred hours – all 63 of them – at my father`s side. What a fool I was to think a “thing” would make him happy. Things don`t make people happy. Time spent together with loved ones does!

03/09/2026

03/09/2026

The farmer and the loggers

Once upon a time, there was a family of four living in a small village. The father was a hardworking farmer, the mother was a loving homemaker, and the two children were bright and curious.
One day, the father decided to take his family on an adventure to explore the nearby forest. As they walked through the woods, they noticed that some of the trees had been cut down and that there were strange noises coming from deep within the forest.

The family decided to investigate and soon discovered that a group of loggers had been cutting down trees illegally. The father was outraged and wanted to confront them, but his wife warned him against it. She reminded him that their family was small and that it would be foolish to challenge such powerful people.

The father listened to his wife`s advice and instead of confronting the loggers, he decided to take action in another way. He gathered all of his neighbors together and explained what he had seen in the forest. Everyone agreed that something must be done about it and so they formed a plan to protect their beloved forest from further destruction.

The villagers worked together for weeks on end until finally, they were able to convince the loggers to stop cutting down trees illegally. The villagers celebrated their victory with joyous cheers as they watched their beloved forest slowly come back to life again.

This story serves as an important reminder that even when faced with powerful adversaries, families can still come together and make a difference if they work together towards a common goal. It also shows us how important it is for families to stick together during difficult times and support each other no matter what challenges may arise.

02/09/2026

Pass it on!

In the summer of 1965, the entire family had gathered for a family reunion in Plant City, Florida. At 2:00 A.M., my grandmother woke everyone, and started issuing orders to get empty Coke bottles, corks and blank paper ready. “I`ve received a message from God,” she said. “People must hear his word.” She started writing verses on the paper, while all of the grandchildren bottled and corked the passages.

That morning, everyone drove to Cocoa Beach and deposited over 200 bottles into the surf.
Over the years, people wrote, called and visited my grandmother, always thanking her for the scripture. She died in November 1974. In December of 1974, the last letter arrived and it stated:



Dear Mrs. Gause,
I`m writing this letter to you by candlelight.
We no longer have eIectricity on the farm. My husband was killed in the fall. He left 11 children and myself behind. They`re all under the age of 14.

The bank is foreclosing, there`s one loaf of bread left, there`s snow on the ground, Christmas is two weeks away. I prayed to the Lord to forgive me, before I went to the river to drown myself. It `s been frozen over for weeks now. I had to break the ice, and as I did, a Coke bottle floated up. I opened it, and with tears and trembling hands, I read about hope.

“But for him who is joined to all the living there is hope, for a living dog is better than a dead lion.”
You went on to reference other scriptures: Hebrew 7:19, 6:18, John 3:3. I came home and read my Bible, and now I`m thanking God for the message.

We`re going to make it now, Please pray for us, but know we`re all right. May God bless you and yours.



A Farm in Ohio
- Chrystle White

01/09/2026

Dream weaver

“That one`s for you, Daddy!” yelled Matthew Ryan Emrich, not yet nine, looking to the sky, as he circled the bases with his fist held high. Matthew had just hit his first home run as a member of his Little League team - a grand slam on his “Field of Dreams!”

His father, Mark, had always wanted to be a professional baseball player. He tried out and survived several “cuts,” but never lived his dream - a dream instilled and supported by his father, Chet.
Despite that, Mark continued to play on sandlot teams and taught neighborhood children how to play. When Matthew was born on July 30, 1985, Mark promised himself he would share his dream with his son. By the time Matthew was four, he was hitting a baseball over the neighbor`s roof.
Matthew`s uniform number 7 - was the same as his father`s. He was so pleased that his daddy loved him, as he enjoyed the family tradition. After all, the movie “Field of Dreams,” is not just about base-ball - it`s about fathers and sons and it`s about the strength of a faith!

Sadly, yet with great faith, Mark bravely faced, but lost, a hard-fought battle with cancer. He was 33. The Sunday that Mark died, he had accepted to enter the hospital for “observation only”. The doctors had promised that he could be released to see Matthew`s first game on Monday afternoon.
Family and friends knew that Matthew would play the next day, just as his father would have wished. Little did Matthew know that the promise he had made to his mother, Sherry, that “My first ball will be hit for my daddy,” would be heard by a much higher, ever-present power.
The comment that Matthew`s achievement, “probably knocked his father off the cloud from which he was watching,” sums up the victories of this life for all of us, doesn`t it?

31/08/2026

The beholder’s eye

Shoving the vacuum into its home in the hall closet, I stifled a groan. A half-day of housework behind me and I still wasn`t ready for the out-of-state company expected any very soon minute. My four small children whirled through, leaving a wake of toys, crumbs, and stray shoes scattered across the recently trackless carpet.

And then I saw it: the sliding doors of the family room. The ones I had washed and scrubbed earlier that morning. Generous finger streaks and tiny nose prints mottled the freshly polished glass panes. And that looks like... Frowning, I stepped nearer and bent for a closer inspection. Why it is! Peanut butter and Oreo cookies smudged all over. Those kids! Near tears, I plopped onto the couch and grabbed the jangling phone. “Hello?” I growled.

“Hello, dear,” gently answered my mother from her own couch a state away. “Are you busy?”
“Oh, you have no idea!” I said, exasperated. “We`re expecting guests, and I just can`t seem to get all the housework caught up around here, and the kids...”

“That reminds me,” she interrupted. “I should do some of my own. Housework, that is. The mirror above the couch is smeared. But, you know, every time I look at the sweet baby prints your little ones left there last month, I can`t bring myself to wipe them away. In fact, I`m still showing them off to my friends as `priceless artwork`!”

My gaze ping-ponged around the room. A half-eaten cracker here, wadded socks there, tilting towers of picture books in the corner. I grinned. Crowning it all was a hand-painted masterpiece on the patio doors. Unnumbered. One-of-a-kind. My own piece of priceless artwork.

- Carol McAdoo Rehme

30/08/2026

What it means to be adopted?

Teacher Debbie Moon`s first graders were discussing a picture of a family. One little boy in the picture had a different color of hair than the other family members.
One child suggested that he was adopted and a little girl named Jocelynn Jay said, “I know all about adoptions because I`m adopted.”
“What does it mean to be adopted?” asked another child.
“It means,” said proudly Jocelynn, “that you grew in your mother`s heart instead of her tummy.”
- George Dolan