John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before, in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf, he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort, he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one month, the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that, if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting -- 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So, at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:
"A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose.
"As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. 'Going my way, sailor?' she murmured. Almost uncontrollably, I made one step closer to her and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.
"I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate.
"My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
"I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. 'I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?'
"The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. 'I don't know what this is about, son,' she answered, 'but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!'"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "and I will tell you who you are."
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The most amazing love story(true)
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in urban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work.They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec. 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On December 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sunk when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 6 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, hand-made, ivory colored, crochet tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross-embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc. to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet."Pastor," she asked, "Where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crochet into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and here husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he was not leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for here safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a concentration camp. He never saw his wife or his home again for all the 35 years in between.The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and the pastor saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine
True love story
Nine years older.Everyone had the same thoughts.Although not everyone said something,we saw the looks we were given.No one understood.No one cared.We were fighting the battle alone in love and life. It all started during the summer of my freshman year in high school.I went North to Indiana to live my Mom.My Brother had a friend who lived with us so we were always together.We started forming our relationship when i was fifteen and he was twenty-four.It was a summer full of love,friendship,and party's.After that summer everything changed. He was shipped off into the war.I spent the next four years waiting.Waiting for a letter.Waiting for a visit.Maybe even waiting for a heartbreak.Just waiting for the love i let go to come back. It was tough to get through high school,but after 3 years i graduated with a 3.4 g.p.a.I one year of beauty school to finish be for we could start our life together. Half way through my freshman year in beauty school his general called.He said,"Hes down..There's not much hope for survival.Hes been shot in the chest."In tears i raced down to the airport and got a two way ticket to Iraq.It took 37 hours but i was there.I sat up for 9 days with him.He barely pulled through but he made it and left on the tenth day. Two years later i was twenty-one and he was thirty.We got married and have been married for three years.And have a baby boy on the way.We're nameing him Kourt after the doctor that saved my husbands life.
A story taken from net(true)
There were 2 more days to the last day of school. We could have our yearbooks signed full of autographs from our friends. I stood in front of him for 2 minutes, and he walked away, i wanted to chase after him and say, "i love you, sign this for me." but i just couldn't. he looked at me with those beautiful eyes and that cute smile. i couldn't resist but smile. he lived very far, in Shen Zhen. he got on his van with his friend, his friend's sister, and his brother. i saw them leave and that black van. i stayed at school really hoping for him to come back and give me the courage to ask him to sign. i couldn't believe my eyes. he really came back from the van. back to school. back from the big black gates. passed the lockers. and up the stairs. i was in the e-library. i was actually looking at him from the table. i saw him run around. but he didn't see me. come to think of it, i actually thought he as looking for me. but i just didn't have the guts to go up to him. he left again. and my heart became empty. i started to cry. the following night, i was on MSN, and so was he. i started to talk to him. and i said, "hey man! you didn't sign my yearbook yet!" and then he said, "i know. i sign tomorrow" i laughed since he said 'i sign tomorrow' he was Korean. so, i guess his English wasn't very good. the next day, i brought my yearbook too. i saw him in the morning, then afternoon, then after school. for the whole day, i didn't have 1% of guts or chance to get him to sign my yearbook. i sighed as i watched him get on his van again and went home. today was the last day of school. he's in grade eight. so i wont be able to see him often next year. and i can't believe i missed the chance. i cried instantly. i miss him so much. it summer time. and i can't get him out of my mind. i want to know where he is. but i guess that would be impossible. he's probably in Korea by now. to him : i love you. and i miss you.
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