Have a Little Faith: A True Story
Mitch Albom
Language: English
Pages: 272
ISBN: 140131046X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Now including a new chapter for the paperback edition.
"A masterpiece."
--Publishers Weekly
"In the beginning there was a question. 'Will you do my eulogy' As is often the case with faith, I thought I was being asked a favor. In truth, I was being given one..."
"An absolute wonder--tender, transporting, and deeply moving."
--Scott Turow, author of Presumed Innocent
"The nonfiction equivalent to Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist."
--Sydney Morning Herald
"A faith journey that could become a classic."
--Jim Wallis, author of The Great Awakening
"Albom helps show the true definition of 'Church.' It is not the building, it is the people and their faith."
--Bishop T.D. Jakes, Chief Pastor, The Potter's House
"Everybody should read it."
--Hoda Kotb in People, Best Book of 2009
amount. The money came in fast. Soon, he was acting like a kingpin, glorifying himself, giving orders. He bought fancy clothes. He styled his hair. He actually made people kneel down when they wanted something. Only when mothers came with babies did he soften up. They would offer him anything in exchange for drugs: groceries they’d just purchased, sometimes even a baby girl’s tiny earring. “Keep it,” he would say, giving them a small bag. “But that earring belongs to me now. I want to see it on
to possessions; price tags meant nothing, small enjoyment meant everything. High tech? He liked a clock radio playing classical music. Fancy restaurants? His culinary pleasures were graham crackers and peanut butter cookies. His idea of a great meal was pouring cereal into his oatmeal, adding a cup of raisins, and stirring it all up. He adored food shopping, but only for bargains—a leftover habit from his Depression days—and his supermarket journeys were something of legend. He would push a cart
movies. But that is not the human experience. “Like Sarah says, twenty good minutes here, forty good minutes there, it adds up to something beautiful. The trick is when things aren’t so great, you don’t junk the whole thing. It’s okay to have an argument. It’s okay that the other one nudges you a little, bothers you a little. It’s part of being close to someone. “But the joy you get from that same closeness—when you watch your children, when you wake up and smile at each other—that, as our
at least the sanctuary would not be flooded. Fixing the roof was a much bigger job, maybe eighty thousand dollars, according to a contractor. “Whoo,” Henry had gushed, when we heard the estimate. Eighty thousand dollars was more than his church had seen in years. I felt badly for him. But that would have to come from some more committed source. A tarp—a toe in the water—was enough from me. I got out of the car and a freezing wind smacked my cheeks. With the homeless program operating, the
festivals, he took part in traditional practices, hosting a Seder meal on Passover, or casting bread into a stream on Rosh Hashanah, symbolic of casting away your sins. Like Catholicism, with its vespers, sacraments, and communions—or Islam, with its five-times-daily salah, clean clothes, and prayer mats—Judaism had enough rituals to keep you busy all day, all week, and all year. I remember, as a kid, the Reb admonishing the congregation—gently, and sometimes not so gently—for letting rituals