Powerstories Theatre stages true stories to open minds and hearts and inspire action worldwide.
If you’ve enjoyed our episodes this year while our stage has been dark, please consider making a donation to our GoFundMe Shining Bright campaign for Powerstories to metamorphosis in March 2021 as a hybrid live theatre and film venue. We will debut the live and live-streamed Voices of Truth Theatre Festival featuring 20 local, national, and international playwrights.
Each week we will share 8 submissions or more from our neighbors around the city, country, and globe. Please enjoy all the stories that bring a smile to our faces and joy to our hearts. To send us your own story, click the button to complete our form, and upload your own work.
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Story Submitted by Fran Powers, Founder
Could this be the Christmas Spirit? – A Christmas Memory from Fran Taylor Powers
Christmas was always magical. As a child growing up in a family with eleven other siblings, there was always something glorious about Christmas mornings. My older sisters, younger mischievous brothers, and the little ones were all giddy with excitement. No one could get to sleep. We stayed awake in bed for hours dreaming about what Santa would bring and wondering if this would be the year to finally get a bicycle. Somehow, we all drifted asleep while waiting to hear Santa and his sleigh and reindeers on the rooftop.
The Christmas when I was twelve years old however was different. I went through all the usual gift making, tree decorating, cookie baking, Christmas song singing, but nothing felt magical. I remember the year before was so bleak. It was a hard Christmas for our family and even though we made the most of it, there were some sad memories to overcome. So, this year even though I continued to dream about getting a new record player or maybe even the bike I wanted, there was just no magic for me.
On Christmas Eve I was trying to get to sleep. I knew my big sister was long gone in the top bunk because we stopped chatting hours ago. I finally said to myself “Well, I guess I am just too old to feel the Christmas spirit ever again.” With that thought I finally drifted to sleep.
The morning finally came. I would usually jump out of bed with hysterical GLEE, but this year I moved more slowly. No magic. Not this year. Then I heard SHRIEKS. Usually there was laughter and “Ohms” and “Ahhhs”, but this year my sisters and brothers were hysterical. The noise was exhilarating causing me to quickly pick up my pace to run down the hall to the family room. And then I saw it. Then I saw THEM. I could not believe it. I felt my heart quicken. Joy was creeping into my body again. Could this be the Christmas spirit?
Because there surrounding our Christmas tree, was a new bicycle for EVERY child who wanted one. There were six bicycles and two tricycles for the wee ones. I rushed to find the tag that said, “Merry Christmas Fran, From Santa”. As I stood adoring my new blue bicycle, I finally felt the magic of Christmas. I was still a little girl who knew that dreams do come true and that they always will if you believe. Liz and I just laughed and cried, and I shouted to everyone “I am going to ride this bicycle across the United States”. And many, many years later, on a different bicycle, I did! Dreams do come true!
Story Submitted by John F. Foster
Imprint
He staggered imperceptibly
and leaned against his cane,
the white-haired man ahead of me
in line; he winced in pain.
I asked if he would like to sit;
I’d hold on to his spot
until the nurse with vaccine kit
was ready with his shot.
He said at once: “No thanks, my friend.
I’ll keep my place in line.
You see, I’ve learned not to depend
on others…I’ll be fine.”
Determination, courage, too,
were etched upon his face.
He winced again with pain anew,
but firmly held his place.
And much to my amazement, he
then brightened with a smile,
and said: “You know, I plan to be
around for quite a while.”
This man’s a real survivor type.
it surely seemed to me.
Not one complaint, nor any gripe.
A great example, he.
We then continued to converse
until he took his leave.
Still smiling, he approached the nurse
and now rolled up his sleeve.
What followed left an imprint on
my mind and heart: I stared
at numbers tattooed there upon
the forearm he had bared.
I knew at once what kind of man
had come into my life.
Imagine hardships (no one can)
in overcoming strife?
Artwork Submitted by Fiely Matias
Story Submitted by Lisa Negron
PAST PERFORMER
Song Submitted by LaQuenta Schofstoll
INAUGURAL MEMBER
Girlstories Leadership Theatre
Song Submitted by Gershom Vacarizas
PAST PERFORMER
Story Submitted by Deborah Bostock-Kelley
PAST DIRECTOR
Story Submitted by Paul Crane
PAST PERFORMER
Song Submitted by Janice Nepon-Sixt
PAST PERFORMER
Song Submitted by Donna DeLonay
PAST PERFORMER
PAST PERFORMER
Song Submitted by Erinn Botz
PAST PERFORMER
Song Submitted by Sarah Ferrer
PAST PERFORMER
Song Submitted by Lisa & Omar Negron
PAST PERFORMER
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Interested in becoming a community sponsor? Email fran@powerstories.com.
Story Submitted by Caitlin Greene
Poinsettias: I grew up thinking that my family didn’t have Christmas traditions. We never traveled to celebrate with extended family or made frustrating phone calls where a staticky delay leaves you both speaking at the same time. My father’s family had mostly already passed on and my mother’s family was too far away to even […]