A Golden Chain of Kindness

Image by Stephen Eastop

Writer and philosopher Johann Wolfgang von Goethe said, "Kindness is the golden chain by which society is bound together." But I was not thinking about a golden chain of kindness one day when a dilapidated automobile, possibly held together with glue and wire, parked in front of the house. During those years, we lived in a small mountain town next to a freeway. Our home was located across the street from the church I served, and travelers in need frequently found their way to our front door, usually aided by townsfolk who pointed out where they might get some assistance.

Let me confess: kindness can be difficult and thankless work. Though the little community generously donated to help with this cause, I grew weary of the numerous strangers who constantly rang my doorbell. My life was busy, my work was demanding and I was tired. I was also beginning to feel “put upon.” One time our property was vandalized by a man I had invited to spend the night in the warmth of the little church; once I drove 30 miles through a hazardous blizzard to carry a couple of hitchhikers to shelter who showed no appreciation for the sacrifice; frequently I was awakened in the middle of the night to get out in the bitter cold and give assistance to someone passing through; too often travelers manipulated or lied or stridently complained that I didn’t give them more.

Not that I need a lot of thanks. But my work with these people was volunteer and I was losing the warm feeling I once had by doing it. At one time I felt I was truly helping. Now I felt stressed and harassed. Early on it seemed like I might be doing some good, but as of late I wondered if that was true.

It seemed as if the golden chain of kindness was broken. Instead of binding me closer to others, I felt increasingly distant.

I also felt guilt for feeling sorry for myself. “I should WANT to be more helpful,” I told myself. I questioned my motives. Am I doing all of this so people will value me, or because there is a need here I can help meet? Is this about me or about them? I still offered assistance where I could, though more than once I silently wished that people wanting something from me would just go away.

But on this day, a young man with a week-old beard climbed from the broken-down automobile. He had no money and no food. He asked if I could give him some work. I offered him some gasoline and a meal. I told him that if he wanted to work, we'd be pleased if he'd cut the grass, but work wasn't necessary.

Though sweaty and hungry, he worked hard. Because of the afternoon heat, I thought he might give up before the job was completed. But he persisted and, after a long while, he sat wearily down in the shade. I thanked him for his work and gave him the money I promised. Then I offered him a little extra for a task particularly well done, but he refused. "No sank you," he said in heavily accented speech. I insisted that he take the money but he stood up and once again said, "No sank you. I want to work. Joo keep the money." I realized his dignity was at stake and thanked him again for the good job.

I never saw that man after he drove away. And interestingly, he probably thought I helped him that day. But that is not the way it was. I’m sure I didn't help him as much as he helped me. In his honesty and sincerity, he reminded me of the innate decency of people. He helped me recall just why I wanted to reach out to strangers in the first place. Something that had almost died inside seemed to wake up. I remembered my real reasons for reaching out and immediately began to feel better…more hopeful, more useful. I believed, again, that the little I was doing could actually make a difference.

This stranger (I don’t even recall his name) helped me to once again WANT to do something for those who are in need. I wish I could thank him for giving me back a little optimism I had lost somewhere along the way. Because of him I felt that once again the golden chain of kindness binding us to one another was restored. We were brothers. I may have fed his body that day. But he fed my soul.

-- Steve Goodier

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Fragile: Handle with Care

I once clipped a strange story from the newspaper. It was about a man named Jose Estrada who drove to a popular trail where he like to jog. While Estrada was running, another jogger on the same trail collapsed and died of a heart attack. The man's body was taken to a nearby hospital where authorities found a car key in his pocket, but no identification. 

Assuming they would be able to find the name of the deceased man in his automobile registration papers, they brought the key back to a parking lot near the jogging trail. They figured that if they tried the key in various locked doors of cars parked by the trail, they might eventually find his car and learn who he was. So they experimented until they were able to open the doors of one of the vehicles. 

Now, here's where the story gets strange. The key opened the door of Estrada's pickup truck. They examined Estrada's registration papers and notified his wife of her husband's untimely death. They asked her to come to the hospital and identify his body.

And here is where the story gets stranger still. Mrs. Estrada saw the body on the table with a tube snaking from his mouth, his eyes taped shut and wearing jogging clothing much like her husband wore. In her distraught condition she assumed the body belonged to Jose and signed the death certificate.
   
Meanwhile, Jose Estrada finished running, drove back home and promptly learned from a friend, who was more than stunned to encounter him in the flesh, that he was supposed to be dead. He immediately sped to the hospital and strode, as big as life, into the waiting room. His startled wife fell into his arms laughing and crying. The only thing she managed to spurt out was, “Jose, if you ever die on me again, I'll kill you myself.” After all, he was dead and then he was alive... he was lost and then he was found. All in a single day. 

Eventually, the poor deceased man was properly identified and his family contacted. For this man's family, as well as for Estrada's wife, I wonder what thoughts first surfaced when they received news of the untimely death. Did they try to recall their last moments with him? Did they try to remember if they told him they loved him that morning? Was there an argument? Were there regrets?

How fragile life can be. I suspect that, if life came in a package, it would arrive in a box labeled, “Fragile: Handle with Care.” It is delicate and can be damaged in a moment. And I also suspect that, if life came in a package, it would arrive as a gift. It is undeserved and priceless. Which of us earned it and who could ever afford it?

My challenge is to remember that life is fragile. And it is an awesome gift. But what I want to remember most of all is that the people in my life, these beautiful gifts, are also fragile. And they, especially, need to be handled with care.

– Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/Jane M. Sawyer

People Matter

Image courtesy of Spekulator

In their book The Big Book of Jewish Humor (HarperCollins, 1981), authors Novak and Waldoks tell of a woman from New York who, on her 80th birthday, decided to prepare her last will and testament. She went to her rabbi to make two final requests. First, she insisted on cremation.

“What is your second request?” the rabbi asked.

“I want my ashes scattered over the Bloomingdale’s store.”

“Why Bloomingdale’s?”

“Then I’ll be sure that my daughters visit me twice a week.”

I know we can't ensure others will show they care in the way we expect, though we all want to know that people do care. Maybe it's about being assured that we are not alone in this world. For that reason, we are drawn to those who make us feel as if we matter.

My grandmother was such a person. She was someone who made me feel important to her. She lived far away, so visits were special. When we got together she acted as if she truly missed me. Some days she would slip me little gifts – like chewing gum, a homemade cookie or money “so you can buy yourself a treat.” She once whispered that I was her favorite. (I now have evidence that she said the same thing to each of her grandchildren, which still causes me to chuckle.) She made the effort to be present at the important times in my life.

I felt valued by her. She took me seriously. At age eight or nine I complained one day that I had trouble breathing and I said that I thought my nasal passage was somehow blocked. She actually put her finger up my nose to feel for an obstruction. (Did I mention she was blind?) There was a blockage and because of her intervention with my family I eventually saw a doctor and had corrective surgery.

I don't remember her ever telling me how much she cared about me. It just wasn't her way. She wasn't gushy and she didn't often say those things to people. But she told me how she felt in a different way – she noticed me. She paid attention to me. I felt as if I were a piece in her life puzzle and she would notice if I were missing or didn't fit in just right. And my awareness of this made a huge difference.

Poet Maya Angelou writes:

“People will forget what you said
People will forget what you did
But people will never forget how you made them feel.”

I wonder what would happen if I set out to make everyone in my presence feel as I felt around my grandmother – like they matter. How would that change the way I treat others and what difference might it make to them?

Who doesn't want to know that we notice them and value them? And who might respond to us better when they feel that they matter?

It probably cannot be overstated – it matters...that people matter.

-- Steve Goodier

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There You Are

"Skipper, a special message just came in for you from the admiral," a sailor reported to his captain, holding out a brown envelope. "I have it right here."

"Just read it to me," said the captain.

"I think it’s personal, Sir. You may want to read it in private."

"Read it aloud to me," he ordered, "unless you’re embarrassed by a little flattery." He stuck his chest out a tiny bit further.

The sailor read, "You are without a doubt, the most conceited, self-absorbed, ego-maniac ever to command a ship in this country’s navy."

The skipper scowled. "Have that communication decoded at once."

Surely it couldn’t mean what it said. The captain was like a proud lion who strutted through the jungle. The lion came across a chimpanzee. "Who is the king of the jungle?" he demanded.

"Why, of course, you are." The terrified chimpanzee trembled. With that, the lion gave a mighty roar.
 
Next he spotted a hyena. "Who is the king of the jungle?"

The hyena was quick to respond. "You are, mighty one." She bounded away without looking back.

Then the lion came across an elephant drinking from the river. "Who is the king of the jungle?" he roared.

The elephant grabbed the lion with his trunk, whirled him around in the air and threw him far into the water.

As the soggy and bedraggled beast struggled to shore he said, "Just because you don't know the answer is no reason to get upset."

Like the skipper, the lion had trouble hearing what he didn’t want to hear. He was king of the jungle no matter what anyone else might think.

Have you noticed – for some people, it's all about them; for others, it's all about you? Author and speaker Leil Lowndes puts it this way: "There are two kinds of people in this life. Those who walk into a room and say, 'Well, here I am.' And those who walk in and say, 'Ah, there you are.'" I know which I am happiest to see.

I’ve learned how important it is to try to make others feel important. Do you know that it is easy to talk to practically anybody? If you want to find a subject of interest, ask them about themselves. Help them feel as if they matter and you will always have plenty to talk about.

It’s important to make them feel important. If you want friends, show an interest in people around you. No one is without a friend who knows how to be a friend.

And if you want to take it to the next level, treat each person you are with as if they are the most significant person in your life at that moment. That is making the shift from "Here I am" to "There you are." It is not always an easy shift to make. It may mean changing a fundamental outlook or attitude. But when one can make that change, everything else changes, too – for the better.

William Booth, founder of the Salvation Army in 1865, understood this principle. A story is told that, one Christmas season, he tried to think of a way to encourage all of his officers. The Salvation Army had seen rapid growth by this time they were spread throughout several countries. He decided to send each one a telegram. The cable consisted of a one-word message: OTHERS. His organization grew around that motto.

I can hardly think of a better motto for a life. A life dedicated to "others" is one that shouts THERE YOU ARE. It is a life that is full and happy and, best of all, worthwhile.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Tambako The Jaguar

A Hero for Our Time

An American tourist in Tel Aviv was about to enter the impressive Mann Auditorium to take in a concert by the Israel Philharmonic. He was admiring the unique architecture, the sweeping lines of the entrance, and the modern decor throughout the building. Finally he turned to his escort and asked if the building was named for Thomas Mann, the world famous author.

"No," his friend said, "it's named for Fredric Mann, from Philadelphia."

"Really? I never heard of him. What did he write?" the tourist asked.

"A check."

There are many kinds of heroes, and Fredric Mann may be considered a hero by concert goers in Tel Aviv. But I don't believe you have to be famous (or wealthy) to be heroic. Nor do you have to pull a child from a burning building or throw yourself atop a hand grenade. Heroes come in many varieties. In fact, you may have never imagined yourself much of a hero, but you could be wrong. I’m not talking about comic book super-heroes, but real people making a real difference.

And I don't believe that heroes should be confused with celebrities. Fame is fickle. Former American football coach and broadcaster Lou Holtz knew how fleeting fame can be. He once said, "I've been on the top and I've been on the bottom. At Arkansas my first year, we won the Orange Bowl. Then everybody loved me. They put me into the Arkansas Hall of Fame and issued a commemorative stamp in my honor. The next year we lost to Texas and they had to take away the stamp because people kept spitting on the wrong side of it."

Celebrities come and go, but heroes last. Some celebrities are far from heroes, and some heroes are far from famous. But well-known or not, all heroes have something in common. They make a difference.

To my way of thinking, Kenyan runner Kipchoge (Kip) Keino is a hero. Kip Keino won a gold medal in the 1,500 meters at the 1968 Olympics, in spite of suffering from a gallbladder infection. At later Olympics, he would add another gold and two silvers to his medal collection. Kenya later chose Kip to serve as the running coach for its Olympic teams from 1976 to 1986. Under his guidance, Kenyan runners continued to distinguish themselves in the world of sports.

But that is not why I consider him heroic. Yes, he was an outstanding athlete and one of the world's best in his field. And his accomplishments are enough for Kenyans, and the world, to celebrate him. But celebrities and heroes are not always the same. Kip Keino is a hero.

You see, for most of their lives together, Kip and his wife Phyllis have been running an orphanage out of their home. In addition to their own seven children, they have raised and nurtured hundreds of other youngsters who needed a loving home. Still, every child is treated like family. And on top of all of this, Kip Keino’s foundation has built a primary and secondary school in Eldoret, Kenya, to give kids the most important gift a young person can ever receive -- a chance.

Make no mistake. Kip Keino is not a millionaire. But I appreciate what he says about his work: "I think I have been lucky. Now what is important is how I use what I have to help others."

I know that what he says applies to me, too. What is important is how I use what I have to help others -- no matter how little or how much I think I have.

American celebrity Ben Stein put it similarly. He said, "I came to realize that a life lived to help others is the only one that matters."

I believe that is what it means to be a hero. Real heroes are not always famous. Real heroes may not be flashy. They may have never saved a life nor shown extraordinary bravery. But they ardently, even obsessively, live their lives to help others. And they make a difference.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/evan earwicker

The Way to Be Happy

Image by Phalinn Ooi

Even in religious education one doesn’t always get the answer they expect. In order to teach compassion, one teacher began her class with the question: “What would you do if you were walking along a road and saw a person who was terribly beaten and bruised and covered with blood?” 

In a moment of honesty, a little girl replied, “I'd probably throw up.”

There are many professions I should leave alone. I have neither the constitution nor the aptitude for them. And one of those occupations is nursing. Like the little girl, I might seriously embarrass myself. But I deeply admire those compassionate women and men who labor in the nursing profession.

Some years ago, a six-year-old boy from Corvallis, Oregon (United States) suffered burns over 85% of his body. His condition was so severe that several doctors gave up and one hospital would not admit him because they thought he would die anyway.

His life was saved, however, by eight courageous and committed people – his parents, three nurses and three doctors. The nurses emerged as the true heroines in this real-life drama. After other nurses had quit, these women took eight-hour shifts with the boy, seeing him through skin grafts, operations, crucial periods in which death almost gained victory, and dull, dragging days of rehabilitation. The boy grew to dislike them, as he innocently thought they caused his intense pain.

His room was like a dungeon. It measured 12 feet by 12 feet. The door was tightly shut, shades were drawn, heat blazed from a gooseneck lamp shining as a substitute for blankets. The humidity was so high the walls dripped with moisture, and dank air smelled of burned flesh and chlorine-soaked dressings.

The nurses stayed with him, dressed in caps, gowns, masks and gloves as if they were assisting an operation. Within an hour they would be soaked with perspiration. For 14 desperately long months these dedicated three gave their all to the ailing boy. Then, one day, he finally climbed from his bed and walked.

It was a great day! The nurses were rewarded for their tireless effort. The lives of all three were so deepened and their sense of satisfaction so great after fighting off the temptation to quit for 14 months, that each said they’d put forth the effort again.

What caused them to feel so satisfied? I think it was more than simply the fact that the boy lived. Together they attempted something nearly impossible, but also truly worthwhile. They poured their lives out for the sake of someone else.

It is like something American educator Booker T. Washington once said: “Those who are happiest are those who do the most for others.” What these nurses did was significant. They worked hard and they worked selflessly. And in doing so, they found contentment.

Do you want to be happier?

Don't pray for blessings; pray for important work to do.
Don't pray for prestige; pray for a place to serve.
Don't pray for more things to use; pray to become more useful.
Don't pray for greater pleasure; pray for greater purpose.
Don't pray for an easier path; pray for joy on the journey, wherever it leads.

If you do, I believe your prayers will be answered.

-- Steve Goodier

Colored Lights and Clear Lights

My college roommate and I decided to decorate our dormitory bedroom. We thought that colored lights would be perfect. But having none, we painted all of our light bulbs red. When we switched the lights back on, the room shone with a dark and eerie blood-red glow.

I learned a couple of things about painted light bulbs that semester. I learned, first, that one can't study by eerie, red lighting. Not that studying was the highest priority for college freshmen, but the dark red bulbs were more of a distraction than an aid.

And very quickly I learned something else. Paint burns. Smoke from our lamps and lighting fixtures sent us outside gasping for breath.

Tinted bulbs may be nice to look at, but they don't cast much light. We string colored lights as decoration. They are designed to call attention to themselves, but never to light a room. We might say, "Aren't they pretty?" Or we may say, "I see flashing colored lights behind my car!" But we do not use them to illumine an area.

Clear lights, on the other hand, show off all that is nearby. We may aim a directional light at a wall and exclaim, "What a lovely painting!" Or we might switch on the lights in our home and comment, "What a dirty bedroom." Clear lights illumine the world around them.

I wonder if people are like lights, too. Some seem to be colored lights and draw attention to themselves. Others, the clear lights, seem to shine on people in their midst.

We may say of one, "Isn't she smart? She always astounds me with her brilliance." And of another we might say, "I always feel better when he is around. He seems to know me. And he believes in me."

It is as if one shines so brilliantly that the room is filled with a colorful, dazzling glow. But the other shines on those nearby, clearly illuminating their goodness and virtues.

If I am to be a light in this world, I think I'll lose the paint. Clear lights are best.

-- Steve Goodier

Image:flickr.com/Abigail Batchelder