I Had a Wonderful Time

I have a collection of humorous and poignant epitaphs and tombstone verses. I find it interesting to note what is said about someone who has recently died. Granted, not all tombstone sayings are telling. Like the one for Lester Moore at Boot Hill Cemetery in Tombstone, Arizona:

HERE LIES LESTER MOORE

FOUR SLUGS FROM A 44

NO LES

NO MORE

Or this grave marker from Uniontown, Pennsylvania:

HERE LIES THE BODY OF JONATHAN BLAKE

STEPPED ON THE GAS

INSTEAD OF THE BRAKE

In the effort to explain how the person died, the tombstone of Harry Edsel Smith of Albany, New York says:

LOOKED UP THE ELEVATOR SHAFT 

TO SEE IF THE CAR WAS 

ON THE WAY DOWN 

IT WAS

Television celebrity and talk show host Merv Griffin penned his own:

I WILL NOT BE RIGHT BACK AFTER THIS MESSAGE

Sometimes these “last words” reveal more than the deceased may have wanted, like this one:

HERE LIES A FELLOW WHO LIVED FOR HIMSELF

AND CARED FOR NOTHING 

BUT GATHERING PELF

NOW WHERE HE IS OR HOW HE FARES

NOBODY KNOWS AND NOBODY CARES

These posthumous writings will often summarize a life. If accurate, they can point the reader to that which was most important to the deceased. Did this person enjoy life? Was she cared for? Did he make a difference? Did she leave a legacy?

When you die, how will you be remembered?

Newspaper columnist Nick Clooney printed some epitaphs from people still alive, written by themselves. Some were humorous, some serious. Some hoped that their own original epitaph would be close to the way they might be remembered. One that I appreciate came from Charlie Mechem, former head of Taft Broadcasting. Charlie wished that this might be put on his tombstone: “Dear God, Thanks for letting me visit. I had a wonderful time.”

All right. Not every day is a wonderful day. But as I look back over my life, the good and bad, the difficult and fun and exciting and dreadful, I would like to be able to say in summary: I had a wonderful time. There were friends and family, there were failures and even disasters, but there was also plenty of fun. And through it all, there was important work to do. When it’s finally over, I want to honestly say I had a wonderful time.

So I’m going to make sure I appreciate today. And I know that if I can look back on most days as being somehow worthwhile, and often times enjoyable, I know that if I will find a way to appreciate every day given to me, I will be able to say in all sincerity, “I had a wonderful time.” 

I can’t ask for more.

-- Steve Goodier

How Happy Do You Want to Be?

Do you remember the story of the two men who were walking through a pasture and spotted an enraged bull? They instantly darted toward the nearest fence. The storming bull followed in hot pursuit and it was soon apparent they wouldn't make it in time. Terrified, one shouted to the other, "Can you pray, John? We're not going to make it!"

John answered, "I don’t know how to pray."

"You have to!" panted his companion. "The bull is catching up to us."

"All right," agreed John, Then he prayed the only prayer he knew, one he had heard his father pray often at the dinner table: 'O Lord, for what we are about to receive, make us truly thankful.'"

Not a bad prayer, actually, at least in other circumstances. And not a bad attitude about life. But even as important as being truly thankful, it is necessary to act truly thankful.

Italian actor, director, singer-songwriter and poet Roberto Benigni believes in the importance of acting thankful. Benigni won the 1998 Academy Award for best actor for his performance in the film "Life Is Beautiful." In his joy at receiving the honor, he actually danced over the tops of chairs and leaped up on stage, applauding the audience. The effusive Benigni believes that it's a sign of mediocrity when one demonstrates gratitude with moderation. And he is anything but moderate when showing gratitude.

How are you at showing your gratitude? Most of us are not as demonstrative as Benigni, but acting truly thankful can actually help us feel more grateful. 

William Arthur Ward said, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.” Who would wrap a present and not give it? And once the present is given, how do you feel? The truth is...the more we express our gratitude, the happier we are. For it isn’t happiness that makes us grateful, but gratitude that makes us happy. 

How happy do you want to be?

-- Steve Goodier

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"Thank You!" by Moeez - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

How to Improve Your Vision

Did you know that the English word "thanks" comes from the same root word as "think"? And they not only share a similar background, they are related in another way. It seems the more we think, the more we thank. One woman illustrated how thinking and thanking are related in a visit to the eye doctor.

She complained to her ophthalmologist that, as she grew older, her eyesight was getting worse. He examined her eyes and could not be encouraging about the future of her eyesight. But to his surprise, she did not seem to be upset. She told him all she was grateful for: her deceased husband; her children and their families; her friends; the many years she has enjoyed upon this earth; her vast library of memories. She had done a great deal of thinking about these things. "My eyesight is getting worse," she summarized, "but I'm not going to fret over that."

Her doctor later made this observation: "Her eyesight is poor, but her vision is better than most people." She clearly saw what many never see -- all the good in her life. And she was content.

When we take time to think, and make time to thank, we see more clearly.

It sounds like a good way to improve your vision.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Bryan Jones

The Word Is…

 

Image by Lauren Manning

I heard a funny story of an ancient monastery charged with copying old books and scrolls for the faith.

One day, Father Florian, who headed the work of the scriptorium, was asked by a new monk: “Does not the copying by hand of other copies allow for chances of error? How do we know we are not copying the mistakes of someone else? Are they ever checked against the originals?”

“A very good point,” Father Florian agreed. “I will take one of the latest books down to the vault and compare it to the original.”

After a day had passed and the priest had not returned, the monks began to worry. When they went to the vault, they found him weeping over an ancient manuscript.

“What is the problem, Father?” asked one of the monks.

“A mistake,” he sobbed. “The word was supposed to be ‘celebrate!’”

We can be assured that “celibate” was never confused with “celebrate,” but “celebrate” is a word we may need to hear more often.

Is there plenty of celebration in your life? How about your spiritual life? Is it an exercise in following rules and practices? Or does it look more like a joyous celebration?

Not that we can be, or ought to be, happy all the time. Life isn’t like that. There is, after all, a time for laughter and a time for tears. And besides, there is much growth in pain. But “celebrate” is one of those great words that resides at the heart of a vibrant life. For the truth is…the more we celebrate, the more we find to celebrate. And the more we find to celebrate, the more fully we live.

So, as William Arthur Ward exhorts:

"Celebrate your life joyfully;
Celebrate yourself humbly;
Celebrate your blessings gratefully."

When it comes to full and abundant living, the monk got it right. The word is “CELEBRATE.”

-- Steve Goodier

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How to Live More Thankfully

 

Image by Hector Landaeta

You'll probably be happier!

A man lay in a hospital bed worried about whether he would live or die. He called his pastor to come pray for him. He told her that if he got well, he'd donate $20,000 to the church.

The pastor prayed and the man eventually DID get well and returned home. But no check came to the church. The pastor paid him a visit.

"I see you're doing quite well now," she observed. "I was just wondering about the promise you made."

"What promise?" he asked.

"You said you'd give $20,000 to the church if you recovered."

"I did?" he exclaimed. "That goes to show you just how sick I really was!"

It is easy to give thanks -- or to show it -- when we feel grateful. But gratitude is not a feeling we can manufacture. Nor are we born feeling especially grateful.

Children don't express much thanks by nature. Conveying appreciation is something we learn. And, here's the good news, we have a lifetime to get better at it.

We teach our children to say thanks and, in time, they develop stronger feelings of gratitude. My children could talk before they were weaned from diapers, but one thing they never said was, "Thank you for changing my dirty diapers, Dad. I know that is a messy job. I appreciate all you and Mom are doing for me." Too bad. Sometimes we deserved a BIG thank you.

Once they became car sick at the beginning of a road trip, and I think they should have written a long thank-you letter to us for cleaning it up. Even though their mother and I spent almost a half hour scrubbing the carpet in a convenience store parking lot at seven degrees below zero (our metric system readers will recognize that as -22 degrees Celsius), they never did said, "Gosh, guys, you're the greatest parents ever! We are SO lucky to be part of this family."

But that's all right. Naturally, we wouldn't expect small children to thank their parents for being parents. And for most people, feelings of gratitude come with empathy as we mature. The more we express thanks, the more gratitude we feel. The more gratitude we feel, the more we express thanks. It's circular, and it leads to a happier life.

And that's the point. People who are generally happier got that way, at least in part, through gratitude. 

Here are three simple steps to help anybody live more thankfully and to respond more authentically.

First, recognize WHEN a thankful response is appropriate. We take for granted too many of the things that we should be giving thanks for.

Second, spend a moment reflecting on how another's thoughtfulness makes you feel. Be intentional about this.

Then third, from a sincere feeling of gratitude, give thanks. Say it. Write it. It doesn't matter. But when you do, you will discover a side benefit – you are becoming a happier person.

-- Steve Goodier

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A Miracle Morning

I stumbled out the door of a mountain cabin where I was spending the weekend working with youth and their families at a rustic resort center. I had a 6:30 AM appointment to keep and squinted from the early autumn sun peeking over pine-blanketed mountaintops.
   
I was started by a voice behind me. “Today is a miracle!” I turned to find one of the teenagers following behind.
   
“How?” I asked her. It looked like it might be pleasantly warm later in the day. Otherwise, fairly ordinary. The word “miracle” seemed like an overstatement. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if I could handle much excitement this early in the morning.
   
“Think about it,” she smiled. “The sun rose, didn’t it?”
   
“Yeah.” I found it easy to hide any enthusiasm. It seemed to rise on every other morning without my getting involved.
   
“That’s a miracle! It is miraculous that the earth turns as it does. At night, the sun goes down and in the morning it rises. It just happens!”
   
I pretty much already had this figured out. I rubbed sleep from my eyes. I was also busy thinking about how to get a cup of coffee.
   
“And look at the mountains! Covered with trees and grass, they look so beautiful. And there,” she pointed, “a valley. It’s incredible.”
   
Was she always this perky? And shouldn't there be a rule against perkiness this early in the morning? Especially before coffee?
   
“Did you notice the wildflowers?” she continued. “It all smells so fresh and clean and so good.” She took a deep breath and I thought I might have caught a sparkle in her eyes. Though it may have also been a trick of the light. “All of nature receives water and sunlight and everything it needs. Things grow and blossom – it really is lovely.”

Now I started to worry. I thought I was actually coming around. Well, a little bit, anyway. Is perkiness contagious? I felt something stirring inside. Up until then I thought this was just an ordinary morning in the mountains. I didn't know what spell she was secretly weaving, but she had a point. It really was beautiful, even if there was nothing magic about it. 

Then, with a smile that gave her pronouncement a note of finality, she said, “And best of all, it will happen again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next!” Then she sighed. “See? It's a miracle morning.”

In her poem “Aurora Leigh,” Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:

    Earth's crammed with heaven,
    And every common bush afire with God:
    But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
    The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries...

Along the early morning path, my friend had removed her shoes. For her, earth was “crammed with heaven” and “every bush afire.” It wasn't just perkiness; she had eyes to see what I had completely missed. I was, as Browning might say, sitting around plucking blackberries.

I haven't seen that young woman for many years. She's grown up now. Maybe she has a family of her own. She's no doubt seen a good measure of heartache and trouble – who hasn't? But I would be surprised if she isn't basically a happy and contented person. Why? Because she discovered a valuable secret about happiness – she learned to find wonder in commonplace things and to feel gratitude for the ordinary. And life is nothing if not filled with the commonplace and ordinary.

After all, if a single morning can hold so much wonder for her, then a lifetime of mornings, not to mention evenings and everything in between, should keep her going through whatever life throws her way.

-- Steve Goodier

Image by Michel Mayerle

Un-Thanked People

 

Image courtesy of Stephanie Hofschlaeger

When William Stidger taught at Boston University, he once reflected upon the great number of un-thanked people in his life. Those who had helped nurture him, inspire him or who cared enough about him to leave a lasting impression.

One was a schoolteacher he'd not heard of in many years. But he remembered that she had gone out of her way to put a love of verse in him, and Will had loved poetry all his life. He wrote a letter of thanks to her.

The reply he received, written in the feeble scrawl of the aged, began, "My dear Willie." He was delighted. Now over 50, bald and a professor, he didn't think there was a person left in the world who would call him "Willie." Here is that letter:

"My dear Willie,
I cannot tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my eighties, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and, like the last leaf of autumn, lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years and yours is the first note of appreciation I ever received. It came on a blue-cold morning and it cheered me as nothing has in many years."

Not prone to cry easily, Bill wept over that note. She was one of the great un-thanked people from Bill's past. You know them. We all do. The teacher who made a difference. That coach we'll never forget. The music instructor or Sunday school worker who helped us to believe in ourselves. That scout leader who cared.

We all remember people who shaped our lives in various ways. People whose influence changed us. Bill Stidger found a way to show his appreciation – he wrote them letters.

Who are some of the un-thanked people from your past? It may not be too late to say, "Thanks."

-- Steve Goodier

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Dancing in the Rain

 "The pharmacist just insulted me," a woman sobbed to her irate husband. He snatched the phone from her hand.

“I’m sorry to upset her,” the pharmacist said, “but put yourself in my shoes. First, my alarm didn't go off and I overslept. I rushed out and locked both my house and car keys inside and had to break a window to get them. On the way to the pharmacy I got a speeding ticket. When I finally arrived late, there was a long line and the phone was ringing. I bent over to pick up a roll of nickels, I cracked my head on a drawer and fell backward, shattering the perfume case. Meanwhile, the phone was still ringing. I picked up and your wife asked me how to use a rectal thermometer. I swear, all I did was tell her.”

Have you ever had a day like that? One man likes to say, “My life is filled with mountaintop experiences. One day, I'm on top of the mountain. The next day the mountain is on top of me.” Those kinds of mountaintop experiences are hard to take.

There will always be times when the mountain is on top. Or, in the words of Charles Tindley, times “when the storms of life are raging.” When that is the case, what do you do? One wise sage gives us a clue:

“Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain.”

I have spent too much time just waiting for one kind of storm or another to pass. “When things change…” “When everything settles down…” “When it gets easier…” “When…” Well, you get the idea.

A few years ago, someone stole my wife’s purse. That was a storm we didn’t see coming. For days she was hassled with replacing lost credit cards and identification. And though it wasn’t a crisis, it was still an aggravation.

As she went about the process of trying to protect her identity from theft and replacing the contents of her purse, I recalled the words of author Matthew Henry, an 18th Century English clergyman. Henry, too, was robbed. Yet he approached his problem differently than I. Unbelievably, his predominant feeling was not anger, but gratitude. What he said was, “I give thanks that I have never been robbed before; that although he took my wallet, he did not take my life; that although he took everything, it was not much; and finally, that it was I who was robbed and not I who robbed.”

No self pity there. He was robbed and came away feeling gratitude for his life. Here was a man who learned something I had not yet figured out – to dance in the rain.

I’ve found that, over the years, there is plenty of rain, and much of my life has been about waiting for the storms of life to pass. So next time it rains, I’m going to dance. 

-- Steve Goodier

 
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Prescription for Peace

Image by Kate Ter Haar

Many years ago, Dr. A. J. Cronin occasionally prescribed an unusual treatment for some of his patients who were feeling “blue,” “down,” or generally blah. He would insist that for six weeks the patient say, “Thank you” for every kindness and keep a record of it. According to Dr. Cronin, he had a remarkable cure rate.

If you find yourself depressed, please consult your medical doctor. But everyone gets down at times, and sharpening your sense of gratitude can make an important difference in the way you feel. I have observed again and again that people’s day-to-day happiness is not usually found in getting what they want; it comes from appreciating what they have, no matter how little.

Writer Arthur Gordon* used to tell about asking a physician friend of his for the name of the most effective prescription he knew.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” his friend said. “A colleague of mine once had a woman patient who suffered from depression. Got to the point where she stayed at home all the time, listless, apathetic, indifferent to just about everything. The usual medications didn’t seem to help.”

One day this doctor delivered a small package to the woman’s home. “I want you to take what’s in this package,” he said, “and spend ten minutes of every day looking through it at some object in this room.”

In the package there was a strong magnifying glass. The woman faithfully took the prescription.  She began looking through the lens at the warp and woof of the fabric on her sofa. She was amazed at what she saw. Then she examined the veins in a flower plucked from her garden, the color dots in an old photograph, and even the texture of her own skin. In days before close-up photography, she’d never seen the likes of it before. She was amazed and astounded at the brand new world opening up before her eyes.

Perhaps the doctor knew what Abraham Heschel put so well: “The beginning of our happiness lies in the understanding that life without wonder is not worth living.” As this woman gazed at her world through a magnifying lens, she saw, in a completely different way, what had been around her all along.

Her sense of wonder gave way to another, more powerful emotion. The physician said that her experience with the lens, more than anything else, was the turning point of her illness. She began to get well because this unusual prescription had aroused within her the most curative of all emotions – gratitude.

Do you practice gratitude? I think you’ll discover that it is no less than a powerful prescription for peace.

-- Steve Goodier

* Daily Guideposts, October 1983 

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Much Obliged

Like most parents, I taught my children to say "thank you" frequently and hoped that giving thanks might become a life habit. After all, silent gratitude isn't much use to anyone. But I think that what I hoped to teach them was not simply to say thanks, but to feel it. I believe that thankful people are happy people.

Writer Fulton Oursler used to tell of an old woman who took care of him when he was a child -- a woman who not only expressed her thanks, but felt it. Anna was a former American slave who, after emancipation, was hired by a family for many years.

He remembered her sitting at the kitchen table, her hands folded and her eyes gazing upward as she prayed, “Much obliged, Lord, for my vittles.” He asked her what vittles were and she replied that they were food and drink. He told her that she would get food and drink whether or not she gave thanks, and Anna said, “Yes, we’ll get our vittles, but it makes ‘em taste better when we’re thankful.”

She told him that an old preacher taught her, as a little girl, to always look for things to be grateful for. So, as soon as she awoke each morning, she asked herself, “What is the first thing I can be grateful for today?” Sometimes the smell of early-morning coffee perking in the kitchen found its way to her room. On those mornings, the aroma prompted her to say, “Much obliged, Lord, for the coffee. And much obliged, too, for the smell of it!”

Young Fulton grew up and left home. One day he received a message that Anna was dying. He returned home and found her in bed with her hands folded over her white sheets, just as he had seen them folded in prayer over her white apron at the kitchen table so many times before.

He wondered what she could give thanks for at a time like this. As if reading his mind, she opened her eyes and gazed at the loving faces around her bed. Then, shutting her eyes again, she said quietly, “Much obliged, Lord, for such fine friends.”

Oursler was deeply influenced by Anna’s uncanny ability to always find some reason to be "much obliged." This wise woman taught him a secret that many people have never learned: she taught him how to be happy.

-- Steve Goodier

Image:flickr.com/Gurpreet

The Gift

A story about an old Bendix washing machine helped one man get through the valley of loss.

His parents acquired the washer when John Claypool was a small boy. It happened during World War II. His family owned no washing machine and, since gasoline was rationed, they could ill afford trips to the laundry several miles away. Keeping clothes clean became a problem for young John's household.

A family friend was drafted into the service, and his wife prepared to go with him. John's family offered to store their furniture while they were away. To the family's surprise, the friends suggested they use their Bendix while they were gone. "It would be better for it to be running," they said, "than sitting up rusting." So this is how they acquired the washer.

Young John helped with the washing, and across the years he developed an affection for the old, green Bendix. But eventually the war ended. Their friends returned. In the meantime he had forgotten how the machine came to be in their basement in the first place. When the friends came to take it away, John grew terribly upset -- and let his feelings be known.

His wise mother sat him down and said, "Wait a minute, Son. You must remember, that machine never belonged to us in the first place. That we ever got to use it at all was a gift. So, instead of being mad at it being taken away, let's use this occasion to be grateful that we had it at all."

The lesson proved invaluable. Years later, John watched his eight-year-old daughter die a slow and painful death of leukemia. Though he struggled for months with her death, John could not really begin healing from the loss until he remembered the old Bendix.

"I am here to testify," he said, "that this is the only way down the mountain of loss...when I remember that Laura Lou was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned nor deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift, even when it is taken away, is gratitude, then I am better able to try and thank God that I was ever given her in the first place."

His daughter was given to him to love and nurture. She never belonged to him, but he had the awesome privilege of sharing her life for a while. When he realized that simple fact, everything changed. He could now begin healing from the tragedy of her loss by focusing instead on the wonder of her life. He started to see Laura Lou as a marvelous gift that he was fortunate enough to enjoy for a time. He felt grateful. He found strength and healing. He finally knew he could get through the valley of loss.

We all experience loss -- loss of people, loss of jobs, loss of relationships, loss of independence, loss of esteem, loss of things. What if you view that which is lost as a gift you were given for a time? Perhaps that simple choice of trying to reframe your loss will change sad memories into thankful ones. And perhaps it will get you unstuck and back on the road to healing and wholeness.

-- Steve Goodier

* Story from TRACKS OF A FELLOW STRUGGLER, by John Claypool 
Image: freeimages.com/Daniel Gamber

Can You Say, "Awe"?

Albert Einstein said that wonder is the source of all true art and all science. “He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.”

I remember standing in rapt awe when I gazed upon the wonders of the ancient Incan city of Machu Picchu in Peru. That amazing city was built above the clouds, and it was more than the high altitude that took my breath away. Can you say, “Awe”?

I'm reminded of the little girl who rode a train with her mother. Looking out the window, she exclaimed, "Look! A horse!" And a moment later, "Look! Houses!"

She gave every indication of keeping this up, so her embarrassed mother apologized to the man next to her. "I'm sorry my daughter is going on like this," she said. "She still thinks everything is wonderful."

When do we stop thinking everything is wonderful? When we grow up? When do we stop saying, “Awe”? Does growing older mean growing jaded?

And must we travel to faraway places to marvel once again? Can't we experience wonder and awe today - this moment?

The slice of raisin toast I ate this morning was no less marvelous today than when I first tasted it. But I did not notice how good it really was. I think that few things are commonplace in themselves – it's our reaction to them that grows dull over the years.

A man on his way to lunch happened to notice a visitor in Venice’s Piazza San Marco standing among the pigeons and gazing in apparent rhapsody at the Doge’s Palace. After his meal he noticed the same man still studying the magnificent structure. Curious as to whether he’d been standing there all morning, he asked the man, “How long have you been here?”

“Twenty six years,” came the reply, “and I never grow tired of it.”

As Einstein observed, those who will “pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe” will TRULY LIVE. They will see what others miss. They will feel what others cannot. Life will be for them both exquisite and mysterious when they learn to say, "Awe."

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/Parker Seybold

The Hand

At first it sounded like a Thanksgiving story, but the more I reflected on it, the more appropriate it seemed for any time of the year. The way I heard it, the story went like this:

Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment -- to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful.

Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the subjects of most of her student's art. And they were.

But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind of boy. He was the teacher's true child of misery, frail and unhappy. As other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes.

Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty hand.

His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand could it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went -- until the teacher almost forgot the young artist himself.

When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas' desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was. The little boy looked away and murmured, "It's yours, teacher."

She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or there, as she had the other students. How often had she said, "Take my hand, Douglas, we'll go outside." Or, "Let me show you how to hold your pencil." Or, "Let's do this together." Douglas was most thankful for his teacher's hand.

Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.

The story speaks of more than thankfulness. It says something about teachers teaching and parents parenting and friends showing friendship, and how much it means to the Douglases of the world. They might not always say thanks. But they'll remember the hand that reaches out.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/Viviane Stonoga