We turn the invisible into the visible when we allow what we hold in, what we believe, what we think, what we have faith in, what we trust in, what we hold sacred and true to take action. We communicate our being by the life we make. Our source is us. The outside is the inside. To see outside we must look inside. Our voice and our vision is not created by our seeing and talking, but by thinking and praying. Depth is infinite, but the outward is from the inward. Looking at the reflection in the mirror is the fuel of our behavior. It is what drives us.
Let us not be measured by our quantity, but by our quality.
I am not a martial arts aficionado, nor in all likelihood will I ever be, but reading this post made a connection. The path he is following is the same path we all follow at some point in life. For me it was guitar and a few businesses. I was okay, passable, and could get by, but definitely not great and I found myself with a decision to make. Do I concentrate on the fact I couldn’t go further or look at how far I had come, then set out in a new direction? After a few false starts, I got the hang of it and started down a different road…be encouraged!
A few moments ago I was reading a blog (http://soyouthinkyoucanthink.wordpress.com/2013/02/27/the-worlds-happiest-facts/) by a Amba, or as her blog says, “Alias – Laughy McLaugherson, Drama queen, Ortho-addict, Neuro-geek, Blogger, Book<3er, Sous chef.” Honestly I only know what a few of those descriptions actually mean, but on the whole I think she is an incredible woman who creates some very awesome posts.
This particular post I was reading is entitled The World’s Happiest Facts. The name alone caught my eye. I’m always up for a “happy fact.” So I was ready to learn something new and possibly add it to my vast repertoire that I use to dazzle my wife and friends, although for the most part they usually just roll their eyes and say, “OMG, will you please stop it!”
So there I was cruising along and then I read this:
Apollo 17 astronaut Gene Cernan, the last man to walk on the Moon, wrote his daughter initials there. They’ll last at least 50,000 years.
You don’t need the moon, you don’t need to write someone’s name. You just need to have a name.
Well maybe it was my latest trip out of the country, or a genetic something gone awry, or maybe I’m simply getting a touch daff in my old age, but there I was with tears rolling down my cheeks as I thought of how much I love and cherish my wife.
I’ll never go to the moon. I’ll never climb Everest. In fact, I get pretty excited whenever I just get out of Indiana, but I’ve got a name. OMG, do I ever have a name.
If you got someone special in your life, a significant other, family, parents, children, puppies, kittens, the person you see having a rough day…get up, find the phone, type in their email address, do whatever it takes, then just say three words…”I love you.”
They’ll never forget it…and you’ll never regret it.
…and Amba thanks for a truly wonderful post, that obviously touched my heart…you made my evening…much love and many blessings to you.
You probably are not going to find any earth shattering, mind altering revelations in this post…but what you will find is the type of humble attitude of looking at life that produces rich results beyond what we can imagine…be encouraged!
Originally posted on The Nice Thing About Strangers:
I was trudging home from an English lesson with my astounding student, an asylum seeker and former child soldier from Sierra Leone who had the most remarkably shy smile. He could speak English well, but he was now learning to read and to write. He knew the Qur’an by heart, but from the first day he had to concentrate to write his own name. Given his love for the Chelsea soccer club, this was another of the first words he labored to write during our sessions.
On that particular day he’d talked about a time when he could go home, become a good leader to the people of his country. This was by far the most ambitious dream he’d voiced. Most of the time he talked about finding a kind wife and starting a family, and then teaching his children to play soccer. The explanation of it always put a lump in my throat. Such a simple dream made almost impossible as he waited year after year for on a decision about his asylum case.
As I made my way home, I went through the usual frustration about feeling helpless to provide him much more than an hour of distraction each week. An elderly woman approached with a toddler in a stroller, coming down the sidewalk toward me, directing the child’s attention as they moved. “Is that a tree or a flower?” “A tree!” “Is that a woman or a girl?” “A woman!” I would like to have been called a girl, seen as so terrifically young, but I still smiled at them as they moved on to the next objects. “Is that a bicycle or a motorcycle?” And so on.
I am traveling today. Which means I was up way before the sun, shaved, showered, downed some quick breakfast, loved on the Gang of 5, kissed Susie goodbye, checked seventy three times to insure I had my passport, drove an hour to the airport, finally convinced myself to pay the extra money to park in the garage, noticed after the nearly three mile trek to check-in that I had once again packed way too much crap, and after taking off various clothing while thinking how absolutely barbaric the whole security thing is, finally made it to my gate with exactly two hours and three minutes before my flight departs.
Now what to do?
One of my favorite pass-times is to watch people and the airport is one of the very best places to do it. This morning I got to gawk at everyone from a twenty something guy wearing a pair of well worn boots, slacker jeans, hoodie, and an International Harvester tractor hat to a woman wearing Chanel haute couture talking to someone on her cell phone about the latest Bulgari fragrance. As I looked around at my fellow travelers, my mind began to wonder what kind of people they were. Were they kind? How do they make a living? What were there thoughts? If we could talk, what would I learn from them?
The call came over the PA system for all first class passengers (which I am not one of) to prepare to board. To be honest my eyes and mind were still in the people oogling mode, but I suddenly became aware of a well tailored gentleman who oozed confidence, style, and power stepping out of the line and making his way toward where I was sitting. He stopped in front of a young black woman who was dressed head to toe in the desert camo uniform of the United States Army. He knelt in front of her extending his boarding pass and with a silky smooth voice said, “Thank you for your willingness to serve our country. How about you take my first class seat?”
I shed nearly as many tears as she did.