Bunny Ball

I have to admit that I really don’t get into sports, shocking I know. I have learned to appreciate football in the sense that I can watch a game and know what is going on and why. (thanks to my son’s flag football coach) But to watch a game and get all excited or emotionally involved just isn’t me. So it came as a bit of a surprise when I found myself watching a sporting event almost every night and morning. Not only watching but enjoying every second. No it isn’t professional football or baseball or any other recognized sport, it is a little game I like to call Bunny Ball.

I am new to the joys of having a house bunny. I have had rabbits as pets off and on since I was a little kid, but I have never shared my living space with one on a full time basis. I have to say that I was missing out on a lot. Bunny ball usually starts just as the lights are turned off. We can hear the rustling begin and it isn’t long till the jumps and running fits start. Sometimes I swear he is going to tip his bunny house over. But he is just warming up for a rousing game of bunny ball.

Honey has apple sticks and pine cones in his house to give him plenty to chew on and chew he does, but he also enjoys tossing and pushing them around. How much noise can one little bunny make? Surprisingly, a lot of noise. You can hear the toss, the run to catch, and the thud when he misses. All the while his bedding is being tossed and thrown about. One would think that sticks and pine cones should suffice in the bunny entertainment department, but alas they do not.

Honey also learned how to detach his water bottle from the side of his cage and now bunny ball has the added excitement of a water feature. Toss, run, thump, and then splash. Total fun and excitement. Oh and the food bowl, such fun! The food bowl has such a satisfying thump I can almost imagine Honey doing the touchdown dance every time it hits the ground.

Not that I am complaining mind you, there is nothing sweeter than watching him run around and play and then take a well deserved break to wash his little face with his cute little paws. I love watching as he licks his paws and then glides each ear through his hands, cleaning and styling at the same time. Such a tight ball of energy and fun and then off to sleep till morning.

As the sun dawns on each new day, the game begins again. If I am awake, I enjoy the game and if sleep still claims me, I have learned to pull the covers up over my ears and mute the rustling bustling game till a more decent hour. But even when I am tired and grumpy, I still have to admit to enjoying his game. God bless the little creatures and the joy they bring into our lives.

Ignorance is bliss

Have you ever heard the expression, “Ignorance is bliss” ?  Well I guess it may be true if you are the one in blissful ignorance, but for the rest of us, it is just plain annoying.   Let me explain, a while back I had the pleasure of buying tires for the front end of my car.  It seemed like a good idea at the time,  especially since I would soon be driving to Florida and back and the cute little wires were protruding near the inner rim.  So the tires were one stop I could hardly avoid.

Not that I have some strange aversion to the tire store, in all actuality the tire store is a nice place to visit.  A nice air conditioned waiting area complete with old magazines and a television set that seems to always be stuck on one soap opera or another.  No my complaint isn’t with the tire store.  It was a particular customer that irritated me.

She was sitting in the waiting area when we walked in.  I noticed her as one of two other people who were sitting there waiting to reclaim their cars with their shinny new wheels.  I noticed the disgusted look as we entered into the room to sit on the ugly old couch, but I really didn’t think anything of it.  I figured she was tired and cranky and just wanting to get out of there.  I did take note of her leaving the area but assumed her car was done or she needed to stretch.

We finished our lunch and took a walk outside for the customary after meal smoke and I noticed the lady again.  Sitting there looking disgusted on the only bench available.  She was so obvious it was almost funny.  With one disgusted look  up she jumped and away she went.  In our defense, we didn’t stink, we weren’t dressed inappropriately, nor did we talk loudly or be obnoxious in any way.  I guess she took offense when I didn’t think and called Dot “Honey”.  Maybe she didn’t like the gay thing, ya think?

Actually she was very obvious and there was little question about it, but I did get some amusement from her obvious ignorance.  But that got me to thinking.  I want to be blissfully ignorant too.  I want to blindly hate someone for something that is just a part of who they are.  Hmmm let me think, I could hate all people with freckles….. nope that won’t work, my son has cute freckles and I love him very much, I can’t hate him.  I could hate all blonds…..oops I can’t say that, my wonderful wife is a blond and so is one of my sisters.  Maybe I could hate all short people, dang that won’t work, I am short and I don’t want to hate myself.  This is a lot harder than I thought.  Why am I having such a hard time finding a group of people to hate?

Maybe it is because I know and love people who fit into those groups.  I no longer have the option to blindly hate anyone.  Because I was blessed to have had the opportunity to meet “those people” as people first.  And that is the funny thing.  Any group of people is made up of…yes people!  I wish that lady could have looked past the “gay” thing and seen us as people.  Neither one of us are axe murderers, we don’t torment little children or abuse the elderly, and we rarely growl or bite.  We are fairly normal people.  I would have to say that we are good people.  Of course I am biased on that little fact, but it is true none the less.

Wow I just had a great idea!  What if it was a requirement that in order to blindly hate any group of people, we have to meet a few individuals first.  We have to spend 2 days meeting and getting to know the individuals that make up that group.  Maybe then ignorance would go the way of the dinosaur.  Maybe ignorance wouldn’t be bliss, but become something to be avoided at all cost!  My prayer for the future.

Night musing

3:54 A.M. and the world is asleep. Well at least most of it is. The house is quiet, the boys are at their dad’s, the cats are finally done rumbling through the house playing tag, and Sydney, my dog, is out for the night. And except for the deep contented sighs from my Sydney and ice falling into the ice maker on the fridge, silence greets my straining ears.

Well at least I think it is silence. Have you ever noticed that if you listen hard enough there is always a sound of some sort? Ah there goes the ice maker refilling the trays so more ice can tumble down in due time. I hear the copper tubing bounce with the pressure of the water starting to flow and stopping, just in time to keep from overflowing and making a mess in the freezer. More of what I would call silence but then again, what is that small tiny whish whish sound I am hearing? Could it be the blood rushing through my ears as they work and strain to find a connection in these dark wee hours of dawn?

I go out on the porch to look for the moon and realized that the night outside is never totally quiet. I can hear the wind rushing through the weeds in the woods and I can hear the barren trees crack and sway in the dark. From far away I hear a dog bark, what wonderful night creature has gained his attention? Maybe a raccoon or even a skunk, proof of that should be swelling in the breeze any second. The distant hint of a scent proves to me that I am not alone in this night. I catch a quick smile dart across my face, thankful it isn’t my dog learning that valuable lesson concerning skunks and giving them wide berth.

I finally find the moon, or at least the half of it that showed up for work tonight. Even the moon is feeling the draw of sleep as it lays quietly on its back, slowing sinking to the horizon. Soon I know the sun will be fighting its way up into the dark sky, but for now, it is just me and the night. A comfortable silence follows as I watch and wait to see what new connection I find next.

I guess one could say quite truthfully that I am alone because of the lack of another human awake and watching my small part of the world. But in no way am I lonely. I find I have many thoughts to keep my company this night. Or is it day? It is still dark but I know the farmers and shift workers are waking up from a night’s sleep and getting ready to face another day. There is something to be said for watching this time of day from the night before and not having to face it after too short a night’s sleep. Watching the night end and day begin gives one pleasant thoughts, not grumbles and groans, but the realization that a new day is dawning.

A new day to dream and plan and visit with loved ones. A day full of promise and excitement. A new gift from God to be thoroughly enjoyed and savored. Maybe later when my wonder wears off, I’ll be tired and cranky. But for now, I am truly blessed. Blessed with the thoughts and prayers that cross my mind. And blessed to have been a quiet but thoughtful witness to the night and to the silence of my world well in order and peace. Ah, that is it. Peace.

Magazines in the mail

I have a dirty little secret that I feel compelled to share.  I know, I know, I should resist, but every year at this time I start feeling drawn to the mail box in anticipation of those  wonderful magazines that come each year at this time.  Oh and I like them all.  Each and everyone of them.  But I do have to admit that I have a favorite, my heart beats faster and my palms get sweaty every year when it finally arrives, it is …. The Burpee’s plant and seed catalog.

What?  What were you thinking?  Well I can’t be held responsible for the direction your thoughts took, I was only talking about the Spring seed catalogs that grace my mailbox every late Winter.  And oh, how I do look forward to them every time.

Oh the joy that comes from looking at page after page of seeds and plants all ready to be ordered, paid for,  and shipped.  Oh the dreams that slowly form and take shape in my mind.  Yes this will be the year that I grow a garden again and yes I want that neat  tomato guaranteed to grow as big as my hand, and yes I want the hill cucumbers and the beans that don’t need to be staked.  Oh and look, I can grow my own Kiwi and where could I put those strawberries that look so divine?

And as much as I hate it,  I do have to admit that the last few years dreaming was all I did.  When I lived on the farm the calves would always get out of their nice little fences and jump into my garden and wipe it out in a single afternoon.   And last year, I was new to living here and didn’t know where the phone lines were buried or even where the electric wires were, so I was reluctant to start digging around too much.

Ahh, but this year?  This year I am going to cash in some of those dreams.  I am going to start a small garden and grow just a few things.  I really do miss the Spring time ritual of digging up a patch of ground and tilling the soil and planting the tiny little seeds that seem to take forever to sprout and grow.

I miss the long quiet times of kneeling pulling out the weeds.  I miss the warm sunshine on my back, but most of all, I miss the satisfaction of watching the tiny seedlings pick and fight their way into the bright new world.   And I miss the harvest, the fresh salad at dinner that was growing just 20 minutes ago.  I miss the beans canned and the peas frozen and the watermelon on a hot summer night.  But of all the things I miss, the one thing I miss the most is that connection with God and his wonderful planet.

There is a part of God that can only be truly understood when in communion with his Earth.  It is the stopping of the fast paced, run everywhere, forget to see what is around you.  It is a soft whisper to my heart calling me to stop, to listen, to see every blade of grass, every new sprouting seed, to really connect and quiet my mind.  It is a promise to me, yes a promise from God to me, every time I plant a seed.

You see I was once like that hard dried out seed.   I was hardened by life and there were little signs that I could ever be brought back.  I felt brittle and dead inside.   I was thrown into a deep dark place that held no light.  I felt like God and everyone abandoned me.  It was a cold, lonely time fill with questions and fear.

But ever so slowly, I felt myself growing and one beautiful day I burst forth into the light.  The light of knowing God and knowing myself.  Oh it wasn’t easy, there were a lot of weeds that threatened to choke me out and threathened to steal away my light, but I did survive and continued to grow.

I was that small, hardened, brittle seed.  But now I too am growing and coming closer to my harvest.  So maybe that is why those Spring catalogs always excite me.  Maybe I understand the pain of new growth but also the bounty.  Maybe those catalogs represent the dreams I have and the tools to make them a reality.  Or maybe I just like playing in the dirt.  But the what and why doesn’t matter.  What matters is that it draws me closer and closer to God.  Thank God for Spring and those neat little catalogs.

Getting older?

First an apology, my thoughts are scrambled and I will go off on tangents.  If you can keep up with me, I will  see you at the end.

February 10, 1972…. The day the world became a better place.  The skies opened up and the birds sang….

Well okay, that never really happened, but it was the day I was born.  Actually it was cold and wintry day, but I like to pretend otherwise.

Well as you can see, I haven’t been writing much lately.  I could lie and say that I have been extremely busy, or say that since I am so much older now I can’t physically do it, but it is all a lie.  The truth is, I have just been lazy.

I could blame it on my blood pressure being up and then adjusting to the new meds., and that would be truth in part, but really I just have been having trouble finding the words.

My mom is having fun at my expense since I am now on “Old People’s Medicines” and I am younger than she was when she had to go on them.  Oh well I guess everyone has to get old sometime.

Not that I think I am old now, it is just funny to realize that I am now my mother’s age when I thought she was old.  And now I realize that my mom isn’t old at all.  When did that happen?  When did mid thirties cease to be old?  And when did 60 turn into being young?

Not that I am complaining.  I rather enjoy looking at my life like it is just begining.  It just strikes me as funny to see it that way now.  You know I remeber thinking of certain people  as old when I was a kid and now they don’t seem all that old.  How did they stay the same age while I grew up?  Who is in charge of this conspiracy?  How can I be getting older but no one else is?

Well okay, I get it.  You are only as old as you feel right?  So why do I feel 3 some days and 103 other days?  Maybe the creaks in the morning and the getting up at night are just a part of older and wiser, maybe it is just a sign of the changing times.  But whatever it is, I refuse to grow up.  I will get older because it beats the alternative….but I will not grow up.  Grown ups are boring and I have to much living to do!

P.S.  Jones I got your point and this one is for you.  

Mix together and chill

Things have been a bit up in the air around here lately. Two people that I care deeply about are facing some serious health issues and my head and heart are in a constant battle. My head tells me that they will be fine but my heart is reserving its right to worry till it knows for sure. So some moments I am very optimistic and other moments I am chewing my nails down to nubbins. I get frustrated when life doesn’t follow my plans in the timely manner that I want. But I learned a great lesson while cooking with my son the other day.

I was mixing and measuring and he was reading the recipe to me as we went along. He got to the end and said, “Mix together and relax.” Well since I have never run across that particular instruction while cooking before, I looked over his shoulder and read, “Mix together and chill.” Of course I had a good laugh at that. But he got me thinking. Life is like a recipe in some ways. We have directions given to us by our Heavenly father and our earthly parents. We get instructions from school, work, and even when we play. We decide where we want to go in life and follow the directions to get there.

And life is full of ingredients. My family, my friends, my worries, my fears, my faith, my sisterfriends who are my prayer warriors, my God, my Love, and heck, even my enemies. But as much as it irritates me at times…I am not the chef. Yes, my life is full of ingredients but that does not make me the chef, because I am an ingredient in other lives too. I could never make so many sweet dishes without messing it up and thank God I don’t have. God is the great chef, he weaves all of the ingredients together and in the process makes a beautiful banquet for all of his children. I just have to remind myself that it is God who is doing the mixing together. All I need to do is chill.

The New Year

What is black, blue, purple, and green? The answer? My eye. The left one to be precise. I wish I had some valiant tale of rescuing my darling JB from distress or even saving a kitten stuck in a tree, but alas, All I have is the truth. And the truth is….. I have no idea what I hit my face on.

I had the opportunity to surprise my JB on New Year’s Eve and I got to stay for 5 days. I had a wonderful visit except for one brief instant. That instant would be when I took off running in my sleep and tripped over a space heater, burning my leg, and coloring my eye. Now I haven’t slept walked since the embarrassing incident when I was 8 years old and “thought” I was in the restroom, but for some strange reason I spent two nights prowling their house.

The first night I ended up in her roommate’s room on the floor with the heater on my leg and a goose egg on my eyebrow. Fortunately she wasn’t home or I would have scared her to death. The second night I woke up in the kitchen sweeping the floor. Well if I am going to sleepwalk, at least I can get some chores done at the same time. But what really distresses me is the fact that if I am going to be working in my sleep, at least I could sweep my own floors. All this to say that in some ways my new year didn’t start off in the best way. But on the other hand, the visit was wonderful and just what I needed.

So here I am home again, feeling a little lonesome, and looking at the new year spreading out before me. I used to make resolutions every year and never followed through with them. Then the last few years, the only resolution I made was to NOT make resolutions and I kept that one fairly well. I used to think that resolutions were silly and unnecessary and setting myself up to fail, but now I am beginning to understand the place the yearly promises have.

The start of a new year is such a great time to reflect on the year past and plan for the new. Maybe it isn’t the perfect execution of the promises made, maybe it is the soul searching that is so very important. The time taken to stop and think about where we are in life and of ways to improve our lives. It is taking that time to look and see where we have fallen short and where we have gone above and beyond the call. It is a great time to say thank you for all your blessings and pray for all the hurts and pains. It is a time of renewal.

And what a wonderful time of the year for this starting over. Jan 1st is in the cold winter months, when the Earth lies dormant and all outward signs of life are carefully hidden. The chance to start again, even in the dark days of winter, especially in the dark days of winter, is a gift we give ourselves.

So I guess I like New Year Resolutions. I like the chance to start afresh. I like the introspection and the planning for the new year. So maybe I will make a resolution. I resolve to give myself permission to start over fresh, just like the New Year.

I believe in Angels

I do believe in Angels. I do, I do, I do, believe in Angels. Let me tell you a story. When I was 12 years old, my 7 year old nephew and I were hiking in a state park and like kids can do, we got off onto the wrong path. In our defense, the trail wasn’t marked well and we easily got diverted onto another trail. After walking for a while, the realization hit me that we were seeing new sights that we didn’t see on the way up.

That first feeling? Sheer panic would best describe it. We were lost and alone and I just knew we would be in trouble for not being were we were supposed to be. I can remember feeling like I was going to suffocate from the fear. There I was a 12 year old kid not only responsible for myself but also my 7 year old nephew. I remember feeling like my heart would explode and just as I was about to run off screaming in terror at the thought of spending the night out on the side of a mountain, I felt this calmness fill me.

I can almost remember the feel of a hand in mine, although that may be wishful thinking or a flight of fancy on my part. But just as soon as the calmness filled me, my nephew looked up at me and calmly said, “I know we are lost, but this trail leads somewhere.” So we set off to find out where we would end up. Needless to say, it all turned out right. We finally ended up on a lake about 3 or 4 miles from where we should have been. We got a ride across the lake with a nice fisherman (another Angel? He is in my mind), and called the sheriff who gave us a ride back to the car and safety. (Not to mention two extremely worried parents).

Some may argue that this experience doesn’t prove the existence of Angels, but that calm and peace I believe was a message from God that all would be well. Isn’t that what Angels are? Messengers from God? A friend of mine once told me the story of when her youngest son was very ill. It was a cold and snowy day in March and her husband was out at work with their only car. The roads were icy and the baby’s fever spiked at 104. She was alone and scared and worried about her son. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, she heard a voice say, “All will be well.” Within the hour, her sons fever went down to 102 and her husband made it home from work and they took him to the emergency room where he was treated for pneumonia.

As a child, I thought all Angels were winged creatures with halos that sat around all day talking to God. While I do not doubt their existence, I believe that definition is too limiting. Angels are everywhere around us and yes, sometimes they take the form of our fellow humans. An Angel may be the person who lends a hand to an elderly neighbor, the one who calls a friend who needs someone to talk to, or even the one who stops and lets another driver out in rush hour traffic. An Angel is the one who prays for you, even when they may not know you personally. All these actions show God’s love. All of these people are messengers from God saying that he is here and he loves us.

I have seen daily proof of the existence of Angels. Sometimes it is in the form of a friend calling to say that she felt the need to pray for me last night without knowing I was in a rough spot. Sometimes it is the prayers being said on my behalf by people I have never met. Sometimes they can be seen in the actions of others.

Yesterday while I was in town finishing up some last minute items, I noticed an elderly woman waiting to cross a busy intersection. As I sat in line at McDonald’s, I felt helpless to help her. Every time she started to cross the street, cars would be flying by. One man in a sports car even yelled some not so nice things at her. I watched as three young teenage boys approached her. They wore their pants down to their knees, were smoking cigarettes, and all in all looked like thugs. I was amazed to watch as they surrounded the woman and slowly walked across the street with her. Some rude people honked their horns but the kids paid them no mind. They slowed their steps to match the lady’s pace and got her safely delivered to the other side. I saw her reach into her purse as if to pay them for their kindness but I saw each one of those boys shake his heads no. She grabbed onto the closest boy and gave him a hug. Although he looked embarrassed at first, it warmed my heart to see him hug her back.

As I watched them swagger (you know the walk I mean) on down the sidewalk, I was filled with a mixture of shame and gratitude. I was ashamed because I was guilty of judging their character by their style, but I was filled with gratitude because I was blessed to witness that lovely exchange between God’s children. I can almost guarantee that lady thought of those boys as her Angels. And you know what? They were. They were fine examples of God’s message.

And that thought is exciting to me. We, each and everyone of us can be a messenger of God, or an Angels if you prefer. It doesn’t matter what we look like on the outside, or if people judge us by whom we love, or if we aren’t the smartest or the strongest. All that matters is if we can and will show others the love of God. It doesn’t matter if you are home bound, then pray. It doesn’t matter if you are busy, take a few seconds to let another driver ahead of you. It doesn’t matter if people question us because of our orientation, show love and mercy. The greatest gift we can give to each other is compassion. We don’t have to agree, but we are called to treat all of God’s children with common courtesy and respect.

To all of the Angels in my life, A big heart felt “Thank You!” Thank you for showing me God’s love and helping me to be an Angel to someone else. And to my special Angel friend, Thank you. You know who you are. And to all of my internet Angels; Anita, my buddy E, my little Steph, Eliz, Jo, Jones, bridgeout, Ceara, Lindsey, Lizzie,Jade, Meg, Bon, and all of the lovely ladies at sisterfriends, Thank you for being my Angels. And to all I wish a Blessed Christmas and a new year filled with love and laughter.

Santa’s little elf

Contrary to popular belief, I haven’t fallen off the face of the Earth.  Santa’s little elf has been busy in the bear department the last couple of months.   The two little bears are for my 2nd grader’s teacher, the medium bear wearing the head band and dream catcher is for my 5th grader’s teacher.  The little naked bear in the back row will be dressed and wrapped for my little one by Christmas morning.  The big bear in the blue and red, has yet to find a permanent home.

Two things have slowed down my sewing adventure, 1.  Looking for employment, and 2. every stitch was done by hand.   Not that I am complaining, the sewing machine and I  really aren’t  on good speaking terms.   Oh sure for sewing curtains or big items, it is great, but the little bears are only about 8 inches tall and I am not nimble enough to sew those small seams without sewing my fingers into the mix.

And besides, I enjoy the ability to sit on my bed late at night when the house is quiet and watch television and sew.  It is almost a mindless repetitive motion that is both relaxing and challenging.  I like to say that every stitch is full of love and thoughts of the one it is being made for.  Well that is my excuse for not writing much lately.

But I also had a great 11 day visit with my Darling JB around Thanksgiving.  And my computer took a fit and refused to work for a while.  But I think everything is slowly getting back to normal.  So either it is a blessing or a curse, but I am back.  Good to see you all again.

The Cab Ride

I got this today in my email.  The timing is wonderful since I have been thinking about the situation many of our elderly face everyday.  I pray there are more people like this out there who shows God’s love in such a way.

So I walked to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She

Was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated’.

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy’, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly.

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice’.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.

‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID,  BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.