The Encouragement Foundation

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. What food might this contain?” The mouse wondered — he was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning. “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, “Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it.”

The mouse turned to the pig and told him, “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!” The pig sympathized, but said, “I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers.”

The mouse turned to the cow and said “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!” The cow said, “Wow, Mr. Mouse. I’m sorry for you, but it’s no skin off my nose.”

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer’s mousetrap alone. That very night a sound was heard throughout the house — like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer’s wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer’s wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever.

Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup’s main ingredient.

But his wife’s sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer’s wife did not get well; she died. So many people came for her funeral; the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.

The next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn’t concern you, remember — when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk. We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage and help one another.

A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer’s showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man’s name embossed in gold. Angrily, he raised his voice to his father and said, “With all your money you give me a Bible?” He then stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and a wonderful family, but realizing his father was very old, he thought perhaps he should go to see him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make the arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.

When he arrived at his father’s house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father’s important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he was reading, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer’s name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words…..“PAID IN FULL”.

The 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that. But, she still wanted her son’s dreams to come true. She took her son’s hand and asked, “Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?”

“Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up.”

Mom smiled back and said, “Let’s see if we can make your wish come true.”

Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son’s final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six year old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, “Look, we can do better than that. If you’ll have your son ready at seven o’clock Wednesday morning, we’ll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you’ll give us his sizes, we’ll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat, not a toy one, but one with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They’re all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast.”

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic’s van, and even the fire chief’s car. He was also videotaped for the local news program.

Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible. One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.

The chief replied, “We can do better than that. We’ll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It’s just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?”

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital, extended its ladder up to Billy’s third floor open window and 5 firefighters climbed up the ladder into Billy’s room. With his mother’s permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, “Chief, am I really a fireman now?” “Yes, Billy, you are a fireman now,” the chief said.

With those words, Billy smiled and closed his eyes one last time. He passed away later that evening.

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary’s School in Morris,
Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a
million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that
made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking
without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though,
was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving -
“Thank you for correcting me, Sister!” I didn’t know what to make of it at first,
but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often,
and then I made a novice-teacher’s mistake. I looked at him and said, “If you say
one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!”

It wasn’t ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, “Mark is talking again.” I
hadn’t asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated
the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk,
very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape.
Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark’s desk, tore off two pieces of tape
and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the
room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing he winked at me. That did
it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark’s desk,
removed the tape and shrugged my shoulders.

His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister.”

At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by,
and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome
than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instructions in
the “new math,” he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in the third.

One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept
all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with
themselves – and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it
got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the
room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told
them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates
and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment, and as the
students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark
said, “Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend.”
That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of
paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On
Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was
smiling. “Really?” I heard whispered. “I never knew that meant anything to
anyone!” “I didn’t know others liked me so much!”

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they
discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise
had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one
another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from
vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother
asked me the usual questions about the trip – the weather, my experiences in
general. There was a light lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways
glance and simply said, “Dad?” My father cleared his throat as he usually did
before something important. “The Eklunds called last night,” he began.

“Really?” I said. “I haven’t heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is.”

Dad responded quietly. “Mark was killed in Vietnam,” he said. “The funeral is
tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend.” To this day I can
still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.
I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so
handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark, I would give
all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.

The church was packed with Mark’s friends. Chuck’s sister sang “The Battle
Hymn of the Republic.” Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was
difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the
bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the
coffin and sprinkled it with holy water.

I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who
had acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Were you Mark’s math teacher?” he
asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin.

“Mark talked about you a lot,” he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates headed to Chucks
farmhouse for lunch. Mark’s mother and father were there, obviously waiting for
me. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his
pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might
recognize it.”
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper
that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without
looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things
each of Mark’s classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing
that” Mark’s mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it.”

Mark’s classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly
and said, “I still have my list. It’s in the top drawer of my desk at home.” Chuck’s
wife said, “Chuck asked me to put this in our wedding album.” “I have mine
too,” Marilyn said. “It’s in my diary.”

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet
and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. “I carry this with me at all
times,” Vicki said without batting an eyelash. “I think we all saved our lists.”
That’s when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends
who would never see him again.

by Sister Helen P. Mrosia

A man was exploring caves by the seashore. In one of the caves he found a canvas bag with a bunch of hardened clay vessels. It was like someone had rolled balls of clay and left them out in the sun to bake.

They didn’t look like much, but they intrigued the man, so he took the bag out of the cave with him. As he strolled along the beach, he would throw the clay balls one at a time out into the ocean as far as he could.

He thought little about it, until he dropped one of the clay balls and it cracked open on a rock. Inside was a beautiful, precious stone!

Excited, the man started breaking open the remaining clay vessels. Each contained a similar treasure. He found thousands of dollars worth of jewels in the 20 or so clay balls he had left. Then it struck him.

He had been on the beach a long time. He had thrown maybe 50 or 60 of the clay balls with their hidden treasure into the ocean waves. Instead of thousands of dollars in treasure, he could have taken home tens of thousands, but he had just thrown it away!

It’s like that with people. We look at someone, maybe even ourselves, and we see the external clay vessel. It doesn’t look like much from the outside. It isn’t always beautiful or sparkling, so we discount it.

We see that person as less important than someone more beautiful or stylish or well known or wealthy. But we have not taken the time to find the treasure hidden inside that person.

There is a treasure in each one of us. If we take the time to get to know that person, then the clay begins to peel away and the brilliant gem begins to shine forth.

May we not come to the end of our lives and find out that we have thrown away a fortune in friendships because the gems were hidden in bits of clay.

I had been working much too long on this job. I guess things could have been worse. I certainly wasn’t doing hard labour. But going door to door asking questions as a representative of the federal government wasn’t the most satisfying position either.

It was August. It was hot. I had to wear a tie.
“Hello. My name is Bob Perks and we are doing a survey in this neighbourhood…”

“I’m not interested!

Good bye!”…slam, lock.

You can’t imagine how many times I heard that. I finally caught on and began with, “Before you slam the door, I am not selling anything and I just need to ask a few questions about yourself and the community.”

The young woman inside the doorway, paused for a moment, raised her eyebrows as she shrugged her shoulders, confused by my rude introduction.

“Sure. Come on in. Don’t mind the mess. It’s tough keeping up with my kids.”

It was an older home in a section of the valley where people with meager income found affordable shelter. With the little they had, the home looked comfortable and welcoming.

“I just need to ask a few questions about yourself and family. Although this may sound personal, I won’t need to use your names. This information will be used…”

She interrupted me. “Would you like a glass of cold water? You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

“Why yes!” I said eagerly.

Just as she returned with the water, a man came walking in the front door. It was her husband.

“Joe, this man is here to do a survey.” I stood and politely introduced myself.

Joe was tall and lean. His face was rough and aged looking although I figured he was in his early twenties. His hands were like leather. The kind of hands you get from working hard, not pushing pencils.

She leaned toward him and kissed him gently on the cheek. As they looked at each other you could see the love that held them together. She smiled and titled her head, laying it on his shoulder. He touched her face with his hands and softly said, “I love you!”

They may not have had material wealth, but these two were richer than most people I know. They had a powerful love. The kind of love that keeps your head up when things are looking down.

“Joe works for the borough,” she said.

“What do you do?” I asked.

She jumped right in not letting him answer. “Joe collects garbage. You know I’m so proud of him.”

“Honey, I’m sure the man doesn’t want to hear this,” said Joe.

“No, really I do,” I said.

“You see Bob, Joe is the best garbage man in the borough. He can stack more garbage on the truck than anyone else. He gets so much in one truck that they don’t have to make as many runs,” she said with such passion.

“In the long run,” Joe continues, “I save the borough money. Man hours are down and the cost per truck is less.”

There was silence. I didn’t know what to say. I shook my head searching for the right words.

“That’s incredible! Most people would gripe about a job like that. It certainly is a difficult one. But your attitude about it is amazing,” I said.

She walked over to the shelf next to the couch. As she turned she held in her hand a small framed paper.

“When we had our third child Joe lost his job. We were on unemployment for a time and then eventually welfare. He couldn’t find work anywhere. Then one day he was sent on an interview here in this community. They offered him the job he now holds. He came home depressed and ashamed, telling me this was the best he could do. It actually paid less than we got on welfare.”

She paused for a moment and walked toward Joe.

“I have always been proud of him and always will be. You see I don’t think the job makes the man. I believe the man makes the job!”

“We needed to live in the borough in order to work here. So we rented this home,” Joe said. “When we moved in, this quote was hanging on the wall just inside the front door. It has made all the difference to us, Bob. I knew that Joe was doing the right thing,” she said as she handed me the frame.

It said: If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep the streets even as Michelangelo painted or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, “Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.” Martin Luther King

“I love him for who he is. But what he does he does the best.

So how was your day? Did you give it your best? Or did your attitude get the best of you?

“I believe in YOU!”
Bob Perks Copyright 2001 www.bobperks.com

I know you by heart

I recently heard someone say, ‘What you do for others you do also for yourself.’

I was confused at first, because it almost made me feel selfish. I mean, I love doing things for other people, but my wife told my recently that I always put others first. She was saying that was one of my faults. I needed a little more ‘me’ in my efforts to change the world.

I visit people in nursing homes, retirement and senior centres. I love to spend time with older folks. It’s like mining for gold. They have been down the road ahead of me and I want to know what they have learned so that I make the right choices.

A speaker at a conference I attended many years ago asked, ‘Where do you think the most valued real estate is in the world.’

Hands went up and offered big city names, resorts in development and exotic locations around the world.

‘Nice try,’ he said. ‘The most valuable real estate are the cemeteries. Buried there are dreams that might have changed the world, perhaps cures for major diseases that were never developed and people who could have made a difference in your life but never took the chance. What happened? No one listened.’

I listen, I encourage, but I don’t realize the value of what I do or understand the impact.

It was during a recent visit to a new facility that I realized that my efforts made a difference in the lives of those I met.

‘How are you today?’ I heard someone ask.
I turned around and scanned the room to see who was speaking.

‘I heard the voice of an angel!’ I said smiling. ‘Where are you?’

Then I heard a faint laugh in the corner.

‘Oh, there you are. I am so lucky to find you today,’ I said.

She was seated on an old Victorian looking couch. It reminded me of the furniture in my mother’s living room. We could only sit on it when company came. So, I jumped at the opportunity to sit next to this wonderful woman. Her hair was white and neatly brushed with an occasional wave gently reflecting the light from the nearby window. Her hands crossed on her lap resting on top of a knitted pink blanket that covered her legs. Two practical looking walking shoes peeked out at the bottom and a wooden cane was placed within her reach nearby.

‘It’s good to see you,’ she said. ‘I love when you come to visit.’

I was a bit surprised to hear her say that. I had never been here before. Maybe she was transferred her from another place and she remembered me.

‘It’s good to see you, too,’ I said.

‘You always brighten my day,’ she added.

I sat quietly for a moment trying desperately to remember if we had met before. I really love to remember names. It makes people feel good when you remember.Then I asked, ‘When was the last time I saw you?’

She turned her head away for a moment and then looking back at me, she said, ‘Oh, we’ve never met, you and I. But I know you by heart.’

How curious. We never met, but she knows me by heart.It must have been the look on my face that caused her to explain further.

‘There is something about people like you. You are the ones who carry the world on your back. When you walk in a room you make us smile. When you touch my hand I can feel the warmth in your heart. People like you bring flowers, music and sunshine. Even when you bring nothing at all, you leave so much behind’

I was humbled and at a loss for words.

‘My, I thank you for saying that,’ I said. ‘When you said, I know you by heart, I naturally felt like I must have met you before.’

‘I know you by heart, because I always did the same thing. I always put others first,’ she said.

There it was again. ‘Putting others first.’

Then I shared, ‘I heard someone say – what you do for others you do also for yourself.’

‘I am living proof of that,’ she said. ‘You see, after all that time, after all that caring it all came back to me. People like you now visit me and I know you by heart.’

Written by Bob Perks

Bob Perks is a professional speaker, author, vocalist and member of the National Speakers Association.

From the moment Gabby spoke I knew something was terribly wrong.

It was the call every parent of a helicopter pilot dreads. My daughter-in-law was distraught and my heart almost broke on the spot.

Over the years I had receive two similar calls but each time my son Steve was the one on the call so I knew automatically that he was alive.

When Gabby was finally able to speak, she was able to tell me what she knew. It seemed to me that he was alive but not much more.

In my mind his injuries were possibly life threatening and as it turned out certainly life changing.

I was a thousand kilometers away and Steve’s mother and my wife, a further thousand kilometers away helping a family member move.

The trip from Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast to Cairns was excruciating. I arrived in Cairns and somehow found my way from the airport to the hospital.

To say I was concerned about what I would see when I got there would be a huge understatement. My thoughts were along the lines of what was I expecting to see when I walked into the emergency ward at the Cairns Base Hospital.

It is difficult to describe how one feels when confronted by a situation like this, only those who have walked through a similar experience will know the fear and anxiety.

The moment eventually came. I walked into the room and I saw Gabby standing beside Steve. It was marvelous to see her there knowing she had managed to get to Steve and to be there to comfort him.

I will never forget seeing my great big tough son lying motionless on that bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes. Steve was covered in dirt and fuel from the accident.

I literally did not know what to say or what to ask either, to encourage him or console him. All I could see was this immobile body lying in front of me.

As a bit of a softy I look back now and see that I was in shock.

Finally I had to say something and what now seems rather silly I said “How are you mate?” You can just image how he was!

His comment is what turned the tables for me as a “Defining Moment”. Even though he had to struggle to say it, he said “everything is good dad”

These words were totally unexpected considering the circumstances. However these words were the encouragement and strength I needed to be part of the team of family, friends and community who were there for Steve over the next 13 weeks, as he went from intensive care into operating theater 11 times.

His pain was incredible, his discomfort was indescribable, but his words brought energy, hope and encouragement to me.

“Everything is good dad”.

I will never ever forget those words and the feeling of hope he instilled in me.

Steve’s legs were broken in five places. His spine was badly damaged, his shoulder socket was ripped out, and he had several lacerations over his body and two patches of 3rd degree burns. He was to lose his right leg before he left the hospital.

“Everything is good dad”.

Steve now spends a lot of his new life encouraging others never to give up. He believes that no matter what your circumstances are, if you have the right attitude, not only can you achieve great things in your life, but your experiences can be used to help others.

Steve was back flying in his beloved chopper only 9 months later.

by John Shadforth

How much is a kind word worth? How deeply can a touch heal? How important are your little interactions with your family, friends, and clients?

Hairdresser David Wagner learned these answers from a customer who came to him regularly every month. One day she phoned David in between her regular visits and asked if he would style her hair for an important event that evening. David fit her into his schedule and gave her his usual loving attention. He talked amiably with her, laughed, touched her kindly, and told her how beautiful she looked. After her session, she smiled and thanked him.

You can imagine David’s shock when a few days later he received a handwritten letter from the woman explaining that the important event she wanted to look good for that evening was her own funeral. She had planned to commit suicide later that day. When she spent time with David, however, the kindness he showed her influenced her to change her mind. She decided that life was worth living, and she could go on.

This extraordinary feedback inspired David to reconsider what he was doing with his work and his life. He realized that his purpose with customers went far beyond cutting hair. Within his own sphere of influence he had the power to make people’s days – and even lives. So he adopted the vocation of “Daymaker.” Now, as owner of ten successful spas that treat thousands of people each day, David teaches his employees to see themselves as daymakers. His inspiring book Life as a Daymaker chronicles his adventures and techniques.

Never underestimate the power of a kind word or thought. It may affect one or many, many people without you even knowing it. Even a gentle touch can make a huge difference. My friend Rick Jarrow was participating in an intensive Zen meditation retreat that required him to meditate many hours a day in rigorous conditions. One morning Rick decided this was just too hard, and he would leave the retreat after the morning silent walking meditation practice. During the walk, a student behind Rick gently placed his hand on Rick’s shoulder. “In that touch,” Rick told me, “I felt totally comforted and encouraged. It was as if my friend was saying, ‘I know this is hard for you. I believe in you. You have what it takes to do this.’ So I decided to stay, and I went on to gain tremendous strength from that retreat. That touch was the turning point.”

You don’t even need to speak or touch someone to help them. You can serve simply by the energy of your being. Emerson noted, “Who you are speaks to me so loudly that I can hardly hear what you are saying.” Indeed at every moment we radiate empowerment or discouragement simply by the feelings we dwell in.

One day while I was standing in line at a deli counter, I noticed a woman in a line beside mine. She kept looking at me as if she knew me. I didn’t recognize her, so I just kept moving ahead. When we finally arrived at the counter at the same time, the woman turned to me and asked, “Why are you so happy?” Her question took me by surprise. I wasn’t thinking about being happy or even trying. “I guess I’m just glad to be here and alive,” I answered. “How about you?” I asked her. “How is your day going?”

She thought for a moment and then answered, “Well, it wasn’t going so well. But now that I saw you, I feel a lot better.” With that, we both smiled and went on our ways. As I thought more about her comment, I realized it was the most meaningful compliment I could ever receive. Just being was healing.

I have experienced such healing simply by seeing a peaceful person for a moment. One day I was rushing through an airport when I noticed a man who looked unusually serene. His face was soft, his gait was light, and his demeanor felt comforting. In that moment my energy shifted from anxious hurry to deep peace. Though he will never know it, he taught me that airports are not necessarily stressful. Stressful thoughts are more dangerous than airports. If we choose healing thoughts, we become a beacon of peace in apparently dense or dark places.

A friend went to pick up a revered rabbi from the airport. As the two drove toward the tollbooths to exit the airport parking lot, my friend had to choose between an automatic payment lane and a lane manned by an attendant. “Take the lane where you pay a person,” the rabbi urged him. “Why is that?” asked my friend. “Because any opportunity to make contact with another human being is a blessing from God,” answered the rabbi.

In this light, every one of our interactions is a prayer. There are no chance encounters and no small meetings. Everyone we meet is sent to us by God for a noble purpose. Every relationship, not matter how brief, is an invitation to connect. As we remember to keep love first, we have our priorities in order and we might even save someone’s life – beginning with our own.

From No Small Meetings by Alan Cohen as published in his From the Heart column. Used by permission. All rights reserved. For more information on Alan Cohen’s books and programs, visit www.alancohen.com

A few years ago, at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants, all physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash.

At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run the race to the finish and win.

All, that is, except one little boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times, and began to cry.

The other eight heard the boy cry. They slowed down and looked back.

Then they all turned around and went back.

Every one of them.

One girl with Downs Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said:
“This will make it better.” Then all nine linked arms and walked together to the finish line.

Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes. People who were there are still telling the story.

Why?

Because deep down we know this one thing: What matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What matters in this life is helping others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course.