AS CLOSE AND UNOBTRUSIVE AS THAT

A West Indian woman in a London flat was told of her husband’s death in a street accident. The shock of grief stunned her like a blow, she sank into a corner of the sofa and sat there rigid and unhearing. For a long time her terrible tranced look continued to concern and embarrass the family, friends and officials who came and went.

Then the schoolteacher of one of her children, an Englishwoman, called and, seeing how things were, went and sat beside her. Without a word she threw an arm around the tight shoulders, clasping them with her full strength. The white cheek was thrust hard against the brown. Then as the unrelenting pain seeped through to her the newcomer’s tears began to flow, falling on their two hands linked in the woman’s lap.

For a long time that was all that was happening. And then at last the West Indian woman started to sob. Still not a word was spoken and after a little while the visitor got up and went, leaving her contribution to help the family meet its immediate needs.

That is the embrace of God, his kiss of life. That is the embrace of his mission and our intercession. And the Holy Spirit is the force in the straining muscles of an arm, the film of sweat between pressed cheeks, the mingled wetness on the back of clasped hands. He is as close and unobtrusive as that, and as irresistibly strong.

TAKING TIME TO SEE A PERSON By Max Lucado

Stanley Shipp served as a father to my young faith. 

He was thirty years my senior and blessed with a hawkish nose, thin lips, a rim of white hair, and a heart as big as the Midwest. His business cards, which he gave to those who requested and those who didn't, read simply, "Stanley Shipp-Your Servant."

I spent my first post college year under his tutelage. One of our trips took us to a small church in rural Pennsylvania for a conference. He and I happened to be the only two people at the building when a drifter, wearing alcohol like a cheap perfume, knocked on the door.

He recited his victim spiel. Overqualified for work. Unqualified for pension. Lost bus ticket. Bad back. His kids in Kansas didn't care. If bad breaks were rock and roll, this guy was Elvis. I crossed my arms, smirked, and gave Stanley a get-a-load-of-this-guy glance.

Stanley didn't return it. He devoted every optic nerve to the drifter. Stanley saw no one else but him. Now long, I remember wondering, since anyone looked this fellow square in the face?

The meandering saga finally stopped, and Stanley led the man into the church kitchen and prepared him a plate of food and a sack of groceries.

As we watched him leave, Stanley blinked back a tear and responded to my unsaid thoughts. "Max, I know he's probably lying. But what if just one part of his story was true?"

We both saw the man. I saw right through him. Stanley saw deep into him.

There is something fundamentally good about taking time to see a person.

IT WILL PASS

A young student at a Zen monastery comes to his master and throws himself at his feet, sobbing. The teacher lifts him up gently, and asks him, “What is troubling you, my son?” “O master,” the student falters, “I am so discouraged. My meditation is a nightmare—my mind is always running after worldly thoughts, my legs ache, I’m constantly falling asleep… I cannot concentrate on anything for even a breath. I think that I am just not cut out for meditation.”

The master pats his head and comforts him “Do not worry, my child. This is only a stage. It will pass, it will pass.” The student heaves a big sigh, bows to his master, and goes back to the meditation hall.

A few days later, he comes running to his master, grinning from ear to ear. “O master, by your grace, my meditation is completely transformed now! I’m getting so much joy, so much peace, so much depth…” The master responds calmly, “Do not worry, my son. It will pass.”

A story from Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

Some of my sisters work in Australia. On a reservation, among the Aborigines, there was an elderly man. I can assure you that you have never seen a situation as difficult as that poor old man’s. He was completely ignored by everyone. His home was disordered and dirty. I told him, “Please, let me clean your house, wash your clothes, and make your bed.” He answered, “I’m okay like this. Let it be.” I said again, “You will be still better if you allow me to do it.”

He finally agreed. So I was able to clean his house and wash his clothes. I discovered a beautiful lamp, covered with dust. Only God knows how many years had passed since he last lit it. I said to him, “Don’t you light your lamp? Don’t you ever use it?” He answered, “No. No one comes to see me. I have no need to light it. Who would I light it for?” I asked, “Would you light it every night if the sisters came?” He replied, “Of course.”

From that day on the sisters committed themselves to visiting him every evening. We cleaned the lamp, and the sisters would light it every evening. 

Two years passed. I had completely forgotten that man. He sent this message: “Tell my friend that the light she lit in my life continues to shine still.”

I thought it was a very small thing. We often neglect small things.

GREAT ATTITUDE

Once a bird asked a bee, “After continuous hard work, you prepare the honey…but then man steals the honey. Don’t you feel sad?”

The bee replied, “Never! Because a man can only steal my honey, not the art of making honey.”

LIFE’S LESSONS FROM A GIRAFFE shared by Joanne Fernandes

Baby giraffes never go to school. But they learn a very important lesson rather early in life. A lesson that all of us would do well to remember. 

The birth of a baby giraffe is quite an earth-shaking event. The baby falls from its mother's womb, some eight feet above the ground. It shrivels up and lies still, too weak to move. The mother giraffe lovingly lowers her neck to smooch the baby giraffe. And then something unbelievable happens. She lifts her long leg and kicks the baby giraffe, sending it flying up in the air and tumbling down on the ground. As the baby lies curled up, the mother kicks the baby again and again until the baby giraffe, still trembling and tired, pushes its limbs and for the first time learns to stand on its feet. Happy to see the baby standing on its own feet, the mother giraffe comes over and gives it yet another kick. The baby giraffe falls one more time, but now quickly recovers and stands up. 

Mama Giraffe is delighted. She knows that her baby has learnt an important lesson: Never mind how hard you fall, always remember to pick yourself up and get back on your feet. Why does the mother giraffe do this? She knows that lions and leopards love giraffe meat. So unless the baby giraffe quickly learns to stand and run with the pack, it will have no chance of survival. 

Most of us though are not quite as lucky as baby giraffes. No one teaches us to stand up every time we fall. When we fail, when we are down, we just give up. No one kicks us out of our comfort zone to remind us that to survive and succeed, we need to learn to get back on our feet. This message goes out to each and everyone who hasn't given up and those who will always have the courage to get back , dust everything off and start again

MANNER OF CRITICISM

There was a professor who could be quite critical when he thought that criticism was in order.

But to everyone’s surprise he was never resented for his reprimands. When asked about this once, he said, “It depends on how one does it. Human beings are like flowers: open and receptive to softly falling dew, closed to violent rain.”