And it gets me to thinking. Knowing what we know now, would any of us actually have chosen to have been diagnosed with cancer? The answer has to be emphatically no. I’m sure that I am speaking for all of us when I say we would have been glad to avoid the nerve-wracking wait for pathology results, the life-altering shock of diagnosis, being poked and prodded endlessly with needles, the surgeries, chemo and radiation treatments that tried the very limits of our endurance, and the relentless scans and blood tests to ensure that we remain, for the moment, cancer-free.

  Yet for all that, one thing becomes patently clear to me. I doubt very much that any of us would give back what we have learned along the cancer journey: to be kinder, more compassionate, more life-affirming people and never to forget how much we still have to be grateful for. Cancer may not have been a gift, but it was certainly a wake-up call.

  ~Cara Holman

  Never a Bad Day

  If you don’t think every day is a good day, just try missing one.

  ~Cavett Robert

  There are few places more unpleasant than a Florida post office with broken air conditioning. Throw in the rush of the holiday season and you have a pretty good picture of where I was last year during my lunch break, two weeks before Christmas.

  People crowded around me in the line, balancing boxes on hips and shoulders, all watching the three postal workers behind the counter. Red and green stars hung from the ceiling overhead and brightly colored posters advertised the latest stamps.

  The wait stretched on and on.

  The folks behind the counter moved as fast as they could, doling out postage, handling packages, tracking down lost mail, but they were way over their heads. As time slipped past, the mood of the line grew uglier and uglier. You know the drill: loud sighs, sarcastic comments, people tapping their feet.

  In short, it was all the social unpleasantness you can imagine concentrated into one overly warm room.

  The one bright spot in this whole situation was the silver-haired gentleman in front of me. Looking completely unaffected by the extended wait, he asked if I was ready for Christmas. That started a conversation and we spent the rest of our time in line chatting. He was mailing a package to some grandchildren that he hadn’t seen in several months, and was nervous that he might not have picked out gifts they would like.

  That led us to a discussion of gifts and gift-giving in general. As the people around us grumbled and complained, we talked about presents we’d received and given, both the hits and the dismal failures.

  When his turn came, the man stepped quickly to the counter. The postal worker immediately apologized for the wait, but the man told him not to worry and they settled down to the business of mailing his package.

  As he was walking away, the postal worker called out “Have a good day!”

  Someone in the crowd heard and let out a cynical “ha!”

  The older man turned back, smiled gently at the haggard man behind the counter, and said, “Son, I’ve never had a bad day in my life. And this,” he gestured vaguely at the crowd of unhappy people, “certainly is not enough to make me start.”

  He caught my eye, gave me a wink, and walked out.

  ~Patrick Matthews

  I’ve Got What I Need

  He who knows that enough

  is enough will always have enough.

  ~Lao Tzu

  Homeward Bound

  Peace—that was the other name for home.

  ~Kathleen Norris

  The movers pulled out of our driveway. I glanced for the last time at our home of twenty-two years. We’d planned to spend the rest of our lives there, but health issues and financial issues forced us to sell. As we pulled away from the curb, I burst into tears.

  Startled, my husband slammed on the brakes. “Karen, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll be fine. Reality just hit home.”

  “I know, honey, but you’ve been so strong. Your sudden outburst scared me.”

  “I’m okay,” I said, smiling, trying, to look convincing.

  As we drove through heavy traffic, I closed my eyes, and my mind flashed back a few months. John had been on disability. He’d been fighting an ear infection that had resulted in severe hearing loss.

  Sitting in our doctor’s office, we anxiously waited while he looked at John’s latest audiologist report.

  “Good, looks like you’ve gained back some hearing. I think we are finally getting that infection under control.”

  “That’s good news. My disability is coming to a close, and I’m retiring for the last time,” John replied.

  “You and Karen have worked long and hard for that retirement,” Dr. William said reassuringly

  Later that afternoon, John and I sat in our front yard sipping iced tea. I glanced at the “For Sale” sign, and sighed.

  John seemed to read my mind and said, “Karen, I think we should back out of selling our home. We don’t really want to live anywhere else.”

  “John, we really need to stick to our decision. We’ve sat down with our financial advisor, and he agrees we are doing the right thing. Do you remember what we learned six years ago?”

  “Yeah, I remember, the bluebird.”

  “Yes, you’d been retired for four years and because I’d been forced to retire early we were struggling. We were talking, and praying, when we noticed the bluebird. We watched as he dug up a peanut, and we marveled at his ingenuity. He’d stored up food for when he needed it.”

  “That’s right, and then the phone rang. It was my former employer asking if I wanted to come out of retirement. They needed qualified, experienced supervisors to work on a special project. It was supposed to last nine months, and it lasted five years.”

  “John, we need to count our blessings. Because, you went back to work we were able to stay here longer.”

  Later, that afternoon, our real estate lady, Trudy, called and said, “I have a beautiful home to show you. It’s a three-bedroom, manufactured home in a beautiful park. The price is right.”

  The next day, John and I drove out to the desert community. The clear blue sky against the rolling hills seemed to welcome us. Soon, we pulled into the park. As we parked in front of the home a bluebird landed in a nearby tree. I smiled, and said, “I wonder if that’s the same bluebird?”

  John laughed. As we entered the living room, it was love at first sight. I walked through a dream kitchen, and knew I never wanted to leave. John loved the spacious master bedroom, and the family room.

  That afternoon, we made an offer. The next day, Trudy called and said, “They’ve accepted your offer.”

  “Look at that sunset,” John said, bringing me back to the present. The movers were waiting for us. Two hours later, we sat in our family room staring at boxes. The next day our family showed up and the unpacking began. We were grateful to have the help. As it was, it took a couple of months to settle in.

  We started walking every afternoon. Soon we began meeting our neighbors and using the clubhouse and the other facilities. It didn’t take long to fall in love with the beauty that surrounded our park, the peacefulness, and the marvelous sunsets every evening.

  Then one Saturday, we went up to Orange County to visit family. Later that evening when John pulled into our driveway, he said, “It’s good to be home.”

  I smiled. “Home is where the heart is.”

  “That’s right, Karen, as long as we’re together—we are home.”

  ~Karen Kosman

  Mango Mud Blessings

  If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.

  ~Loran Eisley

  Sometimes the simple pleasures of life are so simple that I take them for granted. Things that I’ve come to consider as my right, instead of a blessing. I realized this after my first trip to Honduras. My dear friend, who serves there as a humanitarian and missionary, had invited me to speak at a women’s conference she was putting together.

  The night before I was to fly out, I finished packing and decided a warm bath would help calm my excited nerves and help me sleep. I twisted the hot water handle on the tub and waited … and waited … and waited. I drummed my fingers against the faux marble and grumbled, “For crying out loud, already. Let’s have some warm water!”

  It took forever for the hot water to work its way through the pipes to the back of the house. Well, maybe not forever, but it sure seemed that way. Besides, I didn’t have any time to spare. My alarm was set to four o’clock. I had to get some sleep. Needless to say, the bath wasn’t relaxing. I got in, bathed, and got right out.

  The next afternoon I arrived in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. It was so good to see my friend and her husband. On the five-hour drive to their home in Yamaranguila, I took in the beautiful countryside. So lush and green. A lot like the hills of my northwest Arkansas home, except for the occasional banana trees and pineapple groves.

  After the conference, my friend took me to meet some of the families she and her husband had come to know and love. Thankfully, she acted as my interpreter while we visited. The people I met lived in abject poverty. They lived in ten by ten stick-and-mud houses and slept on dirt floors. The women cooked outside on stoves fashioned from stacked concrete blocks topped with old steel barrel lids that served as the cooking surface. Still, even in these awful conditions, everyone I met had a smile on their face. They were so gracious and almost always insisted we stay for coffee.

  On our way to one home we passed the mother and daughter-in-law who lived there. They were kneeling beside a pond that was covered with green slime. One woman pushed the scum back with a stick while the other dipped the water into a bucket. I shot a prayer toward the heavens, “Dear Lord, Please don’t let them offer coffee.”

  They followed us to their house and invited us inside. While we chatted, chickens walked in, cocked their heads as if to check out the two pale strangers, then sauntered out. A cat sat in the window opening watching. However, he was so emaciated that none of the birds had anything to worry about.

  Children played outside in the dust. They sounded just like my children when they were small. One little girl ran inside. She held a mango in each hand. The one in her left hand was half eaten. Juice had mingled with the dirt on her skin and small rivulets of mango-mud ran down her wrist.

  This little brown-eyed beauty held out her right hand and offered me the other mango, which I gladly accepted. Her eyes danced and joy spread into a smile. As she scratched her lice-filled hair, I remember thinking, “She has no idea she is poor.”

  When it was time to leave we walked outside and I noticed a muddy stream that ran beside their home. My friend pointed at it and said in English, “That is where they bathe. It is also where the animals drink and defecate.” I have to say that was the most sobering time in my life.

  The evening I returned home I went into my pristine bathroom and twisted the hot water handle on the tub. Only this time instead of drumming my fingers against the faux marble, I thought of that precious little girl covered in mango-mud. Her bath would consist of splashing in the cold, dirty, water in the creek. No soap, no bubbles.

  I eased into my tub filled with warm, drinking-quality water and perfumed with lavender oil. While soaking, I mused on this simple pleasure. Clean water wasn’t my right, it was a blessing. A blessing I was now determined to share with others.

  ~Linda Apple

  The Best Gift

  Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.

  ~Jean Anouilh

  With two teenagers on the verge of college there wasn’t much money left over for holiday shopping. Although I had never conveyed my concern to my daughters, somehow they knew. They had seen me glued to the news reports following the nation’s economic crises. They had watched their dad grimace over the checkbook and credit card bills. They had seen me remove items from the grocery cart that we didn’t absolutely need. They had witnessed me scrimp like never before. They’re smart kids who are also exceptionally thoughtful.

  I was on my way to the mall to do a little Christmas shopping. With a short list in one hand and car keys in the other, I asked what they wanted for Christmas. I braced myself for their reply. They looked up as if praying to God for enlightenment on what to say. If I were their age I’d ask for a curling iron, a cell phone, an iPod, gift cards, movie tickets, and new clothes. They looked me square in the eye and said, “We’re good.”

  I stared back in disbelief. They were teenagers with final exams and SATs only one week away. The college application deadline was dangerously close. They had choir practice, volunteer obligations, and parties. They had concerts to prepare for and school projects to complete. How in the world could they be “good?”

  “What are you really thinking?” I waited nervously for a reply. “There must be something you want.”

  They quietly deliberated and Juliana, older and wiser, swallowed hard before answering. “We don’t need a thing.” They nodded. “Seriously,” she reaffirmed.

  I stared at her in disbelief, waiting for her to smile or crack a joke, but she was adamant.

  “We’re really good, Mom,” Andrea said. “We have everything a girl could want. You and Dad have given us everything. We’re happy,” she said motioning to Juliana, “just to have you.”

  I felt my heart skip a beat as time stood still. Her words reverberated in my head as my eyes welled with tears of joy. Both girls wrapped their arms around me and hugged me long and hard. The truth was that we didn’t have much money left over for unnecessary gifts. We could barely afford the things we really needed with skyrocketing college costs looming on the horizon.

  That moment was the sweetest and most tender I had ever experienced. Their words were all I needed. I didn’t need a present under the tree and neither did they. I had something much better. Words spoken from the heart of the children I have built my life around for the last eighteen years lifted me to a much higher place. They couldn’t have given me a better gift. I cherished their warmth and reaffirmed my love for them.

  “I insist you let me get you something. We can afford it,” I lied.

  Juliana pulled back and her solemn voice took over. “Then get us something we can share.”

  “We’re really good at sharing,” Andrea chimed.

  They were killing me with kindness. I looked at my daughters in awe and silently thanked God for blessing me with two great kids. How could I be so lucky?

  I put my car keys away and assembled the Christmas tree in the family room in its usual spot. It was the one job I detested and I usually pawned it off on Patrick, my easygoing husband. This year I cherished the time together. Next year they would be on a college campus and the thought of not having them around me all of the time scared me. I appreciated each strand of twinkle lights that we wrapped around the prickly branches. I loved every second of it.

  Andrea opened the box of ornaments and dangled one on a branch near me. I remembered it fondly—a heart-shaped ornament I bought for Patrick the first year we were dating.

  Andrea gave me an endearing smile. “This ornament sums up the way I feel.”

  Juliana peered over her shoulder and read the inscription. “Love really is the best gift of all.”

  ~Barbara Canale

  Staircase of Faith

  In actual life, every great enterprise begins with

  and takes its first forward step in faith.

  ~August Wilhelm von Schlegel

  When my son Andrew was born three years ago, my husband and I decided to live beneath our financial means—way, way, beneath our means. I wanted to stay at home to care for Andrew, and that would mean cutting our already average income in half. It was a vast commitment, and our family’s well-being hung in the balance.

  The cost of our ever-rising health insurance, home mortgage, and monthly expenses loomed before us; but our desire to raise our son without the use of day care outweighed any other costs.

  Needless to say, we were a little intimidated by what the future held. But I was consoled and filled with courage by something Martin Luther King, Jr. once said: “Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase.”

  It felt like we were taking a running leap onto a one-step staircase when I quit my teaching job.

  I already had experience living meagerly—as a single woman on a teacher’s income. I always knew I wanted to stay at home to take care of a family if I were blessed with one, and gave up expensive clothes and shoes to save for the future. I bought an eight-year-old Honda, ate out and went to the movies less, and moonlighted. I lived in a safe but no frills, low-rent apartment less than two miles from school, and went on vacation twice (including my honeymoon) during eight years of teaching.

  I think it was during those single years of tightening the purse strings I first learned about humility, gratitude, and living on less. My thinking began to change about what it really meant to do “without.”

  I would catch myself feeling irritated that I had to walk down a flight of steps tugging and toting my overflowing laundry basket, detergent, and armored truck’s worth of quarters to another building to wash my clothes. I would even chide myself—if you weren’t such a tightwad, you could just spend your savings and move to a bigger apartment with your own washer and dryer.

  Then one day my barrage of complaining thoughts was interrupted with this thought: what would someone in a wheelchair feel like if she were in your shoes? Wouldn’t she be rejoicing that she could walk to the laundry room?

  I would silently resent it when I ate macaroni and cheese for dinner, and then I would hear about someone in Haiti who would have to drag a cup through the mud to catch enough water for a drink.

  I began to realize that wealth is relative. If my basic needs were met and I was loved, I was rich.

  The flip side was that as my savings increased; I slept better at night knowing I could afford to take care of emergencies as they arose.

 

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