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During a conversation we once had about our grandfather and how he lived his life my brother, Richard, remarked that he took care of everybody.  “EVERYBODY!” he emphasized.  And it is true that our grandfather, a successful businessman in his time, was a man with a most generous spirit who shared his prosperity with others.  He took care of people.   We know that for a fact, not only from our own childhood experiences but also from the stacks of old letters and documents we’ve found among family archives acknowledging his generosity.  The greatest evidence, though, has come from the countless stories we’ve been told through the years by those who were witnesses to or beneficiaries of our grandfather’s benevolence. 

At the very core of all Judeo-Christian teachings are two basic closely related commandments, to love God and love our neighbor.  “And who is my neighbor?” a man once asked Jesus according to the New Testament (Luke 10:27).  The man, an expert in the law, was challenging Jesus to provide greater clarity about the commandment.  Jesus responded as he often did in parable, perhaps the most familiar of them all, the parable of the Good Samaritan.  So widely accepted is this story among our society in fact – well beyond Christian circles – that whenever someone is credited with helping a stranger in need that person is commonly referred to as a Good Samaritan. 

“And who is my neighbor?”  If my brother’s observations about our grandfather are correct he would have answered, “EVERYBODY”, although in his humanness I’m sure he overlooked some in need and perhaps overindulged others who were less so.  Nonetheless he demonstrated by the way he lived his life a clear understanding of “who is my neighbor” – immediate and extended family, employees, members of his beloved community, all within his reach, EVERYBODY. 

In Charles Dickens classic story, “A Christmas Carol”, Scrooge is confronted by the ghost of his late business partner, Jacob Marley, who cries out in agony and regret over the way he had lived his life.  “Mankind was my business.  The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business.” . . . So we ask ourselves, “And who is our neighbor?”  EVERYBODY!  And what is our business?  Mankind is our business.  May the year ahead bring us all greater love for our neighbor and success in our business.  . . . . That’s it for this year.  See you the first Monday in January.  God’s blessings!  Dan

“A wise old owl lived in an oak; the more he saw the less he spoke, the less he spoke the more he heard.  Why can’t we all be like that bird?”  – nursery rhyme

My fourth grade teacher was a short, stocky, gray-haired woman who we respectfully addressed as Mrs. Roop.  I have no idea what her first name was, not that we would have dared call her by it anyway.  And like most gray-haired teachers to a bunch of fourth graders she seemed much older than she really was.  Most distinctively, though, she was very short, no taller than most of her students – four-feet-eight-inches perhaps.  Yet, she could have easily stood eight-feet-four-inches in our eyes, for she had total command of the classroom.  One snap of her fingers and everyone came to attention. 

Her classroom was arranged in a conventional fashion with a large wooden desk at the front of the room which faced the several rows of neatly aligned student desks where we were required to sit attentively throughout the day.  Interestingly, though, unlike most teachers Mrs. Roop seldom sat at her large wooden desk in the front.  Instead, she preferred to sit among her pupils in one of the small student desks near the back of the room.  And except during those times when she was lecturing, reading, instructing or explaining – about which she was very concise by the way – that is where she spent a good part of her day.  From there she would summon her students to the chalkboards requiring us to demonstrate our comprehension of the subject being covered while she sat in the back of the room quietly observing, only occasionally speaking up to explain or correct something.  In the end fourth grade proved to be one of the most critical years in my formal education, one that provided a foundation that carried me through the remainder of my academic career. 

Why Mrs. Roop never sat at her large wooden desk I don’t know.  Maybe she was too short   But I rather think it’s because she was like that wise old owl who lived in an oak, the more she saw the less she spoke, the less she spoke the more she heard . . .  and since her method was so effective I just wonder . . .  “why can’t we all be like that bird?”

In Have a Little Faith, the newest nonfiction book by Mitch Albom who wrote Tuesdays with Morrie Albom shares the stories of two men with whom he has been intimately involved and whose lives have touched his own in a very deep way.  One was Albert Lewis, an elderly Jewish Rabbi and long time family friend from Mitch’s suburban hometown in New Jersey. The other is an inner-city pastor named Henry Covington who runs a homeless shelter in Detroit where Mitch resides today.  

In most ways Albert and Henry could not be more different – one being Jewish, the other Christian; one white, the other African-American; one an educated scholar, the other an ex-con; one serving in a middle-class suburb, the other in an inner city.  Both men’s lives have one thing in common, however, their deep religious faith and how that faith has profoundly impacted the lives of many others, not the least of whom was the book’s author.  Tee and I, too, were touched by their stories as we listened to the audio version of the book while driving in the car during our Thanksgiving holiday travels.  We even wept on several occasions. 

Because they’ve now been recorded in a book written by a well known best-selling author the stories of Albert Lewis’s and Henry Covington’s lives will become familiar to thousands if not millions of readers, as well they deserve to be.  Otherwise, their stories would probably remain as obscure as yours and mine.  But neither are their life stories any more profound or important than yours and mine – to someone.  I was reminded of this when I became a grandfather recalling how my own life has been impacted by my grandparents’ stories and their parents’ stories before them.  It is human nature that we are curious about where we came from and how those who came before us have influenced who we are.  

 “To have lived is not enough,” says Samuel Beckett in Waiting for Godot.  “We have to talk about it.”  Beckett’s right I think, for it is only when we talk about life, telling our stories in some way, that our lives gain significance.  And our lives, yours and mine, ARE significant – to someone somewhere – every bit as much as Albert Lewis and Henry Covington. 

If I had not seen it firsthand I would never have believed it . . . the miraculous work of Rand and Colleen Southard in transforming the lives of many abused, abandoned, and severely learning disabled children through the residential treatment facility they founded and operated for many years.  Most of the children came to them as wards of the state, hopeless cases by our standards but not to Rand and Colleen.  Many arrived angry, frightened and untrusting of anyone.  Few had ever experienced knowing where their next meal would come from and would often stuff mashed potatoes into their pockets.  But Rand and Coleen provided these children something even more essential than mere basic food and shelter.  They gave them love, loving them as their own.  And it was through that love that their lives were transformed, many becoming productive adults. 

If I had not heard it firsthand with my own ears neither would I have believed the miraculous work of Lanell Armstrong, the pretty blond middle-class housewife who convinced her husband and children to abandon their comfortable lifestyle and move into an east Dallas barrio inhabited by guns, gangs and drugs where she brings children into her own home, feeds, encourages and loves them, saving them from the fate of their environment.  And it is through her deep passion and fearless dedication to the children within that neighborhood that lives have been transformed and many have become model productive citizens. 

If I had not witnessed firsthand the miraculous works of my friends Lanell, Rand and Colleen I would probably have written off the new movie, “The Blind Side” starring Sandra Bullock as just another Hollywood embellishment created to sell tickets.  But embellished or not, “The Blind Side” is no fairytale.  Based on a true story it is about an upper middle-class family taking in a homeless street kid and transforming his life.  (I’ll leave it to you to see the movie.)  I would not have believed it myself except that I’ve witnessed similar stories firsthand through the courage, compassion, and selfless love of people like Lanell, Rand and Colleen.  Their lives make a difference – and so do ours if we will do even a fraction of what they do.

For my birthday I had requested that Tee make me a carrot layer cake which she agreed to do.  It’s my favorite.  And though she’s done it many times before this time as luck would have it the cakes stuck to the pans and came out all crumbled and broken up.  I could hear the groans and oh-no’s from the other room.  Uh-oh, I thought, I had better not go in there.  Sometime later, though, she called for me and when I entered the kitchen there she stood grinning from ear to ear holding up what may have been the most beautiful birthday cake I’ve ever had. 

Have you ever watched Tiger Wood play golf?  What’s fascinating is that as great a golfer as he is even Tiger Wood winds up in sand-traps, behind trees and buried in the rough like any common duffer on the course would do.  The difference is in his ability to recover, to make the most amazing shots you’ve ever seen out of the most difficult of circumstances.  That is the main difference more than any other factor, so they say, that sets a professional golfer apart from an amateur.  The same probably holds true for any sport. 

Excellence seldom occurs from everything coming out right, rather it is the result of one’s ability to recover from mishaps and mistakes.  That’s not only true in sports but in every worthwhile endeavor you can name.  Successful businesses, enduring marriages, happy families, master works of art, and even birthday cakes, look closely and you’ll see that each one is a patchwork of failures, mistakes and mishaps that have somehow been miraculously transformed into something successful, enduring, happy or beautiful. 

Most people would have given up on those stuck, crumbled, broken up cakes and simply thrown them away, but not Tee.  Instead she turned a mess into a masterpiece – and that’s the sign of a real pro.