So Thankful Sunday
Sunday, May 22, 2011
I just realized it was Sunday and have yet to write my Thankful post.
Friends who are always there for you ღ Getting introduced to some cool bands ღ That rapture wasn't real (not that I thought it was) ღ Meeting some new friends ღ Seeing some old ones ღ Making fun of lackluster speeches at my old high school's graduation with an old friend ღ This post on my friend's blog ღ That you taught me to love ღ That even if just for a moment, you had made me feel like the greatest I had ever felt, and like anything was possible ღ
Friends who are always there for you ღ Getting introduced to some cool bands ღ That rapture wasn't real (not that I thought it was) ღ Meeting some new friends ღ Seeing some old ones ღ Making fun of lackluster speeches at my old high school's graduation with an old friend ღ This post on my friend's blog ღ That you taught me to love ღ That even if just for a moment, you had made me feel like the greatest I had ever felt, and like anything was possible ღ
So Thankful Sunday
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Time for this week's So Thankful Sunday.
My gold trophy for beating Uncharted 2 ღ PSN is back ღ This amazing website filled with delicious recipes ღ Pizza Lunchables ღ This playlist from 8tracks ღ This game (you just lost the game btw) ღ Philosophical discussions with two of your best friends. ღ This song ღ
My gold trophy for beating Uncharted 2 ღ PSN is back ღ This amazing website filled with delicious recipes ღ Pizza Lunchables ღ This playlist from 8tracks ღ This game (you just lost the game btw) ღ Philosophical discussions with two of your best friends. ღ This song ღ
The Cab Ride I’ll Never Forget
Saturday, May 14, 2011
So I came across this story while browsing the internet and it really struck a chord with me.
"Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.
It was a cowboy’s life, a life for someone who wanted no boss.
What I didn’t realize was that it was also a ministry.
Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, and made me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partyers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.
But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.
Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
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 80′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 knick-knacks 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, 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”.
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, 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."
By Kent Nerburn
Adapted from “Make me an Instrument of Your Peace”
You can find the website here and the book here.
"Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.
It was a cowboy’s life, a life for someone who wanted no boss.
What I didn’t realize was that it was also a ministry.
Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, and made me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partyers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.
But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.
Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
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 80′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 knick-knacks 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, 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”.
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, 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."
By Kent Nerburn
Adapted from “Make me an Instrument of Your Peace”
You can find the website here and the book here.
So Thankful Sunday
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Starting today, as part of my Health Month Challenge, once a week I am going to list those smalls things that make me smile, those things that make my days a little easier, the things I am so thankful for.
ღ MOMS ღ Pretty springtime flowers ღ The smell of used books ღ Photo booth pictures ღ Paulo Coelho ღ THIS gif ღ Single Player and Campaign modes ღ THIS song I found on THIS blog ღ Red-velvet cheesecake brownies made by Taylor Doyle ღ Restaurants with live bands who are willing to sing The Beatles for your best friend's birthday ღ Awesome foot massages from the guy who gives you your pedicure ღ Half-priced grande peppermint mocha frappuccinos ღ Playing letter/sign games with your friends on the way home from the beach and not even bothering keeping score ღ Really BEAUTIFUL weather ღ
This week's Thankful song : dedicated to all mothers. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
ღ MOMS ღ Pretty springtime flowers ღ The smell of used books ღ Photo booth pictures ღ Paulo Coelho ღ THIS gif ღ Single Player and Campaign modes ღ THIS song I found on THIS blog ღ Red-velvet cheesecake brownies made by Taylor Doyle ღ Restaurants with live bands who are willing to sing The Beatles for your best friend's birthday ღ Awesome foot massages from the guy who gives you your pedicure ღ Half-priced grande peppermint mocha frappuccinos ღ Playing letter/sign games with your friends on the way home from the beach and not even bothering keeping score ღ Really BEAUTIFUL weather ღ
This week's Thankful song : dedicated to all mothers. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Good and Evil
Monday, May 02, 2011
He pointed to a print hanging on the wall:
"Do you know what it is? It's one of the most famous paintings in the world: The Last Supper, painted by Leonardo da Vinci."
"It can't be as famous as all that," said the hotel landlady.
"It was very cheap."
"That's only a reproduction: the original is in a church a long, long way from here. But there's a story about this picture you might like to hear."
...
"When he was creating this picture, Leonardo da Vinci encountered a serious problem: he had to depict Good -in the person of Jesus-and Evil-in the figure of Judas, the friend who resolves to betray him during the meal. He stopped work on the painting until he could find his ideal models.
"One day, when listening to a chior, he saw in one of the boys the perfect image of Christ. He invited him to his studio and made sketches and studies of his face.
"Three years went by. The Last Supper was almost complete, but Leonardo had still not found the perfect model for Judas. The cardinal responsible for the church started to put pressure on him to finish the mural.
"After many days spent vainly searching, the artist came across a prematurely aged youth, in rags and lying drunk in the gutter. With some difficulty, he persuaded his assistants to bring the fellow directly to the church. since there was no time left to make preliminary sketches.
"The beggar was taken there, not quite understanding what was going on. He was propped up by Leonardo's assistants, while Leonardo copied the lines of impiety, sin and egotism so clearly etched on his features.
"When he had finished, the beggar, he had sobered up slightly, opened his eyes and saw the picture before him. With a mixture of horror and sadness he said:
" 'I've seen that picture before!'
" 'When?' asked the astonished Leonardo.
" 'Three years ago, before I lost everything I had, at a time when I used to sing in a chior and my life was full of dreams. The artist asked me to pose as the model for the face of Jesus.' "
There was a long pause. The stranger was looking at the priest, who was drinking his beer, but Chantal knew his words were directed at her.
"So you see, Good and Evil have the same face; it all depends on when they cross the path of each individual human being. "
"Do you know what it is? It's one of the most famous paintings in the world: The Last Supper, painted by Leonardo da Vinci."
"It can't be as famous as all that," said the hotel landlady.
"It was very cheap."
"That's only a reproduction: the original is in a church a long, long way from here. But there's a story about this picture you might like to hear."
...
"When he was creating this picture, Leonardo da Vinci encountered a serious problem: he had to depict Good -in the person of Jesus-and Evil-in the figure of Judas, the friend who resolves to betray him during the meal. He stopped work on the painting until he could find his ideal models.
"One day, when listening to a chior, he saw in one of the boys the perfect image of Christ. He invited him to his studio and made sketches and studies of his face.
"Three years went by. The Last Supper was almost complete, but Leonardo had still not found the perfect model for Judas. The cardinal responsible for the church started to put pressure on him to finish the mural.
"After many days spent vainly searching, the artist came across a prematurely aged youth, in rags and lying drunk in the gutter. With some difficulty, he persuaded his assistants to bring the fellow directly to the church. since there was no time left to make preliminary sketches.
"The beggar was taken there, not quite understanding what was going on. He was propped up by Leonardo's assistants, while Leonardo copied the lines of impiety, sin and egotism so clearly etched on his features.
"When he had finished, the beggar, he had sobered up slightly, opened his eyes and saw the picture before him. With a mixture of horror and sadness he said:
" 'I've seen that picture before!'
" 'When?' asked the astonished Leonardo.
" 'Three years ago, before I lost everything I had, at a time when I used to sing in a chior and my life was full of dreams. The artist asked me to pose as the model for the face of Jesus.' "
There was a long pause. The stranger was looking at the priest, who was drinking his beer, but Chantal knew his words were directed at her.
"So you see, Good and Evil have the same face; it all depends on when they cross the path of each individual human being. "
