Recent Posts

[no]

Oh, Bill, you have no idea how good.

The morning I left the abbey I loaded the car up with boxes of their bread to bring home.  The smell was intoxicating.  It stayed in the car for a few days.  It was like ether.  Comfort food heaven.

What did you think of Nouwen's journal?  I thought he was a little whiny but otherwise a good book.

I read Henri Nouwen's book about his time at this Abbey over Christmas. Was the bread as good as the book said?

At lunch this afternoon I made a sandwich with the last two "good" slices of bread in the bag.  Since the kids never eat the ends I put the last piece in my pocket, walked back to the prayer garden and broke it into small pieces that I placed at the foot of the Saint Francis statue.

I wouldn't want to be a bird in this cold weather.  At least, I wouldn't want to be a hungry bird.

Tengai, you're a good man.  I know your heart and I'm certain it's in the place right where God placed it.

You haven't been to church.  I hear so many people say that.  But the truth is, you've been "in" church by upholding Christ's standard in your own community.  The true church, as Saint Paul reminds us, is comprised of the sum of the parts.  Each part contributes to the body.  When we're in communion with the other parts, we're in church, whether that's the parish on Sunday, the grocery store, even the corner bar.  If you make it to mass, that's great.  I'll bet you're likely to find a lot of friends there for the same reason; to be in communion.

I hear you regarding the deterioration of our towns.  Not a day goes by that I don't catch myself in conflict with the way we used to do things.  I'm tempted to call it the "old days" but it wasn't so long ago.  When I was growing up it was considered an honor to give up your chair, or your seat on the subway.  It was what grown men did.  It was honorable and considerate.  It was adult.  Now, not so much.  Although when I see it happen these days it catches me by surprise and I make the effort to commend those who do it for its own sake.  I've made sure my sons know it's the right thing to do.  Hopefully they'll pass it on to their sons and a part of the tradition of honor will live on.

I thank you for your post.  As you can see, this isn't the most popular site on the web.  I feel like a lone voice.  It's nice to hear someone else's voice and know it's not just an empty echo.

If you see something in the world that you just know is "good" come back and post it here.  If you do something good, well, good.  Post it.  I loved your story.  God knows we could all use more of them.

Your friend,


Kevin

I looked around, but grew impatient.

I don't see a lot of Acts of good going on yet, so I'll post one that I did because I live in a neighborhood that does not condone such behaviour.

So far we've had a Mini-van stolen, my Mountain bike, the radio out of my truck,  my sons scooter, a skateboard, basketball and a few other smaller items that I don't recall exactly.

I grew up on a Farm in Michigan, but find myself in the unfortuante position of living in an inner-city. I have a wife and two kids, so you do what you can to make ends meet.

This neighborhood is on the fringe of being taken over by families of not so wealthy means. It's all I could afford on a single income. Those days of a middle-class single income seem to be over in these parts.

There is a neighborhood bar, two doors down, and I go there sometimes on the weekends as I enjoy a latertail myself on occasion.


These local partons are mostly of retirement age, and are a friendly lot welcoming me into the neighborhood some Six years ago.

Long story short, there were only two chairs left at the bar one day, and an older couple walked in looking for a place to sit.

One of the chairs was next to me, and the other across the bar.

I noticed their dejected look, and offered my seat so they could sit together, and I moved to the last chair on the other side of the bar.

They were very appreciative, and I even slid back the chair for the Lady to offer her my seat.

I haven't been to Church in many years, and I thought that gloating was in-appropiate?

I know Kevin from another site, so I hope I'm not out of line here.

God bless you all even though I feel like a heathen typing that. 

Oh, I also helped a lady up the street start her car one morning. She drained the battery and I had some jumper cables.

That's about as friendly as it gets here.

Sad I know. Count your blessings.

Thanks, brampton.  I appreciate your reply.

Stephen's had such a rough run of luck, I can't tell you how special it was to see him smile.  It's been a long time for him.

I spoke to his mother and she said she knew a lot of people were/are praying for him.

I like that story. I like the painting of the bike.

When I was in college, back in '82, I had my motorcycle stolen while sitting in a restaurant waiting for a friend to get off work.  It was a Honda CB450, nothing fancy, but it took me everywhere.

My sister, an artist, loved the look of that bike so much she painted a picture of it, which is on the wall in front of me as I write.  That painting later became an album cover for someone near and dear to me.



Fast forward to six years ago.  My neighbor's son, Stephen, came down with a rare form of bone cancer in his right leg.  We had a terrific winter storm the night he underwent surgery and I stayed up until dawn walking the form of the cross through the thigh-high drifts.  It was a "walking prayer".

He stubbornly denied the doctor's recommendation to amputate his leg.  Instead, he set himself to the task of enduring chemotherapy, radiation, occupational, and physical therapy.  It really beat him up.

At about the same time I accidentally came across a CB450 in a school bus depot.  It was lying on its side, disowned for many years.  I asked the bus company's owner what he intended to do with it and he said "it's yours if you haul it out of here," which I did.

The bike sat for months in my garage as I made an attempt to assess the parts needed to revive it.  I'm no mechanic.  Indeed, I do not even know how to solder.  But for some reason it stayed in my garage.

One day, after Stephen had beaten his disease, he came over and sheepishly asked how much I wanted to part with the bike.  He said he was interested in a project during his summer off from Rochester Institute of Technology.  I said, "it's yours if you haul it out of here," which he did.

A month ago, Stephan's fiancé died tragically of toxic shock syndrome.  No other reason for her death was given.  She just died and that was it.  Another bad break.

Today, I was sitting at my desk when I heard a familiar rumble on the street.  It was like a voice from the past.  I looked out the window and saw Stephen atop the bike, with an enormous smile on his face.  I ran out and flagged him down.  "I finally got it running!" he said.  "It's not pretty, the front brake doesn't work, the electric start isn't working, and there's still a bunch of other things I need to do, but it's running!"

I clapped him on the back and we just stood there admiring this beautiful echo of resurrection.  It was a moment I will never forget.

"Do you want to take it for a ride?" he asked.  I dashed into my house, grabbed my helmet and climbed on it.  It was only a short ride but it was nice.  It shifted just the way I remembered, smooth.  The sound was so gentle.

Now it's Stephen's bike, God bless him.

[this story]

Just came across this story about a collegiate softball game in Ellensburg, Washington.

A good lesson in the difference between rules and commandments.

[people]

Those of you who know what hospice care is will appreciate this story and the accompanying slide show.

Those who don't know what hospice care is will also appreciate it.

God bless the hospice care workers and all who provide true dignity to death and the dying person.

We are people, from conception to natural death.