Stealing Time

I stole time yesterday to take a walk and enjoy the unseasonably warm January weather.

Just as I was exiting the park, I noticed a man with his son; a young boy I estimated to be four or five years old.  They were lying on their backs, both with their hands clasped behind their heads and both of them staring up at sky. The young boy was wearing his father's baseball cap.

It was a quiet and tender moment and, though I could not make out what the two were saying, I imagined dad was passing along one of the many life lessons he hopes to impart on his son before becoming a man.

The scene shined and I couldn't help but smile at the simplicity and beauty of that moment.

Unable to resist, I called out to the father and pointed saying, "I wish I had a camera. That's the best."

He smiled back and then I was gone.

It's Friday and I am wondering if each of us could steal some time for an interaction as special as the one I saw yesterday.

Shining off until... 

Here's To You, Ruby

I have been avoiding a follow-up post to an entry I wote a few weeks ago, titled This Old House. It was the sad story of a house that fell into disrepair and the old couple that suddenly moved out.

Less than ten days after writing that post, the house sold and since then there has been a steady stream of trucks and construction workers parked outside.

The truth is, I avoided following-up because I didn't think the story line was all that shiny. It felt cold and harsh.

Life marches on.

One day you're in, the next day you're out.

Out with the old, in with the new....

And then on Tuesday, January 24, Ruby - a family friend - died. And because of Ruby my entire perspective on that old house changed.

Ruby was almost 95 and she lived the kind of life most of us can only dream about.

She was smart, funny, fiesty, and so intent on living life fully that she advocated for herself and her medical care up until the very end.

Like the old house, it is true that one day Ruby was here and now, suddenly, she is gone. It's also true that, while the sadness of her family and friends is profound, life does march on.

But here's what else is true: While Ruby's passing has left a lingering void in my heart and mind, the sadness is competing for space with happier, more uplifting, feelings.  I feel truly in awe of the full, rich life Ruby lived and I feel inspired and motivated to do it half as well as she did. She left a legacy of stories, friends, memories, and enough love to carry those she left behind until they meet again.

The same can be said for that old house.

I like to think of that old house as the backdrop for countless stories, the gathering place for friends and family, the cozy set for cherished memories, and a place where the love for their children could be nurtured. In a sense, it was the vessel through which one family's life story could be told and now it is time for another family to move in and create something new.

So instead of looking back and being sad, we will celebrate that old house for the memories it has left behind and the memories it will host in the future. We will do it in the same way we celebrate the memories Ruby has left behind and all the ways her story will inspire us in the future.

Here's to you, Ruby. May 22, 1917 - January 24, 2012. 

Motive

"All great things are done for their own sake."   - Robert Frost

That was my "aha" on Thursday afternoon when I finally deposited my letter of hope behind the telephone poll in Grapevine, Texas: the same place where I found the letter of hopelessness months earlier.

Before writing the letter I wondered if I should use my note to explain what I was doing and that I was writing on behalf of the House of Shine. You know, a small plug for me and the community that we've created.

And then I thought maybe I would just sign it from someone at www.houseofshine.com.

Or maybe place a Shine sticker on the outside of my yellow envelope.

Or even more mysteriously a sticker reading, The Yellow Envelope Project.

Somewhere along the line I decided against all of it.

Almost instantaneously I realized this letter was not about the House of Shine or about tracing the note back to me in order to make me look good. It wasn't about gaining exposure or accolades or increasing readership or "getting discovered".

It was about lifting someone else up, just because it was a nice thing to do and because it made me feel good. I decided quickly that even the slightest trace of self-promotion would have cheapened the entire gesture.

Pure motives. Nothing ulterior. No ego.

There was something freeing - even exhilirating  - about knowing that I was writing that letter for its own sake and nothing else.

"All great things are done for their own sake." - Robert Frost

Shining off until...