Taking A Cab Ride

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” ― Plato

The following story is reprinted from a book by Kent Nerburn, titled Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace: Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of St. Francis.

I found it to be a good story of the human spirit. It does not matter if the story is true or not. What is important to me is the meaning behind it. Each of us can make a difference in the life of another, large or small, it matters.

And now the story ...

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. 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. The 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 eighties 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 knickknacks 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 turned 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 down 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," I responded. 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 the 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.

People may not remember exactly what you did or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.

[Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace: Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of St. Francis, published by Harper San Francisco. by Kent Nerburn]

Stay inspired my friends!

More Cowbell Again

#RepeatWeek

As we head into the weekend I thought you could use a little more cowbell.

"You have to take risks. We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen." - Paulo Coelho

There is a very funny skit from Saturday Night Live called "More Cowbell". Laughing about something so out of place as a cowbell could be the perfect answer for something which is lacking.

I can hear the clanging cowbell as I write.

What I find interesting is something so unexpected can change the whole atmosphere around our lives. Unexpected events which happen can have a surprising and positive effect.

A change in tone, a stranger crossing our path or a different road taken home from work. Each of these while seemingly insignificant can create an unexpected change in our lives.

Maybe it is an oversimplification but even something so unexpected as a cowbell could actually add more to your life.

Embrace what you can by trying something different. Change up the ordinary and see what kinds of opportunity get presented to you.

When life becomes stagnant, shout out for "more cowbell" and see what happens.

Stay inspired my friends!

Help, I'm Drowning Again

#RepeatWeek

I was reminded of this particular post recently when my wife and I decided to take our first Caribbean cruise.

"We experience moments absolutely free from worry. These brief respites are called panic." - Cullen Hightower

Not many years ago, something unexpected happened beyond the planning I had done. It was an event in which your fear gets brought directly to you and has to be faced without fully realizing it was going to happen.

Facing your personal fear when all along you have been trying to avoid it.

My personal fear is one in which I am drowning. The fear of falling into the water, being submerged and never coming back up. It might seem silly to even admit this at my age, but I can not swim. I can not float on the water nor tread water to save my own life. It is a fear which can be overwhelming at times and stems from an incident when I was only seven or eight years old.

As I tell the story, though my brothers would disagree, is we were all at the local pool. I had just started learning to swim albeit not very well. So my parents confined me to the shallow end and my brothers were to keep an eye on me. Again, my brothers were to keep an eye on me.

As I was bouncing about in the pool having a good time, two unknown kids came along through the water. One was swimming near the surface, the other was low in the water. In one quick movement they caused me to fall into the water and there held me down.

It seemed as though I were under water for ten minutes but in all reality was only ten seconds I suppose. Yet it scared the living daylights out of me and became my biggest life long fear. The joke in my family became that I could no longer take a bath for fear of drowning.

Trying to overcome those personal fears.

Over the years I have tried with little success to truly overcome this fear. I can take a bath thank you, but bodies of water, boats still make me nervous. Most times I try to avoid placing myself in situations which could cause me to confront the fear. So to my surprise, this particular weekend challenged me on this front.

My wife and I were at an overnight camping trip for instructors of the C3 Journey program. As we sat around the fire, the conversation turned to a planned kayak on the Chattahoochie River the next morning.

My plan was to actually head back home and do some work around the house. With utmost certainty this was my planned avoidance of the water, but my wife was with me and encouraged me to go down the river.

So on the spur of the moment, it was a decision on my part to say yes. What could go wrong I told myself but inside I was feeling the fear build. So off we went the next day for what everyone was calling a fun afternoon of kayaking; something I had never done before.

No time for fear at this stage, no time to think.

A quick lesson from the outfitter and into the water we went. And as unplanned as it could be, a short distance down the river I tipped over in shallow water and thought "oh geez, here we go." I continued my trek with the others down the river, maneuvering as best I could. I felt better the further we moved down the river and it seemed the fear began to subside.

That is until half way through our journey. Not far ahead of us lay a Class 2 water rapid. Many would consider this nothing, but to an inexperienced paddler and one fearful of water, it might as well have been a Class 6 in my mind.

- As I neared, two fellow kayaks had gotten hung up about ten feet past the drop.
- I was heading straight for them and no other way around.
- I told myself just drop into it and muscle your way to the right and around them.

There is an old saying, "the best laid schemes o' mice an' men" from a novel by John Steinbeck which was never more appropriate. Head first into the first two kayaks and the rushing water spun my boat around and then upside down.

The interesting thing in these (to me) terrifying moments I was first looking around for a panic button right there underneath the water. And secondly, I immediately began grabbing for whatever was nearby as I was caught upside down in my kayak. Lucky for me while unlucky for my friend is that his loose t-shirt was nearby to which I grabbed hold of.

What happens after those fearful moments?

Surprisingly I did not pull him under and soon enough became untangled and regained my upright stature in the turbulent water. All three feet of water that is! In a sudden instant, the panic was replaced by embarrassment as I tried to regain composure. And trying to find my kayak and paddle...rule one, never lose your kayak and paddle.

The rest of the journey was filled with a few more exciting moments but nothing which made me confront my fear of drowning more then the incident just described. I call it the "Damn Rock Rapid Incident."

- I would like to tell you a miracle occurred that day and my fear is completely gone.
- I would like to tell you it is that simple.
- But it isn't, there is still work to do in overcoming fear.

What I can tell you is we need to confront our fears more often.

The only way we ever get over our fears is to face them, over and over again. To avoid and run from the fear will only embolden that fear. We give fear strength over our lives by avoiding it.

By facing the fear, we take away that strength.

Keep facing your fears and eventually we overtake them. I should have learned that long ago, but this kayak trip was my first step. You can also take a step forward and get in the face of your fears. Seek out ways to confront the fear and eventually you will find the fear running from you.

I may have nearly panicked myself into drowning, but I have also panicked my fear into one day leaving me.

Stay inspired my friends!

Single Ember Again

#RepeatWeek

“Abruptly the poker of memory stirs the ashes of recollection and uncovers a forgotten ember, still smoldering down there, still hot, still glowing, still red as red.” - William Manchester

A story was told at a recent meeting I attended. The speaker was Ps Steve Bullen, who along with his wife Simone were pastors at theC3Church - North Atlanta. Ps Steve was speaking to a large group of men about re-igniting their lives.

He told the story of many years ago during a beach-side conference which always held a very large bonfire at conference end.

In the days leading up to the conference, folks involved with putting on the event had built a huge pile of wood and timbers. This was going to be a very large fire for those gathered. But as the conference started, the rains came.

Rain was pouring down for two to three days, through out the week soaking everything including the bonfire wood.

When the final night came, the rains had ceased and everyone was expecting a grand fire. As you would expect, the wood was damp and the days sunshine had not fully dried the wood. So paper, wood brush and lots of matches were consumed trying to get this bonfire started.

Then out of the corner of Steve's eye, he sees someone coming with a large fuel can, gasoline one would expect, letting the liquid fly towards the pile. It was estimated there was most probably two or more gallons of the highly flammable stuff.

To no one's surprise, there were a few small embers from the failed lighting attempts still glowing within the pile.

Now if you have never seen what happens with gasoline; the fumes are flammable and all it takes it a small spark or ember to ignite it completely. An instant solar flare occurs which lit up the entire coastline.

So bright that ships thought it was a light beacon. So intense that...well, you get the picture.

The lesson from this story - all it took was one small ember.

One small spark or ember to change everything. Something so small and singular in purpose we somehow forget that it exists. But it does exist. It exists in each of us, deep inside where we have forgotten it.

That one small flame glows, just waiting for you to throw something on it. To let it ignite your life and explode into something great. Oh yes, it does exist and all it takes is that one small flame. A small touch or a small amount of movement to change your life.

Stay inspired my friends!