Do you sometimes wish you could do more to "Make a Difference?" Are you at a loss as to where to begin, what to do? Join me here for some inspiration and living examples of what you can do to make a difference in the lives of those around you.
There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with cookies and a six-pack of root beer, and he started his journey. When he had gone a few blocks from home, he met an old man. He was sitting in the park near the water, just staring at some birds.
The boy sat down next to him and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer, when he noticed that the old man looked hungry, so he offered him a cookie. The old man gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. His smile was so incredible that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered him a root beer. Once again, he smiled at him. The boy was delighted! They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but
they never said a word. As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was, and he got up to leave. But before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, and ran back to the old man, and gave him a hug. The old man gave him his biggest smile ever.
When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked her son,
"What did you do today that made you so happy?" The child replied: “I had lunch with God.” But before his mother could respond, he added,
"You know what? He’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen!”
Meanwhile, the old man, also radiant with joy, returned to his home. His son was stunned by the look of peace on his face and asked,
“Dad, what did you do today that made you so happy?”
He replied,
“I ate cookies in the park with God.”
But before his son responded he added,
“You know, He’s much younger than I expected.”
Drawing by Nico, thanks to Children's Hospital Boston
Don't think that you have to be in an exotic country half way around the world, where the "natives" walk around barefoot in order to help and make a difference. There are so many ways to reach out to others where ever you are.
Although I have lived in third world countries with primitive conditions where I did my best to make a difference, now I live in England, where I still do my bit to make a difference in the lives that cross my path. It's not impossible!
The other day I volunteered my services as a face painter for the Fun Day party for a charity that I help with. When I arrived I was surprised at how many children were there. The organizers told me that they also were surprised at how many showed up! As soon as I was set up and ready to go, I had a queue of children wanting their faces painted so I got to work.
The event was taking place on a estate in a rough and deprived part of town and I quickly realized that probably most of these kids don't often get the chance to have their faces painted due to economical reasons and it was a real high point for them to get it done. Some of them were a bit "rough" and didn't have the best of manners. But, hey, having raised 5 boys myself, and having a lot of experience taking charge over rowdy boys in the classroom, I was enjoying their spirit and enthusiasm, even if they were shaking the table :"Hey, stop shaking the table--it feels like an earthquake!"
Two brothers who left a mark on my heart came a bit late and wouldn't leave my side, afraid to miss their turn, talking every minute. Have you ever tried to paint someone while a 7 year old is tugging at your sleeve to get your attention? Finally it was his turn and he then said, "I'll let my brother go before me, since he's younger than me". When his younger brother sat down, the older sibling said to me: "I'll help you by holding his head" and he then proceeded to clamp the head of his brother in a vice like grip. It looked so funny and it actually was a bit difficult to paint the poor little guy that way, who meekly complied. Finally it was his turn and before I knew it, I was packing up and all the kids were gone.
The other organizers were asking me if I was tired as it was none stop, but I could truly say that I wasn't. Truth was, it was an inspiration to me to be able to help in this way. It wasn't only the kids that were happy, but the parents too, many of whom would never normally be able to make their kids happy in this way. My reward was not only the resultant happiness of the children after they were transformed into a butterfly or tiger, but the interaction with them and the reminder of the innocence of children and the simplicity of spirit they possess and the easy way they express love and appreciation. This expression of innocence from them was especially touching for me knowing that many of them faced difficult challenges at home and their life ahead would not be a bed of roses!
No one handed me a pay envelope at the end of the day, but a little boy with special needs (there were several of them there) handed me an envelope with his scribbles on it, as a token of his appreciation. It was enough.
I would like to direct your attention to some associates of mine who have a Charity in Japan whose main purpose is disaster relief.
Here is what he says:
"This is Josh DeSantis, from Mt. Rokko, in Kobe, Japan. I would like to introduce you to our appeal to aid the victims of the Great Eastern Japan Earthquake. I am one of the Chairpersons for a nationally registered NPO, Hiyaku28. One of our objectives as an NPO is aiding in disaster relief. We have opened a new project called: HELP JAPAN 2011 We have set up a website: www.helpjapan2011.net Our particular target is to aid in the PTDS (post-Traumatic Distress Syndrome), meaning visiting those who have been left homeless in temporary housing facilities, those who have lost loved ones and those whose livelihood has been affected by this disaster. The Japanese government is much better prepared to handle the immediate crisis than in the past. The search and rescue operations are ongoing and it seems the National Defense Force and Police and other relief organizations – who are trained for such things – are doing their best at this time It is the aftermath of the initial crisis that we are focusing on. The Kokoro-no-Care, (literally - Heart Care) that will be needed for the weeks and months after the initial crisis. We expect that there will be many people who would like to help in some way – either as volunteers, or with a donation to aid volunteers, etc.. We have already begun to receive phone calls and emails from people in Japan and worldwide, asking how they can help. We would like to ask if you could assist us in broadcasting our website and our program to anyone you know"
Please look at their website and help out in any way you can!
Five brothers, one truck, and me; it was quite a dilemma in my young mind. I was the eldest child in a family of six children, with five boisterous brothers at my heels. My parents, now deceased and gone on to their heavenly reward, bless their souls, were godly and raised us in a home filled with laughter, love, and prayer. Money, however, was often short. Ever since I can remember, principles like sharing, faith, trust in God, and giving were often-practiced virtues. “All too well-worn,” I often brooded to myself. As if having a large family and a low income weren’t enough, my parents made a habit of helping other less fortunate families.
Back to my dilemma … Christmas rolled around too soon that year. Times were difficult, and Dad and Mom hadn’t been able to set aside much money toward the yearly treat of colors and lights and special desires fulfilled. We had a nice pine tree, which Dad and the boys had chopped down and brought home. We had food, our home was warm, and we had health, but there was no money for gifts, or at least not enough for all six of us children.
One day, coming home from work, Dad had spotted a beautiful shiny red wooden truck on sale. It was just right for the boys, a gift they could enjoy together. He could probably scrape together enough money to pay for it, but he certainly wouldn’t have any money left to afford a doll or any other girly gift for me. So that was how I came to be presented with my dilemma. Dad and Mom left the choice up to me. They wanted to give me a gift, and if I would agree to let what money they had go toward giving the boys this gift, they would save up to get me something later. They knew it would be disappointing for me to have no gift on Christmas Day. I’m sure under normal circumstances they wouldn’t have asked it of me, but I think they must have seen this dilemma as an opportunity to teach me about the joy of giving.
Somehow, in spite of a few sad tears, I mustered up the courage to tell them to get the truck for the five boys. When Christmas Day arrived and I saw the joy on my brothers’ faces as the truck zoomed back and forth, chased and pushed and cuddled, I realized that I had been given the best gift—a chance to make my siblings happy.
As the years passed, though, I grew weary of all the sacrifice and slowly forgot the joy I had experienced that Christmas morning long ago. As I grew into adulthood I lost sight of the value of my parents’ happy, sacrificial giving that went beyond what I thought should be expected of them or what I thought was fair. It took a special experience in my life to fully understand this priceless lesson.
By the time I was out of high school and had begun working, I was weary of the thought of living in meager circumstances. I determined to build a comfortable life for myself and to worry about my own needs instead of the needs of others.
Before I knew it, I was raising two children of my own. My husband held a steady job and we lived in a small but cozy home. I was frantically learning the art of juggling meals, caring for crying toddlers, cleaning up spills and broken glass, and nursing bumps and bangs. My little boys were my pride and joy, and I was determined to give them everything they needed.
I didn’t forget my Christian upbringing entirely. I did have faith in God. I prayed and read the Bible, and tried to be a good Christian example as my parents had been, yet I was determined that my needs and my family’s needs must be my main concern. Once we had what we needed, then I would worry about caring for others. If we had extra, I would definitely share that, but not to our own hurt. I took clothes and toys that the boys had outgrown and gave them to poor families. I knew in my heart that there was more I could do; maybe there was more that God wanted from me, but I wasn’t ready to go that far. I didn’t want to give that much. I was afraid of the hurt. I was forgetting the joys. I was forgetting the fact that I had never lacked for anything important while I was growing up. God had always cared for us, and always provided enough. Little did I know that Christmas that year would hold some valuable lessons for me and for my family.
As the days of summer faded, so did my plans for prosperity and financial security. My husband was let go from the job where he’d worked for nine years. His company was downsizing, and in one short day our lives began to swerve out of our control. Our savings would tide us over for two to three months, but if he couldn’t find a good job by then, we would be in a tough spot.
My upbringing had honed my skills of living with less. This almost instinctive reaction immediately kicked in. I began to reduce spending and guard every bit of our precious reserves. I was determined to make the money last as long as possible so that my husband wouldn’t feel too much pressure. Every day he went out to look for work. Some days he got temp jobs that helped to extend our lifeline inch by inch, but the hope of prosperity was slowly slipping from our grasp. We tried not to despair, we tried to pray and remember our faith, but slowly the days drained our finances. My boys were three and five years old, so I couldn’t get a job myself.
Whenever I was met by a need or request from others, I would shake my head sadly, telling myself that if we were better off, I’d gladly help. The once familiar concept from my youth that “you can never outgive God” was long forgotten.
Five brothers, one truck, and me; it had been quite a dilemma in my young mind.
Christmas was just around the corner when a knock on the door brought back those long-forgotten memories. My youngest brother had come to visit and brought my boys a gift he had dug out of the attic of our parents’ home where he still lived: the once shiny red truck. My mind was flooded with memories of that Christmas: the tears and the smiles and the warm feeling of deep contentment that I now realized I hadn’t felt in a long time. My brother sported a toothy grin as he handed the well-worn truck to my eldest. “Robbie, this truck brought your five uncles so much happiness that I thought you might enjoy it too.” Then he hugged me and rushed out, late for work.
My thoughts were still being pulled back to those memories of that Christmas long ago as I drove to the local grocery store later that afternoon to buy what things we’d need for our Christmas dinner.
On the way I passed by the home of the Thomas family. Dave Thomas had worked with my husband and I had met his wife a few times at the local park. Dave had been let go a month earlier than my husband, and they had four small children. He too was looking for work, but his wife was barely holding up. Things had been tough for them, and with four kids they hadn’t been able to save much even when he was working.
I felt bad for them, I really did. But how could I take away from what would be the food for my two sons in order to help them? How could I give them what we needed? It had been three months now since my husband had lost his job, and our savings were nearly gone. Yet, without a doubt the Thomas family was worse off than we were. We could somehow manage to skimp for a few days and help them out. I weighed both sides, with my mind moving swiftly back and forth, trying to decide between my heart and my head. I was in turmoil as I entered the store and distractedly roamed about, trying to decide what to do. My eyes landed on the toy shelves, and I spotted a bright red truck.
Slowly it began to dawn on me that the spirit of giving of that Christmas many years ago had survived the test of time; it was still in my heart. I had a chance to find that contentment once again. I couldn’t shake the memories of that red truck going back and forth, and how it had made everything else feel right inside. I thought of how happy Robbie had been to receive the truck that morning, and here I was, presented once again with the chance to give a little more than I thought was comfortable, to give even though it hurt me personally, and to dip into what I thought I needed.
Somehow, I found the strength to make the right decision, and as I shopped that day, I carefully picked out twice as much as I would have bought for our family. As I arrived at the checkout, it dawned on me that we had only four mouths to feed, but the Thomas family had six. So I slowly moved over some of what I had intended to buy for my own family into the second pile. I paid quickly, not wanting to change my mind. On the way home I stopped just around the corner from the Thomas’ house. I could see Mr. Thomas in the backyard watching the children play, and I could hear his wife humming a hymn in the kitchen as she fixed their supper. Being careful to not be seen, I quietly carried the boxes of food one at a time to the porch, setting them down silently beside the front door. Then, giving a sharp knock, I dashed behind some nearby large bushes where I could peek out but not be seen.
I heard Mrs. Thomas call to her husband to please answer the door, as she was busy. It took a minute, but soon the door opened. There stood the figure of a man. He walked with a slouch, and the lines of despair were visible on his face in the afternoon light. The look turned to shock, then disbelief, and then a smile crept across his face. He bent down, shaking his head slowly as he gathered up the two boxes of food. Then he began looking around to find who had put them there. Finally he turned and hurried back into the house, and I heard a resounding, “Oh, my Lord!” echoing from Mrs. Thomas.
The contentment had returned; it was more than worth the sacrifice. I slipped back to my car and headed home. That night when I prayed, I felt like my prayers were being heard. I felt a contentment in my heart. I felt peace of mind, and I knew without a shadow of doubt that we would be okay.
One week later, my husband came home with the happy announcement that he had found a job. He was overjoyed as he hugged the boys, and then hugged me with tears streaming down his face. I finished preparing dinner, and as we sat down to eat, with the initial excitement now settling, I asked him where he was working and how he had found the job.
He grinned, happy to tell me the story. “Remember Dave Thomas, who used to work with me? He’s married and has four kids. Surely you remember them, Hon.” He paused as he took another bite and waited for me to respond. I nodded, unable to say anything … as my heart began to beat harder.
“Well, he got hired a few days back. They’ve had a rough go, much tougher than us. He told me that last week, he’d reached the point where he couldn’t go on. He started looking for work a whole month before I did. He’d paid his bills and bought the last box of milk he could afford that morning. Then God just dropped them a couple boxes of groceries ‘right outta the sky,’ he says. Imagine that, Hon!”
I could feel tears welling up. I nodded with a feeble smile, and my husband continued. “Well, those groceries gave him a surge of faith and strength. He said he stood there thinking that if God cared enough to do something like that, then He must care enough to give him a job. He recalled a sign he had seen the day before for a new food distributor. He went right out and applied for a job there and was accepted. At his new job a few days later, his boss told him they were still hiring, and he remembered me. He was parked outside our house waiting for me to come out this morning, and took me with him to meet his boss. You know what I kept thinking of as I came home today, Hon? God bless the person who gave them those groceries; unbeknownst to them, they dropped blessings right outta the sky into our lives as well.”
Tears were now streaming down my face. My husband stared at me in bewilderment, not understanding where the tears were coming from. Then he reached out to hold me. “I thought you’d like that story,” he said, his voice trailing off quizzically.
My tears were ones of joy as I realized that you really can never outgive God. When you give even when it hurts, then God has a new opportunity to give you a blessing. It took me a minute before I could bring myself to reply to my husband. “I do, I do. I loved that story. The thing is, Honey, I bought those groceries.”
