Saints. This is what you call those who do good deeds above and beyond the norm. “You are a saint!” you say to those who may not go down in the annals of history, but remain marked in your personal story as one who made a difference in a time of need. You can be a saint for others with very little effort. It is not quantity, but quality and timing when it comes to doing that which makes a difference … that which changes lives for the better and may even save a life.
You are so very loved.
Re. Messages of Hope, about April 30, May 1. ’24.
I would suggest that this should be he last time you praised someone for their work then asked how old they are. 75! Clap, clap, clap. Amazing for such an advanced age!
We seasoned women don’t need to be judged that way. We do our work as well as we can. Some of us can function still into our years. We don’t measure our value by dividing our output by our years. It’s distracting and embarrassing to fend off a comment like that. The complements are enough. Had that been me, I would have said something to wiggle out like “29 a few days ago”.
Having later in life felt that spark of gratitude, – for two old ladies who took a shining to me when i was a child, – the feeling flowed; with that spark i found myself digging deeper into what that spark was really about. As a kid, I had often felt like the old girls were kinda getting in my business, often trying to encourage me into certain directions, and varied directions. They were doing this when i had no sense of what “guidance – in the form of them directing me ” meant nor what the meaning of this purpose might be. I didn’t get upset about it because i knew they cared about me. But now, i see they did a lot more than care. They had studied me carefully, looked for my talents, looked for places my talents could be explored, paid for some lessons to see if my mind would carry my interests and talents toward a road.
It didn’t. But they kept trying.
Looking back, i suppose they kinda forgot what it was like to discover the world on your own “terms”, in your own “time”.
Years later, i briefly left Canada to visit Europe. It was a bitterly cold November day when walking to a post office in a European village. . I felt someone coming up being me so turned to look. No one there? … but nor had i heard the snow squeak under footsteps. Must be imaging things… humph.
But no… i felt a sudden pressure enter my back, then a warmth of great pleasantness, then it came out of my chest and raised above me, up, off to my left and a voice, that was well ingrained in my memory, simply said my name, …spoken with such profound Love, that i could barely respond. And i called out loud, “Margaret???” as if i needed to ask if that was her.
After months I returned to Canada and was reminiscing with mum in the kitchen, saying, “gee, i gotta go see Margaret and Ada soon. (And told mum about my walk to the post office. A tear came to mum’s eye. “Mare, Margaret died in November… Had no one told you?” No… but somehow, she found me, in a tiny European village…and stop by to send her Love.
I wish i could tell you about the gratitude. I can’t. Its too big for words.
It’s got to do with you reading this though.