This was in my Facebook memories this week. Jason See, a pastor who grew up "down the road," shared it several years back and I borrowed it from him. And didn't give it back. I'm pretty sure he didn't expect me to.
Because it's one of those things you keep, and yet you give it away, too. And when you give it away, it grows. It reminds me of when you have your second baby and you are scared to death that you'll never be able to love it as much as you did the first one. But you do, and the love just grows exponentially as you go along. Because you give it even when you think you don't have even a little bit left.
But you do.
There are times when it is hard to be cheerful, to be hopeful, to look on the sunny side. But it's probably harder not to. And, when we don't, when we just give over to the gloom and doom and the dark side, we share that just as certainly as we do the good parts.
Sounds awfully simple, and I know it isn't always, but it's just as easy to smile at someone as it is to scowl, almost as easy to say nothing as to say something hurtful--and it's always easier to tell the truth because then you don't have to remember the lie you told.
Our neighborhood lost a friend this week, and he was the kind of guy who knew all about having friends--and being one. Our road is a dimmer place now. Rest in heaven, Bart.
I hope you have a great week, and that you're loved, interesting, and have friends--and that you give back in kind. Like I say every week, be nice to somebody.