“My dad has bees.
Today, I went to his house, and he showed me all of the honey he had gotten from the hives.
He took the lid off of a 5-gallon bucket full of honey, and on top of the honey there were three little bees, struggling. They were covered in sticky honey and drowning.
I asked him if we could help them, and he said he was sure they wouldn’t survive. Casualties of honey collection, I suppose. I asked him again if we could at least get them out and kill them quickly; after all, he was the one who taught me to put a suffering animal (or bug) out of its misery.
He finally conceded and scooped the bees out of the bucket. He put them in an empty Chobani yogurt container and put the plastic container outside. Because he had disrupted the hive with the earlier honey collection, bees were flying around outside. We put the three little bees in the container on a bench and left them to their fate.
My dad called me a little later to show me what was happening.
These three little bees were surrounded by all of their sisters (all of the bees are females), and they were cleaning the sticky, nearly dead bees, helping them get all the honey off their bodies.
We came back a short time later, and only one little bee was left in the container. She was still being tended to by her sisters.
When it was time for me to leave, we checked one last time. All three of the bees had been cleaned off enough to fly away, and the container was empty.
Those three little bees lived because they were surrounded by family and friends who would not give up on them, family and friends who refused to let them drown in their own stickiness and resolved to help until the last little bee could be set free.
Bee Sisters. Bee Peers. Bee Teammates.
We could all learn a thing or two from these bees.
Bee kind always.
I did not write this, but I love it.
I have not found the source – it is shared all over the internet. If you do, please let me know.
I sat at the table, frowning down at the pumpkin left on my plate.
“I don’t like pumpkin,” I growled.
“Oh, eat it up darling”, my mother said. “Be grateful you have food on your plate. There are children dying of starvation in Biafra.”
To me, it meant nothing. What did starving children in Biafra have to do with me – or pumpkin? All I felt was frustration from my mother, and revulsion for the pumpkin.
Needless to say I didn’t eat the pumpkin. I suspect I missed out on dessert because of it, but there is no memory of that, just the incomprehensible logic and the negative emotions. Gratitude was a duty without reward or pleasure – not something to take on easily, and not with any positive feeling.
And then there was the teacher in early high school, frustrated with a class she could not control. “I’ve just spent 30 minutes explaining this to you,” she said. “You need to be grateful for what I give you. It will help you pass the exams.”
Exams were a good 3 months away, so there was no urgency, and the boys determined to make her life a misery, continued disrupting.
Again, not the best behaviour management, at a time when most of us were feeling unstable with the awkward situation and the gratitude was presented as a threat.
Onward to this decade of my life, and I have read much as I entered the work of being the best I can be.
“Gratitude” is proclaimed. “Practice gratitude daily.”
“Um, no'” I thought, resistance coming up fiercely. Too much negativity rose in me and I could not see how that was going to be a peaceful, positive practice.
Like many of us I guess I need to be down to do the work.
So there was a time I was, down, that is; waking up in the morning, with no desire to get up, no motivation, and feeling lost and lonely and bereft.
Perhaps “midlife crisis” maybe even “existential crisis” is the appropriate label.
It was certainly a time to renew, reset and dissolve some mindsets, beliefs and ways of being that no longer served, and it has been a long road of untangling the issues, of using story as much as possible because it works for me
and finally I have found that gratitude is one of the answers.
(After the answers story gave me, the next was to just put my feet on the floor without any motivation and then take the next step – when it comes to getting out of bed – thank you to a beautiful lived experience speaker I heard years ago – your message stuck, Ben!)
Deliberately using gratitude also came because I had to try something, anything – and it finally worked as I found my own way into the practice.
I think that particular history explains why this video that came with Thanksgiving Day this year touched my heart.
Whatever you may think of this comedian, wait through his humour and watch the story …
The feeling, the positive emotion of being together in a new country, of having taken an opportunity and acted on it adds so much to the change of positivity around thankfulness. Add in the physical human connection of belonging and the homely, safe dinner table, and the circumstances are right for “Thanks” to take on its true meaning.
It is uplifting and positive and I have found the same for myself – adding in positive emotion, visualisation and physical production of safety and connection with others, or even one other.
And suddenly, inexplicably though so many in my reading promised it, I have easier relationships, more hope and resilience.
Thanks!
……………………………….
What’s gratitude got to do with your life? Please share in the comments below if you have a moment.
I saw this gentleman, Tim, in Boston’s Logan airport with the sister he’d been visiting. It appeared he was both deaf and blind, as I observed her signing into his hand for him to feel her words.
When he came aboard the plane he had been assigned the middle seat of my row. The kind gentleman who had the aisle seat graciously gave it up for him.
At this point Tim was traveling alone. The flight attendants sincerely wanted to assist him, but had no way to communicate. I watched as they didn’t flinch when he reached out to touch their faces and arms. They took his hand and tried so hard to communicate with him, to no avail. He had some verbal ability, but clearly could not understand them.
The man who had given up his seat did his best to assist him with things like opening coffee creamer and putting it in his coffee. When Tim made the attempt to stand up and feel his way to the restroom, his seat mate immediately was up to help him.
The flight attendants were talking among themselves and someone suggested paging to see if anyone on board knew sign language. That’s when this lovely young woman came into the picture. 15 years old, she learned ASL because she had dyslexia and it was the easiest foreign language for her to learn.
For the rest of the flight she attended to Tim and made sure his needs were met.
Photo by Stanford Adelstein
It was fascinating to watch as she signed one letter at a time into his hand. He was able to ‘read’ her signing and they carried on an animated conversation. When he asked her if she was pretty, she blushed and laughed as the seat mate, who had learned a few signs, communicated an enthusiastic yes to Tim.
I don’t know when I’ve ever seen so many people rally to take care of another human being. All of us in the immediate rows were laughing and smiling and enjoying his obvious delight in having someone to talk to.
Huge kudos to the flight attendants of Alaska Airlines who went above and beyond to meet Tim’s needs.
I can’t say enough about this beautiful young woman named Clara who didn’t think twice about helping her fellow passenger. It was a beautiful reminder, in this time of too much awfulness, that there are still good, good people who are willing to look out for each other.
Credit: Lynette Scribner
The telephone rang. It was a call from his mother. He answered it and his mother told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.”
Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
“Jack, did you hear me?”
“Oh, sorry, Mum. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.
“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.
“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.
“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.
“He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important. Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time. Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered.
Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture…Jack stopped suddenly…
“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mum asked.
“The box is gone,” he said.
“What box?” Mum asked.
“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most,'” Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said.
“I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. “Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,” the note read.
Early the next day Jack went to the post office and retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.
“Mr. Harold Belser” it read.
Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside.
“Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It’s the thing I valued most in my life.” A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filled his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.
Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: “Jack, Thanks for your time! — Harold Belser.”
“The thing he valued most was my time!”
Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.*
“Why?” Janet, his assistant asked.
I need some time to spend with the people I love and say I care for,” he said. “Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!”
“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away.”….
*”Thanks for your time.”*
~ Author unknown ~
I saw this gentleman, Tim, in Boston’s Logan airport with the sister he’d been visiting. It appeared he was both deaf and blind, as I observed her signing into his hand for him to feel her words.
When he came aboard the plane he had been assigned the middle seat of my row. The kind gentleman who had the aisle seat graciously gave it up for him.
At this point Tim was traveling alone. The flight attendants sincerely wanted to assist him, but had no way to communicate. I watched as they didn’t flinch when he reached out to touch their faces and arms. They took his hand and tried so hard to communicate with him, to no avail. He had some verbal ability, but clearly could not understand them.
The man who had given up his seat did his best to assist him with things like opening coffee creamer and putting it in his coffee. When Tim made the attempt to stand up and feel his way to the restroom, his seat mate immediately was up to help him.
The flight attendants were talking among themselves and someone suggested paging to see if anyone on board knew sign language. That’s when this lovely young woman came into the picture. 15 years old, she learned ASL because she had dyslexia and it was the easiest foreign language for her to learn.
Photo by Stanford Adelstein
For the rest of the flight she attended to Tim and made sure his needs were met. It was fascinating to watch as she signed one letter at a time into his hand. He was able to ‘read’ her signing and they carried on an animated conversation. When he asked her if she was pretty, she blushed and laughed as the seat mate, who had learned a few signs, communicated an enthusiastic yes to Tim.
I can’t say enough about this beautiful young woman named Clara who didn’t think twice about helping her fellow passenger. It was a beautiful reminder, in this time of too much awfulness, that there are still good, good people who are willing to look out for each other.
Credit: Lynette Scribner
I don’t know when I’ve ever seen so many people rally to take care of another human being. All of us in the immediate rows were laughing and smiling and enjoying his obvious delight in having someone to talk to.
I can’t say enough about this beautiful young woman named Clara who didn’t think twice about helping her fellow passenger. It was a beautiful reminder, in this time of too much awfulness, that there are still good, good people who are willing to look out for each other.
Credit: Lynette Scribner
I don’t know when I’ve ever seen so many people rally to take care of another human being. All of us in the immediate rows were laughing and smiling and enjoying his obvious delight in having someone to talk to.
I can’t say enough about this beautiful young woman named Clara who didn’t think twice about helping her fellow passenger. It was a beautiful reminder, in this time of too much awfulness, that there are still good, good people who are willing to look out for each other.
Credit: Lynette Scribner
And there he is without a sound – his voice, his emotions
in a story we know so well from a heart and soul space.
Beautiful!
and beautifully done.
Thanks to Jesse Itzler for this story.
Years ago I bought into a horse with a bunch of friends. It was a one time thing we did strictly for fun. TB was part of the group. We named the horse “GUTS”.
Anyway, the horse came in 2nd in it’s first 3 races (which is absolutely AMAZING) and we were convinced we had something special.
Right after the next race, I called TB to give him the results from the track. I said “Great news….Guts came in second again”. The phone went silent.
Finally, after a long break Tom said “This is terrible”
I said “Terrible? There were like 10 other quality horses and we came in second”.
Brady said “Jesse, this horse needs to understand what it’s like to win”.
I said Tom…it’s a horse.
He said…”it doesn’t matter what it is.”
I love this story from Katharine Hepburn’s childhood; in her own words.
“Once when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus.
Finally, there was only one other family between us and the ticket counter. This family made a big impression on me.
There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. The way they were dressed, you could tell they didn’t have a lot of money, but their clothes were neat and clean.
The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by-two behind their parents, holding hands. They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, animals, and all the acts they would be seeing that night. By their excitement you could sense they had never been to the circus before. It would be a highlight of their lives.
The father and mother were at the head of the pack standing proud as could be. The mother was holding her husband’s hand, looking up at him as if to say, “You’re my knight in shining armor.” He was smiling and enjoying seeing his family happy.
The ticket lady asked the man how many tickets he wanted? He proudly responded, “I’d like to buy eight children’s tickets and two adult tickets, so I can take my family to the circus.” The ticket lady stated the price.
The man’s wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, the man’s lip began to quiver. Then he leaned a little closer and asked, “How much did you say?” The ticket lady again stated the price.
The man didn’t have enough money. How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn’t have enough money to take them to the circus?
Seeing what was going on, my dad reached into his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill, and then dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!) My father bent down, picked up the $20 bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket.”
The man understood what was going on. He wasn’t begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking and embarrassing situation.
He looked straight into my dad’s eyes, took my dad’s hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear streaming down his cheek, he replied; “Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family.”
My father and I went back to our car and drove home. The $20 that my dad gave away is what we were going to buy our own tickets with.
Although we didn’t get to see the circus that night, we both felt a joy inside us that was far greater than seeing the circus could ever provide.
That day I learnt the value to Give.
The Giver is bigger than the Receiver. If you want to be large, larger than life, learn to Give.
Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get – only with what you are expecting to give – which is everything.
The importance of giving, blessing others can never be over emphasized because there’s always joy in giving. Learn to make someone happy by acts of giving.”
~ Katharine Hepburn
Listen to this story! (from Roi Gal Or)
Two people once discovered honey dripping down the trunk of a tree.
One of them climbed up the tree, broke small pieces of the honeycomb, and then threw them down to his friend.
The man standing on the ground suddenly spotted a snake climbing quickly up the trunk and into the lower part of the honeycomb just as his friend placed his hand in it. The man on the tree felt a strong sharp pain in his finger but then continued throwing the pieces and eventually they both left the place.
A year later the two friends met again in a party and the one who was remained on the ground asked his friend: “Do you remember that day we found the wild honey on a tree about a year ago?”
The friend smiled and said: ” Of course I do, I still feel the sweetness of that honey on my tongue today… ”
“Well, do you remember by any chance feeling like something had bitten you while you were up there? ” asked the first
“I do,” said the other, “It was a painful one, it must have been a big wasp or something… ”
-“No, it wasn’t a wasp. It was a Snake.”
“What… are you serious? A Snake !!!” said the man who once climbed up the tree with terror, and at that moment he collapsed on the ground. Dead.
Now, dear friends, Answer me this question.
What killed him?