Sometimes we are lucky enough, or blessed enough, to be reminded of the lives we touch—those people who have no blood connection to us but who hold us dear for the light we have directed to their path. This morning I was greeted by an email from a guy I haven’t seen in close to ten years. He was barely old enough to vote—or maybe he wasn’t that old—when I hired him as a graphic artist. He is a talented visual artist, and I’ve remembered this morning, a talented musician as well. I remember that like many his age, and especially his temperament, he was somewhat in turmoil over the world, as he saw it—ah, the world weary, young and old. Isn’t that the burden of the artistic, the visionary, the hopeful—to struggle with and against this reality? “You see things and you say, Why? But I dream things that never were; and I say, Why Not?" (George Bernard Shaw, although attributed frequently to Robert Kennedy).
Maybe my young friend’s growing up years, his family, weren’t modeled after those of the 1950s, a period in America that our culture has idealized, in spite of the dysfunction that characterized so much it. I don’t remember many of the details of what he shared with me. What I do remember though is a young, kind-hearted, quick-witted, funny guy who still had a lot to learn and lots of solid ammunition in his arsenal of gifts. And I remember that he had great affection for his family…I’m recalling a mother and sister.
So he has written me this day. He has searched me out, although I am not in hiding. He wanted to tell me he’s happy to hear that I’m living out my dreams, that over the last decade or so he’s thought about me and what I did for him, and most importantly, he wanted to let me know that he is doing well too. The last I knew he had left the job that I helped him land, and later I heard that the circumstances under which he left were a bit conflicted. Frankly, I haven’t thought about him for a long time. Knowing myself, the day I heard the news of his departure, I probably vocalized my puzzlement and sadness over a life in struggle. After all, my life was a struggle. It still is.
I am continually reminded that the challenges we face in life are intended to make us stronger. It is what we do with these challenges that matters. It is that we hope and how we hope; it is that we see our common purpose on this journey. Too often, I lose sight of this. Lately, I am reminded again and again of the light—“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105)—and that part of our job, indeed our purpose, is to direct the light onto the paths of others. What wonder it is to hear out of the blue one morning that we’ve made a difference in the life of someone else, someone with no blood connection, someone for whom we didn’t really have to take that extra step, yet our sense of humanity guided us to do the next right thing.
He said to me on this day, “…so I will leave you with a big e-hug and the kind words of ‘you are a genuine guy, you have made a difference in my life, and you are loved and thought of frequently’. You take care, Harold, my friend.”
Kind Words—Normangee Texas (January 22, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
Maybe my young friend’s growing up years, his family, weren’t modeled after those of the 1950s, a period in America that our culture has idealized, in spite of the dysfunction that characterized so much it. I don’t remember many of the details of what he shared with me. What I do remember though is a young, kind-hearted, quick-witted, funny guy who still had a lot to learn and lots of solid ammunition in his arsenal of gifts. And I remember that he had great affection for his family…I’m recalling a mother and sister.
So he has written me this day. He has searched me out, although I am not in hiding. He wanted to tell me he’s happy to hear that I’m living out my dreams, that over the last decade or so he’s thought about me and what I did for him, and most importantly, he wanted to let me know that he is doing well too. The last I knew he had left the job that I helped him land, and later I heard that the circumstances under which he left were a bit conflicted. Frankly, I haven’t thought about him for a long time. Knowing myself, the day I heard the news of his departure, I probably vocalized my puzzlement and sadness over a life in struggle. After all, my life was a struggle. It still is.
I am continually reminded that the challenges we face in life are intended to make us stronger. It is what we do with these challenges that matters. It is that we hope and how we hope; it is that we see our common purpose on this journey. Too often, I lose sight of this. Lately, I am reminded again and again of the light—“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105)—and that part of our job, indeed our purpose, is to direct the light onto the paths of others. What wonder it is to hear out of the blue one morning that we’ve made a difference in the life of someone else, someone with no blood connection, someone for whom we didn’t really have to take that extra step, yet our sense of humanity guided us to do the next right thing.
He said to me on this day, “…so I will leave you with a big e-hug and the kind words of ‘you are a genuine guy, you have made a difference in my life, and you are loved and thought of frequently’. You take care, Harold, my friend.”
Kind Words—Normangee Texas (January 22, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
1 comment:
Harold,
You should be writing books! I would buy a book if you did so. Your blog is truly saying what I am not able to put into words myself. Almost like you are writing my experiences as well. Thanks,
Lois
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