Leaving Great Legacies

Steve Goodier

Edwin Hubbel Chapin once said, “Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.” That is the definition of a legacy. Wouldn't you love to do something that might strike a beautiful chord that will “vibrate in eternity?”

I've discovered this about legacies—generous people leave great legacies. I read about a couple in Canada who stopped to help a motorist who had run out of gasoline. It was a regular occurrence in their part of rural Canada. After they got him on his way, they bought a new fuel can, scratched their initials on it, filled it with petrol and stored it in the trunk of their car.

A few months later they again stopped to assist a stranded motorist. But this time they GAVE him their gas can and told him to fill it up, keep it with him and pass it along to the next motorist he sees who has run out of fuel.

Though they never expected to see their can again, in a couple of years they spotted it being passed along to a grateful motorist on the road. They recognized it several more times over the years, and each time they asked its owner where it had come from. They ascertained that the can had traveled across the continent at least two times!

They never intended to leave a legacy. When they bought the fuel can they never dreamed that their action might strike chords that could vibrate in eternity. But that container is probably still traveling across Canada in the back of somebody's vehicle!

I wonder how many stranded motorists have been rescued by the generosity of complete strangers who stopped to help? And how many have then taken the container, re-filled it, and finally passed it along to some other poor soul? Good will generated by a humble can of fuel has no doubt been multiplied many times in countless ways, striking beautiful chords that vibrate forever.

It's true—generous people leave great legacies. Even that small piece of yourself you freely give away may thrive in surprising ways throughout eternity.

I consciously choose joy—again and again.

René Gaudette with Maggie McGuffin-Gaudette

Have you ever seen an individual who chooses everything consciously? There isn't a happier individual. Why? Because they choose everything, and they know they choose everything. They choose the drink they're going to have for breakfast, what they're going to eat, how their body is going to feel. They choose the clothes they're going to wear; in fact, they even choose the underwear they wear. They choose the make-up, the hair, the style, the color; they choose the car; they choose the job; they choose the environment; they choose their friends; they choose their relationships; they choose the circumstances of their existence. And as a result, they are joyful and they manifest it.

And when the choice brings sorrow and pain, they are joyful at recognizing that they have brought to their consciousness an awareness of a choice made unconsciously and subconsciously. As a result, they can expand that existence by then moving that choice to the conscious perspective. And they choose to do so; and again more joy expands their existence.

Your existence is the same. You can spend your time making one choice and letting the rest remain in a subconscious and unconscious perspective— or you can begin to make choices consciously, recognizing that every time you choose, you do so out of joy, and therefore that joy manifests itself in your existence. The more you choose consciously, the more conscious joy you bring to your existence, the more conscious expansion you bring to your existence.

Secret Santa

©2007 Kathleene S. Baker

The man had just filled his car with gas; he was cold, wet, and ready to head for home. He opened his car door and bent down to climb inside.

“Sir, sir.”

He glanced in the direction of the frail voice to find a well-dressed, elderly lady attempting to get his attention.

He closed the car door and walked towards her. “Can I help you, ma'am?”

The older woman explained that the gas pump was not working properly, and asked if he knew what she was doing wrong.

“These are new pumps and very touchy—even for me. I've found the easiest thing to do is forget locking them while I fill; they keep shutting off for some reason.”

“Oh my! I can't keep pressure on that handle until my tank is full. My hands don't have much strength in them anymore.” She cast her blue eyes to the ground in frustration.

“I'd be honored to fill your tank for you!” The man's Texas accent was gentle and he gave her a little wink. “By the way, I love your British accent.”

“Yes, a British accent in Texas...people always notice!” She smiled. “We just came to the States a few years ago. That's my husband in the car.” She paused for a moment, “He has Alzheimer's now.”

“I'm so very sorry...for both of you.” After a slight lull the gentleman continued. “Why don't you get back in the car while I do this; the snow is picking up and you're going to get wet.”

She was a lovely woman with snowy-white hair; her attire was prim and proper as one would expect from a Brit. “I'd rather visit if you don't mind. Our son is out of town for Christmas; he's with his wife's family this year and I'm feeling a bit blue.”

A knot formed in the Texan's throat as he hoped to change the subject. “Just what are the two of you doing out in this weather? I hope your drive home is a short one. You know these Texas drivers aren't the best when it comes to snow and sleet,” he teased.

“We're on our way home from a Christmas party. The medical center has one each year for the Alzheimer patients. They are rather like children's parties—and they have Santa visit. Oftentimes patients will have moments they recall things from their past. Some sing along to Christmas carols when they haven't carried on an actual conversation in quite a long while.”

“Did anyone recognize Santa today?”

“Oh yes, my husband recognized Santa and tried to steal his hat! He even said, 'Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas.' His recollection was rather brief but it was the highlight of my day.” She grinned.

The gas pump clicked off, the woman swiped her credit card to make payment, and turned to thank the man who had been willing to help her. The two were saying their farewells when the squeal of brakes, a thud, and breaking glass at the intersection caught their attention.

“Oh, my!” The lady whimpered with a distressed expression. “It's getting so slick. I've got to hurry and get home.”

“Ma'am, I'd be honored to follow you in case you have problems.”

She hesitated momentarily and then appeared relieved, “Oh, I'd be so grateful. I can't thank you enough. And by the way, my name is Margaret.” She reached out to shake hands with her new friend.

“Margaret, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Ray.” He patted her hand gently before they released their grasp. “You just drive slowly; I'll be right behind you.”

When Margaret pulled into her garage Ray stopped curbside. “I just want to be sure you get inside safely,” he shouted.

Margaret waved and asked him to wait for a moment, then nodded and spoke to her neighbor hanging Christmas lights. She guided John into the house, quickly reappeared in the garage, and motioned for Ray to pull into the driveway.

She thanked Ray again and soon mentioned this being the first Christmas she and her husband had ever spent alone. Ray, always a soft touch for older folks, was happy to listen. She spoke fondly of traditions her family adhered to when she was a child in England and revealed an interesting glimpse into her past…plus a taste of her cherished memories from across the pond.

“You know mistletoe is very traditional in England. My first ‘real’ kiss was under the mistletoe when I was a teenager. Oh, what memories I have.” For a split second, Margaret looked like a young girl again.

Several minutes passed before Margaret began to shiver and they were forced to say farewell.

----

Christmas morn found Margaret peeking out her front door just as the sun crested the horizon. She stepped outside, instantly clasped her hands like a small child, and peered up and down the street. With not a soul in sight she began to examine the items discovered on her porch…each one dredged up memories of years gone by in Merry Old England.

Just above her head hung an arrangement of mistletoe adorned with elegant lace; she touched it gently. Bedecked with Victorian ornaments, a small, lighted Christmas tree sat in the corner—beneath it a homemade mincemeat pie wrapped securely and tied with golden ribbon. The card attached said only, “From: Santa.” Hanging from the doorknob a brilliant red Santa Claus hat with tag, “To: John.”

Margaret called to John; he slowly made his way and stepped outside. Nothing on the porch sparked his interest until Margaret placed the Santa hat in his hands. After staring at it and stroking the velvety softness, he plopped it onto his head. It sat askew but John's face beamed as his voice rang out across the neighborhood, “Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho!”

Parked several houses away, a Secret Texas Santa sniffed and wiped at a lone tear…a happy tear. “Merry Christmas and God Bless.” He smiled and drove towards home.

How Could You?

©2001 Jim Willis

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you'd shake your finger at me and ask, “How could you?”—but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.

We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a “dog person”—still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.

Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a prisoner of love.” As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch—because your touch was now so infrequent—and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject.

I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said, “I know you will find a good home for her.” They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with “papers.” You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!” And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, “How could you?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind—that this was all a bad dream...Or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room.

A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.

As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, “How could you?”

Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said “I'm so sorry.”

She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself—a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my, “How could you?” was not directed at her.

It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

A Note from the Author:

If “How Could You?” brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly “owned” pets who die each year in American & Canadian animal shelters. Please use this to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.

Please pass this on to everyone, not to hurt them or make them sad, but it could save maybe, even one, unwanted pet.

Remember...They love UNCONDITIONALLY.

I Am In All Places (Metaphysical Meditations)

Paramahansa Yogananda

I am beholding through the eyes of all. I am working through all hands. I am walking through all feet. The brown, white, olive, yellow, red, and black bodies are all mine.

I am thinking with the minds of all, I am dreaming through all dreams, I am feeling through all feelings. The flowers of joy blooming on all heart-tracks are mine.

I am eternal laughter. My smiles are dancing through all faces. I am the waves of enthusiasm in all God-tuned hearts.

I am the wind of wisdom that dries the sighs and sorrows of all humanity. I am the silent joy of life moving through all beings.

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