Moving Up The Family Tree

As we age, I imagine we move up in the family tree.  As babies, we begin at the root of the family tree with our parents and other family members protecting us as we grow.  As we get older, we begin to branch off as our own limbs on the family tree and when/if we should marry and have children of our own, we develop our own branches off of our family trunk of love.

As the family tree increases, peopled with loving connections, it grows.  New branches and connections are formed to increase the tree’s size.  At mid-life though, something happens.  We begin to be in the middle or higher branches of the tree.  No longer are we one of the younger whipper-snappers, but we are now parents, aunts, uncles, and maybe even grandparents and we rise in the tree.  No longer are we establishing our branches.  We are expanding them with offshoots by our own family increasing in size.

When my father died, I was too grief-stricken to feel the shift that happened.  But I feel it now.  We’ve recently had a cousin of my Dad’s generation pass away.  No longer am I a child, but an adult, and I feel it’s my duty to represent our family limb in the passing of a beloved family member from another of the tree’s offshoots.

I guess it’s the way life progresses, but it was an eye-opening moment for me when I realized that I’m nearing the upper echelon of the tree.  I’m grateful that I’m a part of such a lovely family tree and I’m honored to be a part of the rising branches within our family tree.

Are you feeling that change in the generations too?  I guess as we age or under certain circumstances, we become the older generation, ready to nurture the younger ones as time goes by.  It’s all a part of the cycle of life.

Shine On!

xo

 

What Does It Mean To Be Exceptional?

Exceptional is one of those adjectives which cause us to take note of their loving inner beauty and their bright shiny sparkly heartlight when we use it to describe a person.  Or at least, that’s how I used it.

So what does it mean to be exceptional?  Are you a saint because you’re exceptional?  Or are you just a plain ole person who shines their heartlight on others?  Is it innately easy to be exceptional or does it take hard work and planning?  Can you be exceptional in certain aspects and just plain normal in others or is it all-encompassing?

Can exceptional be ruled on an act that you achieve or don’t?  Or is it just a feeling?

Who do you know who is exceptional?  Are you exceptional?  Your kids?  Your spouse?  Your pet?  Your friends?  The Dalai Lama?  Mother Teresa?  Princess Diana?  A person who has overcome adversity?  Do you look up to exceptional people as role models?

How do you define the word exceptional?

  How do you define a person whom you would deem exceptional?

I think exceptional is a lovely description of someone who shines and you, my dear friends, shine exceptionally beautifully!  Big hugs to all today and always.  I can see your heartlights shining from here!

Shine On!

xo

 

 

Thanks For Your Time!

“Thanks for Your Time” 

Over the phone, 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, Mom. 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 Mom asked.

“The box is gone,” he said.

“What box?” Mom 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 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 filling 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 my son,” he said. “Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!”

My 2nd grade teacher, with whom I’m still friends, sent me the above in an email ~ so I made it a post today because I liked it.  I hope you did too!

To everyone who reads this post today ~

“Thanks for your time.”

Shine On!

xo

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