The Caring Catalyst

Who Cares - What Matters

Blending Opposites

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When was the last time you felt totally

B A LA NC ED. . .?

If you talk to any person or group of people they most likely will admit to you that

BALANCE

is work and rare for any length of time.

Well, of course there’s an APP for THAT and now, of all things, a bracelet.

A LOKAI Bracelet.

It’s a stretchable bracelet that has a Black Bead containing mud from the Dead Sea, the lowest point on Earth. The Black Bead symbolizes the most Difficult moments you may experience throughout life.

Directly across from the Black Bead of Difficulty is a White Bead containing water from Mt. Everest, the highest point on Earth, highlighting Life’s Highest moments. The water is actually infused into the silicone mixture and then injected into the White ball itself to insure that the water is always in the Bead.

The Clear Beads in between are clear to remind us that

C L A R I T Y

is key in times of both, Joy and Sadness.

The Clear Beads also symbolize that we all have

A STORY

and those Beads just represent pieces of THAT Story.

The Lokai Bracelet was created by a man named Steven Izen after he learned that his grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. The experience of joy and sadness was experienced so close together that he thought life is

C I R C U L A R

and throughout our highest HIGHS and lowest LOWS, it’s important to always remain balanced.

Why LOKAI?

The name was inspired by the Hawaiian Word: L O K A H I
which means UNITY and to BLEND OPPOSITES. . . .

It’s main purpose is to

R E M I N D

us to simply stay HOPEFUL and know that even in the most darkest moments

IT WILL GET BETTER!

I asked HER about this bracelet when I first saw it and in part, that was the explanation I received.

My knee-jerk follow up question was:

DOES IT WORK?

There was no hesitation before I got a one-word answer:

A B S O L U T E L Y.

I swallowed hard the remark,

“SO DOES SHARK REPELLENT IN OHIO!”

What is it for you?

What gives. . .brings. . .assures. . .infuses. . .promises. . .delivers. . .

B A LAN CE in YOU?

Is it a Bracelet?
Is it a Blanket?
Is it a Robe?
Is it a piece of jewelry?
Is it a Symbol?
Is it a piece of clothing?
Is it a Chair?
Is it Music?
Is it a Written Word?
Is it Food?
Is it Alcohol?
Is it Drugs?
Is it a certain kind of meditation?
Is it a massage?
Is it_______________________________________________?

Whatever you feel brings you Balance, does–doesn’t it?

What YOU THINK really is a powerful, second-to-none-potion.

Pssssssst: It’s NOT the same thing for Everyone.

The real irony is that

WHATEVER IT IS

is seldom utilized.

IT should be used often/always. . .

and then…then Shared!

(NO, NOT THE SYMBOL FOR THE BALANCING)

But YOUR BALANCED SELF!

YOUR BALANCED SELF IS THE GREATEST FORM OF BALANCE YOU CAN BRING TO ANOTHER. . .
(WHICH IS THE REASON I WEAR MY LOKAI BRACELET–TO BE BALANCED TO BRING BALANCE).

A Peaceful Heart Comforts a Troubled Heart

which equals

A BLENDED BALANCE!

Slip THAT on for Size

Under-DOSED

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In the past two years, deaths from heroin overdoses doubled in the U.S. according to a new report from the Centers of Disease Control and Prevention.

“THEY” say one of the biggest reasons for the increase is because prescription pills like hydrocodone and oxycodone can go as much as $40 a pill whereas a small bag of heroin can sell for about $10.

I’m not all that surprised. I’ve done several CELEBRATION Services for those who are apart of that statistic.

Sad part?

T H E Y

ARE NOT A NUMBER. . .a STATISTIC.

T H E Y

are real people…real people of all ages…real people of all socio-ethinic groups…real people of all ages…real people of sexual orientations…real people of all socio-economic classes…

REAL PEOPLE.

Drew was two day short of being two years sober and drug free.

No one knows what happened. . .but an overdose was apparent without a Coroner’s Report.

‘GOD, GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS I CANNOT CHANGE
THE COURAGE TO CHANGE THE THINGS I CAN
AND THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.’

“The Serenity Prayer” by Reinhold Niebuhr was read in unison as we began the Celebration Service for Drew. It’s become one of the most widely known prayers in the world. It touches people’s hearts from all walks of life.

“. . .LIVING ONE MOMENT AT A TIME;
ACCEPTING HARDSHIPS AS THE PATHWAY TO PEACE;
TAKING, AS HE DID, THIS SINFUL WORLD
AS IT IS, NOT AS I WOULD HAVE IT;
TRUSTING THAT HE WILL MAKE ALL THINGS RIGHT
IF I SURRENDER TO HIS WILL;
THAT I MAY BE REASONABLY HAPPY IN THIS LIFE
AND SUPREMELY HAPPY WITH HIM
FOREVER IN THE NEXT.
AMEN.”

. . .is how the rest of Niebuhr’s prayer goes/concludes.

WE

read that in unison, too, to end the service before Tim McGraw’s song, “BETTER THAN I USE TO BE.”

W O R D S

…words on a page….

But a Heart shouts what a mouth can never whisper.

You can’t take a photograph of a mom and dad, a sister and two brothers sitting in the first row and prove the cliche:

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND OF WORDS

. . .not even 1000 x 1,000,000,000

One by one, father, brother, friend after friend came forward and told a story, shared a brief
‘once-upon-a-time,’ a ‘Remember-when,’ a choked out, ‘I love you,’ a couple of words: “Good-Bye” and “Thank-You.”

More than a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a uncle, a friend, a counselor, a sponsor, a dog-lover, a alcoholic, a drug addict, an Overdose, a dead man. . .Drew was first and foremost:

L O V E D

“SOME SAY”

he never GOT IT. . .

…THAT he could have overdosed on L O V E

and WE. . .

it’s major DEALERS!

Maybe. . .maybe he was UNDERdosed…maybe WE all are….

IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT DANCED AROUND IN MY MIND

as Tim McGraw’s song ended The Celebration:

“YOU AIN’T GOTTA DIG TOO DEEP, IF YOU WANNA FIND SOME DIRT ON ME…BUT I’M LEARNING WHO YOU WERE AIN’T WHO YOU’VE GOT TO BE…I’VE PINNED A LOT OF DEMONS TO THE GROUND, I’VE GOT A FEW OLD HABITS LEFT, BUT THERE’S STILL ONE OR TWO I MIGHT NEED YOU TO HELP ME GET. STANDING IN THE RAIN SO LONG HAS LEFT ME WITH A LITTLE RUST…BUT PUT SOME FAITH IN ME AND SOMEDAY YOU’LL SEE THERE’S A DIAMOND UNDER ALL THIS DUST…I AIN’T NO ANGEL, I’VE STILL GOT A FEW MORE DANCES WITH THE DEVIL. I’M CLEANING UP MY ACT LITTLE BY LITTLE. I’M GETTING THERE, I CAN FINALLY STAND THE MAN IN THE MIRROR I SEE…I AIN’T AS GOOD AS I’M GONNA GET, BUT I’M BETTER THAN I USED TO ME…”

THEY SAY. . .it’s a Pandemic. . .

SOME SAY. . .it’s exactly what’s needed…person by person, one by one. . .

l o v e…

Love won’t cure any disease or distress. . .LOVE CURES NOTHING!

LOVER’S DO

Doctoring

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How many Dr’s does it take to change a light bulb. . . ?

We all know a Doctor, most likely several of them.

We all have no doubt needed one, most likely more than once and for more than one thing. . . .

I had already known and worked with Dr. Jeff Spiess several years in the hospice setting when this story took place.

A Social Worker and I were meeting with a patient who had just come into the Hospice facility. We had just introduced ourselves, our roles and reasons for visiting with her and her daughter when Dr. Jeff came into the room.

He was beginning to apologize for interrupting us, when the patient said it was alright for all of us to be together with her and her daughter to talk with her.

Dr. Jeff once said that if there’s no empty seats in room, “SIT ON THE PORTABLE COMMODE, BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS CLEAN IT!”

Finding no bedside commode, he did one better: He sat on the floor in front of the patient and her daughter.

He asked her what her goals were and she went into a huge dissertation about how she was going to begin radiation therapy and then wanted to return home.

Dr. Spiess asked her a most awesome question that I had never heard another Doctor ask:

“Do I have permission to tell you some difficult news?”

She agreed.

“Well, Mrs. Johnson (I’m hip to HIPPA–not her real name), I’ve reviewed your chart and spoke with your primary physician and oncologist and not only don’t I think that the two weeks of radiation therapy will do much good, there’s a very strong chance that it will cause you even more pain and you most likely will not be able to survive it.”

Mrs. Johnson and her daughter both began to cry while the three of us provided supportive, quiet presence. It probably wasn’t any more than two minutes as we sat there with them and then the patient, in the arms of her daughter said, “THANK YOU. . .thank you for telling us the truth.”

Dr. Jeff then asked the next best question: “Knowing what you now know, what can I do for you? How can I help?”

Mrs. Johnson told us that she would like to just go home and be with her family.

Dr. Spiess told her he could make that happen and asked if she’d like to go THAT afternoon or the next morning.

Mrs. Johnson said she wanted to go that afternoon and we all confirmed that there would be medical equipment and medications to make that possible.

Dr. Jeff PERSONIFIED the Hospice philosophy at that moment.

Mrs. Johnson died ten days later.

I had the honor of conducting her Memorial Services. Her daughter spoke during the service and told
T H A T story. I’ll never forget, though it’s been several years now, what she said next:

“We came to a hospice facility searching for a cure and we found a Doctor who offered HEALING. Dr. Spiess didn’t give us years to be with our mother, but he provided precious moments we’ll have for the rest of our years!”

HOW MANY DOCTORS DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB?

Psssssst: When it’s the RIGHT DOCTOR–ZERO–no additional Light needed.

Dr. Jeffery Spiess is retiring today from Hospice of the Western Reserve, but not from the Memories, the Hearts, the Lives of many he’s treated and touched. . .Mine included. I’m a better chaplain, husband, father, grandfather, friend and joke-teller. . . .

Somehow. . .

GOOD BYE

doesn’t seem as appropriate as

T H A N K
Y O U !

F L A S H E D

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Impressive, huh?

Starting with just a single cellist on the floor of the National Air and Space Museum’s “MILESTONES OF FLIGHT” gallery, and swelling to some 120 musicians, The U.S. Air Force Band STOPPED PEOPLE in their tracks with a different kind of Public Display.

Have you noticed?

Not just Christmas. . .

Not just Hanukkah. . .

Not just Kwanzzaa. . .

Not just any other special day of your Choosing…

It doesn’t come as a Season or a Day but more as a

M O M E N T

The best of our Lives are MOMENTS woven together in this fantastic Tapestry, not usually recognized as a MASTERPIECE, because of all of the Loose Ends, Dangling Strings, Jumbled/Tumbled up knots that hardly could be considered any kind of ART–even the bad kind.

L O O K

L I S T E N

AGAIN.

I’ve posted this video as a Compassionate reminder that sometimes there are also Peaceful, Inspiring Public APPROVAL’S
Populace PRAISES
World ACCEPTANCES.

It’s not just because of the Anniversary of Pearl Harbor, it so that we don’t forget
anytime
anyplace
anywhere
that we are instruments being cued to join the Song the World so desperately needs to
HEAR
SEE
FEEL
E X P E R I E N C E. . . .

You may not only feel or believe this, but The Band just doesn’t sound the same without you.

Join in

Play.

Sing.

Recognize that the World needs this MUSIC more now than ever and no more time can be wasted.

YOU ARE NOT A SPECTATOR

but a PARTICIPANT in this great Orchestra.

The Baton is raised. . .we are Cued. . .

PLAY YOUR NOTE–LET YOUR MUSIC BE HEARD.

Maybe you got a little of that in the 6:20 video. . .maybe you need to see/listen to it again. . .
maybe you need to just simply pass it along–SHARE IT?

Give yourself a most precious gift not during the Season or a Day, but now, at this MOMENT…

Give yourself an EXPERIENCE

Don’t Sieze the Day;

Notice the Moment, the now of NOW and enjoy. . .enjoy it and then expand it just by simply sharing it;
One Moment
One Person
at at time–
YOUR TIME
YOUR BEAT
YOUR NOTE
YOUR SONG
Y O U R
Flash!

Brokenness

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Is there anything sadder than a little boy crying over a broken toy?

Do you remember?

Your favorite toy–BROKEN–and not by someone else. That would only make you mad, but broken by your own hand.

The ultimate O U C H.

He was devastated. His sisters and mother had already come into the restaurant, but he and his dad stayed out in the lobby.

He was just about unconsolable.

“Whhhhhhhhhy dad? Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhy,” he sobbed.

Dad was already kneeling down beside him so he could be at his level.

“I’m sorry buddy,” I heard his dad say in a soft, low voice.

“I didn’t mean to drop it, daddy. It just slipped out of my hand. It just slipped,” he continued to sob out as he picked up the broken pieces of his toy train car.

“I know, buddy, I know it was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose,” his dad said reassuringly.

“Maybe we can get another one,” the son asked trying to put NOW back the Pieces of his broken heart?

“Son, I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t think they sell these anymore. We might be able to buy something else but nothing just like this,” dad said, once again in a very comforting tone.

“Maybe, maybe we can just fix it, daddy?

“Buddy, I don’t think that’s going to happen either; the pieces that we might have been able to fix are broken up too. I’m sorry, Pal.”

The mantra started:

“It’s not fair. . .it’s not fair. . .it’s not fair. . .I want my train back. I want my train back. I just want my train back again, dad.”

And the refrain:

“I know, buddy, I know, I know, I know. . .”

“I JUST WANT MY TRAIN!”

L O U D E R CRYING.

“Sometimes things just can’t be fixed when they get broken. That’s why we have to be careful with the things that important to us,” dad tried saying as assuringly as he could.

More crying. . . .

“Come here, buddy,” dad said as he picked his son up and put him on his knee as he continued to kneel down beside him.

His son wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and cried a bit more until it just settled down into a few sobs and then just a couple of shudders.

All of this took place to the side of me as I was waiting to pay my bill and leave.

It wasn’t a very long few moments.

It was me, standing in line, waiting behind another patron to settle a debt, pay a bill. . .

And yet, it was a little boy with a smashed train and a broken heart with a caring dad that was more than enough filling my Account.

In the end, it wasn’t much of his words or reassurances that made the difference; it was that WORDLESS compassionate, loving hug.

Do you remember?

Something broken. . .

The devastation. . .

The hurt. . .

The R E L I E F

. . .of an unspoken word that was a hug. . .HELD BACK INTO WHOLENESS?

It was a powerful sight to see that between a son and his dad. . .

Even more powerful to know we possess, even NOW, that kind of healing power for another’s

B R O K E N N E S S.

The World becomes WHOLE, gets more healed, one compassionate hug at at time.

PAY UP

The World doesn’t need another speech. . .it needs a sincere, compassionate hug. . .

It won’t only pick up the pieces. . .it’ll hold them in place.

PAY UP

Your Rung

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In a Concentration Camp there was a Prisoner who, even though he was under the sentence of execution, was fearless and free.

On a day where he was making his own Sunshine for others to squint, he was seen in the middle of the prison yard playing his makeshift guitar. A large crowd gathered to listen, for under that magical spell of his music, they all became as fearless as he. When the prison guards saw this, they forbade him to play.

But the very next day, there he was again, strumming tunes on his guitar and singing with a larger crowd around him. The guards angrily dragged him away and had his fingers chopped off.

The next day. . .yes, there’s always A NEXT DAY. . .

There he was–BACK–singing and making what music he could with his bleeding stubs.

The crowds not only gathered, they cheered loudly and D A N C E D.

The guards grabbed him and dragged him away as they beat him with his guitar until it was splintered stringless.

The next day. . .yes, the very next twenty-four hours. . .

He was standing in the prison yard singing a song that would make Pavarotti jealous.

What a song.

Pure.

Uplifting.

The crowd joined in, and while the singing lasted, their hearts became just as PURE as his and they felt

I N V I N C I B L E

in an UN-invincible place.

So very angry were the guards this time that they had his tongue torn out.

A sickening silence hovered over the camp like a heavy dark fog.

If DEATHLESS had a sound. . .

they all heard just THAT!

No. . .NO. . .N O

No one could believe it when he was back in the Prison yard the next morning.

He was swaying. . .

He was dancing. . .

To a Music that was so Silent it screamed loud enough. . .

EVERYONE seemed to hear.

And soon, without any hesitation or invitation,

there they were, the other prisoners holding hands and dancing around this bleeding, UN

broken figure in the center

while the guards just stood there, rooted to the ground in utter wonder. . .disbelief.

What?

How?

Why?

are some of the questions that come to Soul when we hear. . .become such stories.

It didn’t take me some twenty years of Hospice work, and thousands of patients later, to figure out that
not ONE OF THEM have ever showed me how to die. . .

EVERYONE ONE OF THEM HAVE VIVIDLY DEMONSTRATED HOW TO LIVE.

Some call it Spiritual.

Some call it Religion.

Some call it Common Sense.

Some call it Sixth Sense.

I’m still not so sure what to label it and have come to accept that maybe it needs

No Name.

But when I see it exhibited, hear it spoken, taste it’s sweetness, touch it’s sacredness, or smell it’s aroma. . .

I take another step up the Ladder.

Haven’t I seen you on those Rungs?

I’m sure I have. . . .

Without naming it or putting it into shape or form, you too, know.

Like me, you too have

C O M P A N I O N E D

What a perch to look out from, huh?

You know the very best RUNG to see it all from?

THE NEXT ONE. . .

U P

S C O R E

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Lauren Hill–A Freshman basketball player at Mt. St. Joseph University in Cincinnati, Ohio.

(DIPG) Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Giloma–An inoperable form of cancer with roots at the base of her brain stem and growing tentacles weaving through out her nerves.

T E R M I N A L

This isn’t a post about the unfairness of the situation. . .

This isn’t a post about WHY’S, HOW-COME’S, WHAT-FOR’S. . .

This isn’t a post about Lauren’s wish to compete in just one single game before. . .

This isn’t a post about an opposing coach and team being more compassionate than competitive. . .

This isn’t a post about ___________________________________________________. . . .

This is a post about Hope. . .

This is a post about Dreams coming true. . .

This is a post about saying “HELLO” and never GOOD-BYE. . .

This is a post about Living. . .

This is a post about________________________________________________________. . . .

The Lauren Hill’s will tell you what they’re afraid of the most isn’t the dying, the ‘what-is-next’s’, the leaving, so much as “the Leftover’s” the ones they’re leaving behind.

I’ve just celebrated twenty years at Hospice; started on a Halloween Day Monday in 1994.

I’ve seen lots of Pain.

I’ve seen lots of Anguish.

I’ve seen lots of Dying and Death.

I’ve seen lots of miracles that would have never been possible without all of those ingredients.

Mostly. . .I’ve seen not so much how to die as how to live.

I’ve had there in those rooms, at those beds, the best seat in and out of this World and I’ve been invited, entrusted to be there.

I’ve experienced that it’s the people, those magnificent golden strands, who have interwoven themselves into the very fabric of a Life, that makes life all that it is Life really is.

Lauren Hill gets IT.

She knows in essence what we all know: WE ARE TERMINAL.

I’ve done the studies–100 out of 100 of us are going to die.

That’s NOT the sad part–for Lauren or for us.

The sad part is not LIVING. . .

Not Living Before we Know IT. . .

Not Living During IT. . .

Not Living Through IT. . .

Not Living After IT. . . .

It’s a LIVING that DEFIES cancer, death. . . .

Lauren Hill proved that she is a huge DIS-EASE that Cancer has for which there’s no cure.

She proved with a simple lay-up in the first and only basketball game she’ll ever play in college, that
L-I-F-E is not just spelled with Capital letters–but EXPERIENCED in a much larger way:

S C O R E

Love Epidemic

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Have you been Ebola-ized yet?

The World once again seems to be on guard for another epidemic awaiting to pounce.

A NYC Dr. has just been diagnosed with Ebola within the past hour.

We’re afraid. . .once again. . .

but it certainly IS NOT the first time.

I don’t remember his name. . .

but I’ll never forget his SELFLESS LOVE.

It was about 18 years ago and he had been with his partner for nearly 12 years.

He had AIDS.

He was dying.

His father was a Southern Baptist minister who actually believed that AIDS was God’s righteous punishment for homosexuality. He had said that his son was already dead to him and that he had no place in his house or his life unless he “REPENTED.”

What’s worse than a young man in his mid-thirty’s dying of AIDS?

A man in his mid-thirty’s who’s dying of AIDS and has to choose between staying with his partner UNTIL DEATH DO THEM PART or reuniting with his judgmental, YOU’RE-GOING-TO-GO-STRAIGHT-TO-HELL-UNLESS-YOU-ATONE-IMMEDIATELY-FOR-YOUR-DISCRECTION family.

True love never really has to choose. . .

It only needs to recognized that it has chosen YOU.

. . .Often it is not.

After much painful discussions and ultimately even more daring decisions, the AIDS-Infected Prodigal son returned to the home of his parents to be reunited with them.

He went home as his last gift FOR THEM.

He and his partner agreed, that there love didn’t need explained or proven, that in fact, it had COMPLETED THEM.

What they further agreed upon was that his parents needed to have their son return so that they could actually grieve his death in a much more acceptable way.

So home he went. . .

R E P E N T A N T

He died in the care of his parents.

LOVE as a VERB.

. . .A very SELF-LESS ONE.

We’ve had many epidemics hit the world–even in our current lifetimes.

What about Love?

The DIS-EASE OF LOVE?

The EPIDEMIC OF LOVE?

The highly contagious. . .

The Severely communicable. . .

The Intensively contractable. . .

The Unimaginable transmittable. . .

Dis-Ease. . .pandemic outbreak of pure, undefiable, unadulterated

L O V E ?

It’s never death that parts us. . .

It’s life without love–unconditional–that keeps us separated; segregated,

I N C O M P L E T E D.

Here’s to a HOPEFUL Love Epidemic. . .

Here’s that we each may be infested with the Dis-Ease of Love. . .

That we may intentionally, purposely INFECT others. . .

That we may make it airborne. . .

That we may leave no lung without it’s air. . .

That we may become terminal. . .

Now. . .

Then. . .

For an ever. . . .

Some of Them Actually Happened

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ALL STORIES ARE TRUE. . .

SOME OF THEM ACTUALLY HAPPENED!

I just recently RE-HEARD a story–who knows, maybe you’re RE-HEARING it right now, here, AGAIN?

THE STORY GOES. . .

In this African tribe, when someone does something wrong, they take the person to the center of the village where the tribe surrounds him and for two days say all the good he has done. The tribe believes each person is good but sometimes people make mistakes, which are really a cry for help. They unite together, put him in the CENTER to simply reconnect him with his GOODNESS!

W O W

I’ve told hundred of stories of all kinds.

I love the cliche: “ALL STORIES ARE TRUE; SOME OF THEM ACTUALLY HAPPENED.”

I want. . .

I NEED THIS STORY TO BE TRUE. . .

but I can’t verify it.

I tried. Actually, tried very hard.

SNOPES–Nothing!

GOOGLE–Nothing!

INTERNET–NOTHING!

It’s. . .it’s just a good story, with a great meaning that I really wanted. . .needed to be true.

True Story?

Robert Rule In 2003, this grieving father attended the trial of the man who killed his daughter. He stood in line as the other victim’s loved ones spewed hate upon him–he never flinched. You know what brought him to tears? When Robert Rule took his turn and started out with, “There are many people in this room who hate you. I’m not one of them. I forgive you.”

Or what about in 2006 after a man walked into an Amish school house and opened fire and killed many. He himself died. The very families and community of those who lost loved ones ATTENDED HIS FUNERAL TO PROVIDE SUPPORT FOR HIS WIDOW and gave her a handsome offering they had collected to help her through a most horrible time.

ALL STORIES ARE TRUE; SOME OF THEM ACTUALLY HAPPENED!

Here’s a story for you:

COMPASSION NEVER JUDGES!

W R O N G

Compassion judges truthfully, most harshly. . .

and then, and then

COMPASSION FORGIVES MOST MERCIFULLY.

TRUE…some stories…WE want, WE need to be TRUE. . .

AND ACTUALLY HAPPEN

WOW…there’s a large gathering in town. . .

I’m in the Center–Surrounded. . .

People are saying the nicest things. . .

I’m

R E M E M B E R I N G. . . .

Love Past A Season

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WE say it’s easier if you love someone.

We say it’s easier if it’s a family member.

We say it’s the right thing to do.

We say it’s longer lasting than a Moment, A Day, or a Season.

We say. . . .

The truest Love wrapped in the warmest Compassion overcomes most likely everything in and out of this world.

That Love will grow weary.

That Love will become weaker.

That Love will Know all things, Believe all things, Endure all things.

That Love will never fail.

That Love will never end.

That Love is what we possess and have the power to parlay to and for the good of others.

Let someone else do it?

We are SOMEONE ELSE!

See. Be Free that wonderful gift that exists and you and begs to be shared…but never just once. It becomes more potent each time shared.

Make the Best time…the Next time!

Don’t waste too many breaths in between the two!

Love past a Season is the only Season that lasts and is worth Living…it’s always the Perfect climate! It’s the only time of the year that continues, any you’re it’s caretaker!

The World needs a little ‘SEASONING.’ None better than yours–EVER!

Professional Speaker, Author, Assurance Man