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A young father, noticing that his wife was not feeling well, made extra efforts to help out. He took care of things around the house, prepared a warm bath for her, and took the children for a walk so she could rest. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll take care of you.” Imagine the satisfaction he felt when, a few days later, he heard his three-year-old daughter use these same words when she acted kindly to her mother. The father felt grateful but also humbled. He realized how closely his daughter was observing his behavior. He determined to be more intentional about setting a good example for his daughter to follow.
This year marks the 100th anniversary of the founding of the National Park Service, entrusted with the care of America’s national parks. The first of those parks was Yellowstone, known today for its wildlife, its mountain forests, and especially its geothermal features—about half of the world’s geysers are in Yellowstone.
Arthur Wright was a simple preacher living in South Carolina during an era of deep racial tension. The future did not seem particularly bright for an African American family like his, but Arthur encouraged his children to rise to the greatness within them. His daughter Marian wrote of him: “I was fourteen years old the night my Daddy . . . passed away. He had holes in his shoes but two children out of college, one in college, another in divinity school, and a vision he had conveyed to me that I, a young Black girl, could be and do anything I wanted.”
Here at the historic West Point Cemetery at the United States Military Academy, we remember and reflect upon the service and sacrifice of those who have served our nation since its founding.
The cemetery is on a beautiful promontory overlooking the Hudson River as it flows endlessly into the Atlantic Ocean, reminding us that life, with all its bends and rapids, rolls on just as surely to our final resting place. It is calm and peaceful here today—a poignant contrast to the memories and images of war evoked by the names, gravestones, and monuments scattered throughout this cemetery.
There’s no question that we live in a beautiful world and that life is full of reasons to be grateful and joyful. But unfortunately, we still manage to find things to complain about. It may be the weather, traffic, current events, the people around us—or anything in between. Yes, life can be a challenge at times, but there are better ways to face life’s challenges than complaining about them.
People all over the world, in every culture and clime, pursue greatness. The desire to succeed and excel is as universal as it is natural. But what is true greatness? How do we know when we have achieved it? Some might say that greatness happens in rare, extraordinary moments when someone of unusual ability rises above his or her peers.
On the second Sunday in May 1908, Anna Jarvis honored her late mother, Ann Reeves Jarvis, by organizing America’s first-ever Mother’s Day services. In 1914 President Woodrow Wilson made it a national holiday, but by then this official action was mostly a technicality. Anna Jarvis had already persuaded most states in the union to observe Mother’s Day. Now the tradition of a special day to honor mothers has spread around the world.
A high school student learned a valuable lesson as he took a college entrance exam a few months ago. The night before the test, he read through the instructions he had received. He verified the time the exam would start. He sharpened his pencils. He put his calculator in his backpack. He felt ready for the early-morning test
Have you ever observed a child who finds an injured bird on the ground? Almost instinctively, she wants to take it in, feed it, and make sure it doesn’t die. It’s the same impulse that leads a sailor to spend hours helping a dolphin get untangled from a fishing line. It’s what inspires a gardener to tend a withering plant, hoping to restore it to health again. It’s what causes an entire community to rally to the rescue when someone—even a stranger—is lost in the mountains or stranded in a mine.
An experienced and now retired pilot and flight instructor learned valuable lessons about life while flying airplanes around the world. He learned that even though pilots control massive, powerful flying machines, there are some things they cannot control: they can’t change the direction of the wind, stop the rain or the snow, or smooth out the turbulence jolting the airplane.
For the most part, every day on the calendar is like every other—each starts with sunrise and ends with a sunset, with lots of busyness in between. But there are certain days that we set apart. National holidays, for example, help us remember our past and inspire our future. Religious holidays turn our hearts toward things of the soul. And then we have personal days of remembrance—such as birthdays and anniversaries—to commemorate the milestones in our own lives and the lives of those we love.
Sometimes, we come to know what something is by understanding what it is not. We learn of integrity, for example, by confronting dishonesty. We learn of courage as we encounter fear. And we can learn of love as we consider its counterfeits. Love is not overbearing or controlling; love is not jealous or unkind; love is not neglectful, impatient, or fickle.
Why is it that the most significant, beautiful moments in life so often come just after periods of darkness and sorrow? The birth of a new child is always preceded by a mother’s pain and travail. The joyful colors of spring are most inspiring because they come on the heels of a dreary winter. And glorious sunrises would be meaningless if they didn’t follow the darkness of night
We were created to grow. Life is an adventure in learning and progress, becoming a little wiser and better each day. In this sense, without some kind of growth or improvement, we cease to live. And this life, where we are surrounded by fellow learners, is the best setting for learning.
In a scene that plays out often in snowy weather, a young driver was in a hurry to meet a friend and hit an icy patch on the road. Before she could react, the car slid off the road and wedged tightly into a snowbank. The snow cushioned the impact, but the car was stuck. Soon the young woman was able to signal to a kind passerby who helped her free the car, and she was on her way.
Every year, as winter finally gives way to spring, the warmer weather and sunnier days draw us outside, inviting us put our hands in the soil and plant something. Nothing quite compares to the satisfaction of watching something grow: tomatoes or peas, a pine tree or an apple tree, or whatever seeds we may plant. Nurturing a garden takes time, resourcefulness, and commitment. As every good gardener knows, consistent care is the only way to get anything to grow.
Before Viktor Frankl became a renowned psychologist; before he survived a Nazi concentration camp; and before he wrote Man’s Search for Meaning, a bestselling book about his experiences; he was a high school student who thought deeply about life—more deeply than perhaps most teenagers do. One day his science teacher declared to the class, “Life is nothing more than a combustion process, a process of oxidation.” Young Viktor leaped from his chair and countered, “Sir, if this is so, then what can be the meaning of life?”1
We live in a time of great division. Advances in technology have, in many ways, made our world smaller, but instead of coming together, we seem at times to be growing farther apart. Many of us wish for a way to bridge the cultural divides around us. We see people of other faiths or other nationalities, and we wonder how we might befriend those who seem so different from us.
On June 17, 1775, Abigail Adams and her seven-year-old son, John Quincy, stood on a hill near their home and watched, terrified, as the Battle of Bunker Hill unfolded. It was a pivotal moment in the American Revolution. More than a thousand were killed or wounded, and nearby Charlestown was burned to the ground.
One evening two young friends were walking together when they passed a neighbor standing in his front yard. One of the young men called out, “How are you, Bill? It’s good to see you.” But Bill ignored him—he didn’t respond or even look up.
“Well, he’s a grouch today, isn’t he?” the other boy observed.
“Oh, he’s always that way,” his friend responded.
“Then why are you so friendly to him?”
“Why not?” he answered. “Why should I let him decide how I am going to act?”1
American artist Norman Rockwell was known as the artist of the common man and of common places. His models were his neighbors and family members, his subjects the plain and simple moments of life, and he depicted them with fondness. Among his hundreds of paintings, he captured the essence of human connection with all of its emotion and excitement—the joy of a long-awaited homecoming, the thrill of a youthful adventure, the tenderness and insecurity of growing older, and the warmth of a sacred gathering with loved ones to give thanks.
It’s common in many cultures to compare life to a path, a road, a journey. And anyone who has ever embarked on a long journey can see why it makes such a useful metaphor. It helps us to see life with purpose and direction, to feel that we are making progress, that we’re getting somewhere—and not just anywhere, but toward a specific destination we want to reach.
Much of the strength of our nation comes from its people and their determination to make life better—their resolute unwillingness to accept injustice and oppression. Such determination comes with many challenges, but history has shown that freedom is born in only one way, and that’s by courageous people fighting through adversity.
The world in which we live is fiercely competitive—some would even say ruthless. The pressure to succeed, to get ahead, leads many to be aggressive, dominating, overpowering. And succeed they often do—in a sense. But there’s a different, even a better way to live and to succeed. It is, in a word, humility.
“It is not enough to be [busy],” wrote Henry David Thoreau. “So are the ants.” The question is, “What are you [busy] about?”1 We live in a world that frequently confuses busyness with importance. Thoreau’s words are a good reminder just because something “takes some doing,” that doesn’t mean it’s worth doing.
In the American Museum of Natural History in New York City stands a memorial to Theodore Roosevelt, an avid naturalist, a great friend to the museum, and the 26th president of the United States. Inscribed on this memorial, under the title “Youth,” are these words from Roosevelt that are inspiring even to those of us whose youth is in our past:
“On Earth Peace, Good Will Toward Men”
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.
And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.
And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judæa, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem,
To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.
And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.
Very often, small things lead to great things. In fact, we could say that everything starts small. From a small idea comes an innovation or discovery that transforms the way we live. A deep snowdrift starts with just a few small flakes. And a small child can soften even the hardest heart and inspire us to change our lives for the better.
This is the season of lights. The joy, the hope, and the sacred reverence we feel at this time of year all find their own symbolic expression in holiday lights. Storefronts, town squares, and homes are decorated with strings of colorful lights that brighten the celebration and bring cheer to passersby. Bright lights dangle on evergreens, many topped with a star in remembrance of the light that marked the first Christmas morning.
Part of what makes Christmastime so delightful are simple carols like this one, an old nursery rhyme set to a traditional melody:
Christmas is coming,
The geese are getting fat,
Please . . . put a penny
In the old man’s hat.
If you haven’t got a penny,
A ha’penny will do,
If you haven’t got a ha’penny,
Then God bless you.