High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Courage’

The little shrub had given it her all.   She had held on through all the days of cold November with its long, chilled nights and its blustery winds.   She pushed past the first frosts when December came.

She watched as, one by one, her leaves turned brown, her berries fell to the ground.

It was, of course, the season for their going.  And yet, with all her heart, she wanted to hold on to one last berry to raise to the sun on its birthday.  (She so loved the sun!)

It was only days away now.  The earth would tilt no farther and the sun would begin its glad return.  And all the woods would ring with Alleluia.

Her strength was all but gone.  Yesterday, the twig that raised the berry could bear its weight no more, and with a cry it bent, nearly breaking.  But still she held on.

Even though she was bent and broken, it was enough that her last, bright berry remained.  And she knew in her heart that she could hold on, and would.  It was the only gift she had to give.

Two more nights would pass before the birthday’s morning.  And the little shrub, her love filling her heart with courage, sent every shred of strength she had to the few sinewy threads that held the jeweled berry.  And the nights passed.

When the dawn broke, a gentle snow was falling.  But the clouds were high and light and through them, she could see the stars, melting into morning.   A great hush fell upon the woods as it waited in excitement for the sun’s first rays.  Finally, the grand holy day was here.

Then, just as the snow quit falling, the brilliant orb rose over the horizon and the woods burst into song.

The little berry began to dance on the soft breeze, and as it swung there on its last little threads, it began ringing out its song.  And the tinkling of its bell was so clear and filled with love that it reached all the way to the sun, and the sun’s rays reached down and held the small shrub in its warmth, and whispered, “Thank you, my child.  Be at peace. You are loved.”

A friend is someone who walks with you, and when the road is steep says, “Here, lean on me a while. Only a few more steps.  We’re almost there.”

A friend points to the sunlight up ahead when you’re walking in the shadows, and shows you  the pools of light that filter through even in the darkest places.

When you walk with a friend, courage and comfort walk with you.   Pain becomes bearable.  Fear moves to the side of the road.

The best in you rises higher, and the worst in you is forgiven and blessed.   You pass coins of silliness and sobriety between you.  You trade your secrets and your dreams in perfect trust.

When you walk with a friend beside you, the way before you widens and your footsteps fall more surely on the path.

To walk with a friend is to feel the ease and warmth of a summer day and to travel with the knowing that goodness and love are real.

“Cheerfulness keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind, filling it with a steady and perpetual serenity.” ~ Joseph Addison

It had a brightness to it that reminded him of mirth.  But no, it was more composed somehow and enduring.  And beyond that, it inspired in him a sort of courage.  “How interesting,” he thought.  And he tucked some in his coat pocket.

The day was cold and gray with low clouds and he turned up his collar as he hurried along, anxious to get home to some warmth and a hot cup of tea.

As he walked, he let his fingers roll over the smooth surface of his find.  It gave off a feeling of benevolence, a kind of reassuring gladness, and touching it, he felt more alive somehow, and hopeful.

He felt a small smile spread over his face, despite the light drizzle that had begun to fall.  “Maybe Mollie will know what it is,” he thought to himself as he turned toward their flat.

He was beaming like a child bringing home a new puppy when he opened the door. “What happened to you?” Mollie said, bursting into a laugh at the sight of him, all wet and smiling.

“Oh, nothing, really,” he said.  “It’s just this interesting stuff I found on my walk.  Here, let me show you.”  He reached into his pocket and spread it out on the table.  “What do you suppose it is?”

“Why, that’s cheerfulness, dear!  Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, tenderly touch its edges with the tip of her fingers.

“Cheerfulness,” he repeated thoughtfully.  “You know, it just seemed to bring such light to my day.  Can we keep it?”

“Of course!  Of course we can, darling!” Mollie said, giving him a hug.  “I think it’s exactly what we needed.  Don’t you?”

And she poured him a cup of steaming, fragrant tea.

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May your pathway open into sunlight and stepping stones show you the way.  May the waters be placid around you, the breezes mild and the weather fair.

May each step you take enlarge you, expanding your vision, your courage and faith.

May you dare the unknown with confidence and find loveliness wherever you go.

May your heart speak thanks for every grace offered, and your hands reach out in kindness to all you meet along the way.

May you hear the grand Yes whispering all around you and breathe in rhythm with its song, knowing that it sings for you, and in you, and of you, for you are truly its own.

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“Grit,” says dictionary.com, is “firmness of character; indomitable spirit; pluck: She has a reputation for grit and common sense.”

I ran into a passel of grit this week and seeing it made me feel proud.

In a time when the dominant slogans for feeling good advise us to take it easy, go with the flow, and steer clear of those things that cause us turmoil, the characteristic of grit doesn’t get much traffic.  And yet, research in positive psychology shows that people who have a fair share of it are generally happier than those with lesser amounts and achieve more than those who lack it – even when they’re less talented.

Grit is perseverance, persistence and exceptional commitment to your aims.  It’s the sustained and focused application of your aptitudes and abilities over time.  It’s the stuff that makes the difference between winners and also-rans.

The director of the clinic where I work showed the staff what grit is this week when she came to work after a surgery that left her with two very black eyes.  She wore rhinestone-studded sunglasses — to keep from scaring us all with her appearance, she said with a laugh.  But I knew it took some courage for this always beautifully groomed woman to work a very visible job with a temporarily disfigured face, especially when she was feeling a fair amount of pain as well.  She could easily have taken the week off, especially since this week held her birthday.  But her commitment to her work and to the staff took precedence for her over her own comfort.

As if the sore and blackened eyes weren’t enough, on Tuesday night she severely injured a deteriorating knee.  But again, she mustered the determination to come to work, walking with a cane, despite the obvious pain and the further insult to her image.   Don’t get me wrong; she’s by no means a vain woman.  Her attention to her appearance is a part of her professionalism.  She maintains high standards in all that she does.

In fact, it’s her exceptional commitment to high standards that exemplifies her grit and that makes her the inspirational leader she is.   An extraordinary string of painful personal challenges have strewn her path over the past couple of years, and not one of them has kept her from carrying the mantel of leadership with fortitude, humility and good humor.

I see her resolve mirrored in the staff as well.  Her example says, “This is how you handle difficulties.”  And employees follow her lead when they face misfortunes of their own.  She shows us what backbone is all about and how to be resilient.  That’s grit.

All winners have it.  Grit carries you through the long spell of practice and preparation necessary to hone your skills and gain the knowledge you need to reach your goals.  It’s what gets you past the inevitable obstacles.  It keeps you in the game when the game gets tough.  It pushes you past setbacks and failures.  It’s the currency that lets you pay the price to win the prize.  And today, I celebrate and applaud it.

Perplexed about how to choose a direction, the apprentice took his confusion to the shaman.  The old man’s leathery face took on a gentle smile as he replied to his student,  “Follow the path with heart.”

The young man pondered the wise elder’s advice.  Then, he cupped each choice before him invisibly in his hands, one at a time, holding it to his heart and listening to hear what his heart had to say.

He discovered each alternative had a different feel to it.  This first one was cool and light.  He set it aside and picked up the next.  It was heavy and dull, and he set it aside.  The third was pleasantly warm and seemed to have a magnetic quality to it, as if it were drawing him toward it.  He noted the feeling and set that choice down so he could weigh the final one.

As he cupped this last alternative in his hands and held it to his heart, suddenly he was enveloped in a radiant glow and he felt as if inaudible music was enveloping him.  This, he knew, was the song of his heart and as he heard it, all his confusion disappeared.

He set out on the path his heart directed him to take with great gladness, and at first the way was smooth and easy.  But as the days passed, the terrain grew rocky and the path narrow and steep.  The young man had to choose his steps with great care.   He began to grow light-headed and disoriented, and feared he would lose his balance.  Trembling slightly, he kept on, every step more difficult than the last.  He had to use all his knowledge and skill to find each next foothold.

One evening, the sky turned red and a fierce dust storm pummeled him.  He crouched shaking behind a boulder, exhausted from his long, arduous climb.  “What have I come to?” he asked himself.  “How can I go on?”

He remembered the pouch of water tucked beneath his tunic, and as he reached for it, he suddenly felt the beating of his heart.  “Follow the path with heart,” he thought to himself, hearing his teacher’s voice in his mind.  But now the words no longer spoke to the question of “which” but to the question of “how,” and as he heard them, he felt his courage rise within him.  And comforted by it, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, a new day had spread itself over the horizon, fresh and clear.  As he stepped from behind the boulder that had given him refuge, he saw he was at the crest of the mountain he had climbed, and a bubbling spring was cascading down a path that led to a village, shining in the morning light, below him.

He ended up settling in the village, where he learned music and healing arts, and all the people loved him and children loved to play outside his door.

One day, when he had been there many, many seasons and was an old man with a leathery face, a perplexed youngster he had been tutoring came to him, asking how he could know the best direction for his life.  The old man’s face gently smiled as he looked into the young man’s eyes.  “Follow the path with heart,” the old man said.  “Follow the path with heart.”

When he learned that he had bone cancer, Mike told me, he had fallen into a long spell of despair.  Life was over.  Close the book.  The future had been erased for him with the mere pronouncement of the diagnosis.

Then one day, while he was sorting through some things, he came across his old high school year book.  He leafed through its pages, transported back in time to the days when the world was filled with possibilities and dreams.

As he read the little messages that his fellow students had written on the book’s pages, one in particular struck him.  It thanked him for what he had meant to the writer, for the way he had touched her life.  Something about her words made him ask, “What ever became of that Mike—the one so full of spirit?”  And he decided then and there that he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He started working out, running, and even entering marathons.  He’s done several of them since.  And while no cure exists for his cancer, he’s in love with life again and making the most of every day he has left.

Through the magic of the Internet, Mike managed to track me down to tell me his story, and to thank me for what I had written in his yearbook those long, long decades ago.  The words had turned his life around when it most needed turning.  From his past came a few sentences to give him hope.  And from my past came Mike, to give me inspiration.