October 15th, 2007
I’ve never thought of myself as a care giver. For sure, my wife is – She just naturally cares for others – without thought…obviously our kids and grandchildren – but really, for her, there are no limits.
Yesterday my daughter’s dogs crawled under the fence and explored the neighborhood. Shouldn’t be hard to find – one black, one gold, each weighing about 100 pounds. The police eventually picked them up and took them to Animal Control (didn’t tell us,) but I spent several hours driving up and down every block in our neighborhood.
And as I drove, I noticed that I’m passionately committed to our planet – to our environment, to social justice and to our spiritual growth. More than that – the more I coach people, the more I see the depths of their caring, their inherent commitment to service, to improvement and to their communities.
I’ve come to see that caring is something we all do, often unconsciously.
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
Leo F. Buscaglia
From caring comes courage.
I pray for a more friendly, more caring, and more understanding human family on this planet. To all who dislike suffering, who cherish lasting happiness, this is my heartfelt appeal.
Conservation is humanity caring for the future.
Caring is a powerful business advantage.
The Dead Deer
Everyone runs along the canal
lines of joggers seem to span the state.
But Sunday morning there was only one
and I could see her grow from dot to person
as I drove along the other way
Ahead, just off the shoulder,
beyond her view, a deer lay, dead,
another side effect of traffic,
dragged from the road and stowed on the side,
ignored by all but maggots and crows,
lying in the jogger’s path,
blocking her path, as death
will someday block our own.
The three of us would soon meet
and as she neared, I wondered what she’d do -
would she cross the road, pause, stop,care, ignore?
She ran right by the now invisible animal;
Beads of perspiration on her brow,
all intent on pumping legs and arms;
she ran right by.
Was this a metaphor for the poor,
the homeless deer we never see on city streets?
Was this a metaphor for the hungry world,
the bloated empty abdomens in lush summer?
Was this a metaphor for war?
the blindness born of callous purpose?
Maybe just a Sunday jogger,
alone along the Delaware canal,
except for the car coming down to pass her,
coming home the other way
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