If That Were to Happen
If That Were to Happen
May I be less quick to judge than to listen, slower to jump to conclusions because of hearsay, because so-and-so told me something or other.
May I listen to hear well, and not merely to respond back with my own story.
May I take a breath, make a few phone calls, do a fact check before I assume the worst, put on my boxing gloves, or write someone off.
May I stay curious, ask questions, and admit, “I don’t know.”
May I reach out and hold a hand, give it a squeeze, nod with a smile, or even stop to give a hug.
May I do what I’ve been told since my dad was holding my hand to cross the street: “Janie, you need to put yourself in someone else’s shoes.”
May my ears hear and my eyes see: grief, hurt, sadness, loneliness, fear, hatred, or anger; and may I not turn away, but respond with empathy and compassion.
May I pick up the phone, write a letter, send a card, or leave someone warm cookies.
May I respond when I know someone is hurting—whose spouse, friend, or family member died, or who lost a pet, received bad news, went through a divorce, has a health issue, lost a job, retired, or has sent out a thousand resumes with no reply.
May I be equally quick to share in another's joy.
May I wake up each morning and give thanks that I have a roof over my head, food to eat, eyes that opened again, and someone to love.
May I, for one day, not think of my own aches and pains, but of others.
May I do one tiny thing each day to let someone know I care.
May I return calls and answer emails, letters, and texts promptly, and not act like there will be time later to do so.
May I realize that this might be the day I have a stroke or a heart attack, get hit by a car, or receive a phone call saying someone I love has died unexpectedly.
If that were to happen, might I have lived each day with no regrets?