A Front Porch Reflection on the Little Dash That Holds a Lifetime

The other day I came across a simple thought that stayed with me much longer than I expected.

It wasn’t complicated. In fact, it centered around one of the smallest marks in our written language — a tiny little dash.

You know the one. The little dash between the dates.

Every life can eventually be described by two dates. One marks the day we entered the world. The other, someday, marks the day our earthly story is complete.

Between those two dates is a simple little dash.

But when one thinks about it, that tiny dash mark somehow has to represent an entire lifetime.

Not just the years . . . . the life. The living in between the dates.

And that got me thinking.

Perhaps the most important part isn’t the dates at all.

Perhaps it has always been the life between them.

 

 

 

When we first hear the idea of “living our dash,” our minds often drift toward the biggest moments in our lives . . . .

Graduations.

Weddings.

Births of our Children.

Promotions.

Awards.

Milestones.

Vacations.

The accomplishments people talk about for years afterward. Those certainly become part of our story. But I wonder if they are really what fills the dash.

Because, if we’re honest, odds are that most of us will never discover a cure, become president, climb Mount Everest, write the next great American novel bestseller, or become famous.

But every one of us can do something kind before supper this evening. And somehow I suspect those ordinary acts may tell the truest story of all . . . .

Maybe the dash is filled with cookies baked for the church fundraiser.

Or a casserole quietly carried across the street to a family having a difficult week.

Perhaps it’s sitting beside someone who didn’t need advice nearly as much as they needed company.

Maybe it’s shoveling an elderly neighbor’s sidewalk before they wake up on a snowy morning.

Or teaching a youngster how to bait a hook and catch their very first fish.

Sending a note to someone who could use a little encouragement.

Perhaps it’s planting flowers because somebody walking past might smile.

Sharing a hug when someone needs a moment of comfort.

Picking up the telephone just to say, “I was thinking about you today.”

Or setting out fresh water for birds on a hot July afternoon.

Maybe it is simply giving directions while helping a stranger find the right road.

Writing a note of encouragement.

Holding a door.

Sitting quietly beside someone who doesn’t want to be alone.

Letting the mother with children ahead of us in the checkout line.

Sharing a cup of coffee.

Letting someone know they haven’t been forgotten and still matter.

Or simply sharing your smile.

None of those things will probably make tomorrow’s newspaper.

Yet every one of them belongs in a dash.

I’ve noticed something over the years. When people remember someone they loved, they rarely begin with accomplishments. Long after people forget what we did, they often remember how we made them feel . . . .

They remember laughter around the kitchen table.

Someone who remembered their name.

A smile that made a difficult day just a little easier.

A porch light left on until they arrived home.

Patient words during difficult times.

A warm welcome at the front door.

A comforting hug on a difficult day.

Quiet reassurance that somehow everything would be all right.

Someone who pulled up a chair and listened without trying to fix everything.

An invitation when they didn’t want to be alone.

Flowers given for no particular reason at all.

A handwritten note tucked into a card.

A ride when they had no other way to get there.

A voice on the telephone saying, “I was thinking about you today.”

A helping hand before they even had to ask.

Someone who believed in them when they struggled to believe in themselves.

An encouraging word just when it was needed most.

A second chance and forgiveness freely given.

The confidence to try again because someone quietly said, “I know you can do this.”

A gentle spirit.

The little kindnesses that quietly became part of everyday life.

Perhaps that’s because a good life is rarely built all at once.

It is built one ordinary kindness at a time.

We’ve spent a lot of time on the Front Porch this summer talking about ordinary wonders.

A grasshopper sitting on an old fence rail.

A little Missouri farm pond.

The call of a Red-winged Blackbird drifting through the cattails.

Simple hopes.

Quiet afternoons.

Noticing the things we almost miss.

Maybe those moments have been reminding us of something all along.

Life isn’t lived only in the grand occasions.
It’s lived in ordinary Tuesdays.
It’s lived in ordinary kindnesses.
It’s lived in the little choices we make every single day.

One day, that tiny little dash may represent our entire lifetime.

Until then . . . .

We have today.

Another opportunity to add something beautiful and memorable to the life between the dates.

A good life is built one ordinary kindness at a time.

Till next time then —

Jim (and Red!)

P.S. from Little Red Bear 🐻

Red says if someone quietly crossed your mind while you were reading today’s Front Porch  . . . .

 . . . . there’s probably a reason.

Maybe today would be a good day to let them know.

—  Red 🐾

Images have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . .  lovingly prepared and styled for Honey Hill Country and the world of Little Red Bear.