Gratitude

Lead the Way

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Having come across a line the other day that stopped me in my tracks, I wanted to share it with you — not because it was clever, but because it was so clear.

“Don’t wait for other people to be loving, giving, compassionate, grateful, forgiving, generous, or friendly . . . lead the way!” — Steve Maraboli

That simple idea has a way of lingering.

So often, we wait.

We wait for the mood in the room to improve.
We wait for someone else to soften first.
We wait for the world to give us permission to be kind.

But kindness has never needed permission.

Being loving, generous, or compassionate is not something done after conditions improve. More often than not, it is the very thing that improves them.

Leading the way does not have to be loud.
It does not require a spotlight or a platform.

Sometimes it looks like:

  • offering patience when impatience would be easier
  • choosing gratitude when complaint feels tempting
  • being friendly without checking first to see if it will be returned

Small acts, yes — but small acts have a way of traveling farther than expected. Like ripples on water, they move outward quietly, reaching people and places we may never know about. And isn’t that a good thing?

There is a quiet power in deciding to go first.

First to Smile.
First to Forgive.
First to offer Grace.

In uncertain or heavy times, that choice matters even more — not because it fixes everything, but because it reminds us, and those around us, of who we still are —
that we are human, and that we care.

There is no way to know who needed to see that kindness today.
No way to measure the ripple it may have started.

And that is all right. What matters is simply that the kindness was offered.

The world does not change only through grand gestures. Sometimes it shifts because one person decided not to wait.

So if there is a question about what to do today, perhaps this is enough —

Be the Loving one.
Be the Generous one.
Be the Friendly one.

Lead the way.

Doesn’t that feel like a good place to begin — leading with Kindness?

‘Til next time.  — Jim  (and Red!)

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These illustrations were created with the assistance of AI

 

 

Why Small Stories Last

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Why the Little Things Stay With Us

Small stories. Small moments. Small actions that reverberate through the years, often in ways we never fully realise at the time.

My own writing life — if one can call it that — began in the fourth grade, with a teacher named Mrs. Drew. I do not recall her first name, if I ever knew it at all. Back then, adults were simply Mr., Mrs., or Miss, and that seemed sufficient. (You need not bother doing the arithmetic — I am seventy-six.)

One afternoon near the end of the school day, Mrs. Drew propped a landscape painting against the blackboard for all of us to see. Our assignment was simple enough — write a short story inspired by the scene in the painting. It showed a family in a wagon, travelling along a dirt road that wound through woods and farmland, headed somewhere beyond the frame.

We began writing in class and were sent home to finish. A few days later, Mrs. Drew returned our papers, handing them back one by one. All except mine. Mine, she kept.

When she finally explained why, it was because she intended to read it aloud to the class. And when I eventually received it back, there at the top of the page were words I have never forgotten:

“A++      Jim — You will be a writer someday.”

I was painfully shy at the time. I did not know what to do with such encouragement. But I carried it with me — quietly, steadily — for the rest of my life.

There are moments like that — small at the time, almost unnoticed — that stay with us long after louder things have passed. They do not announce themselves. They do not demand attention. And yet, years later, they are often the ones we remember most clearly.

Perhaps it is because they arrive without agenda. Or because they involve people rather than events. Or because they ask nothing of us except that we notice.

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My Year-End Reflection & Looking Ahead

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On Writing, Story, and the Road Ahead

As the year draws to a close, I find myself less inclined to sum it up than to simply set it down — like a coat hung by the door at the end of a long day. Some years ask for that. Not a tally, not a verdict, just a moment to breathe before turning toward whatever comes next.

Earlier this week, I shared a few thoughts meant simply to steady the heart as the year turns. This piece is something a little different. Less about what has been weathered, and more about what has quietly taken shape along the way.

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You’re Welcome Here

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Some Sundays end the way they should.

A good meal. Plates pushed back. Folks sitting around a little longer than planned. Nobody watching the clock. The talk wandering from one thing to the next, easy and unimportant in the best way. Somebody pours another cup of coffee or tea. Slices of pumpkin and pecan pies are served. Or maybe a slice of cake. Or two. And no one says much about it.

Those moments matter more than we sometimes realize at the time.

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A Year’s Worth of Little Good Things

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As the year begins to slow down and we edge closer to Christmas, I have found myself thinking less about what was accomplished and more about what quietly mattered — the small moments, the kindnesses that did not make headlines but made days a little better.

A few evenings ago, Little Red Bear asked if he might stop by the Writing Pages for a few minutes to share some of the things that stayed with him this year. Not the grand events, but the everyday goodness he noticed along the way. I was glad to say yes — and this is his note.

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Blessings Along the Way — Reflections on a December Birthday

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A Quiet Pause, a Warm Cup of Tea, and a Few Thoughts at Seventy-Six

Along with the steady accumulation of years, there’s something about December that slows a fellow down a bit, isn’t there? The days grow short, the evenings settle early, and the whole world seems to take a long, frosty breath before Christmas comes shining around the bend. It’s a fine time to step back for a quiet moment, look around, and take stock of the blessings scattered along one’s path — some large, many small, all of them worth noticing.

And as it happens, today is my birthday — another turn around the sun, another year of stories shared, friendships cherished, and small joys gathered up like pinecones on a woodland walk.

Seventy-six of those turns now, which seems as good a number as any to pause for a moment and look back with a bit of gratitude — and perhaps a chuckle or two. I don’t make much fuss of birthdays anymore. These days, there’s more comfort in a warm cup of tea, a cozy chair, and the gentle thought that I’ve been granted one more year to try and put a little good into the world. Isn’t that enough of a celebration all on its own?

As I sit with that thought, I find myself feeling grateful — deeply so — for all of you who stop by to spend a few moments with me here on The Writing Pages and out in Honey Hill Country. Your kindness, your notes, your visits — they brighten my days more than you may know. In a world that can feel hurried and rough-edged at times, this little community has become a place of warmth and neighbourly goodwill. And that is a rare and treasured gift.

If birthdays teach anything, it’s to take nothing for granted — the people in our lives, the quiet mercies, the laughter that catches us by surprise, and the steady companionship of stories. And speaking of laughter, I find myself laughing more freely these days — from those spontaneous outbursts when something just plain tickles my funny bone, to shared belly laughs with friends and family, to the occasional gut-busting guffaw that invites a touch of embarrassment now and again. I’ve learned over the years that not taking oneself too seriously is good for the soul — and for the blood pressure. The world could do with a little more laughter, don’t you think?

And along with laughter, I’ve come to believe something simple but steadfast about folks in general — that if you look for the best in people, you’ll usually find it in good abundance. Will Rogers said, “I never met a man I didn’t like,” and I’ve found that, by and large, to be true in my own wanderings. Left to our own accord, most people are good-natured, helpful, and doing the best they can with the lives they’ve been given. Inside, we’re all more alike than different — hoping for a bit of steadiness, a touch of joy, and a safe, loving place for those dear to us. It’s a thought I may return to in more detail after the new year, because it feels worth lingering on — especially in the times we’re living through.

We each must follow our own wandering trail through life, but it surely helps to have a bit of company along the way. One of my most faithful companions these past years has been Little Red Bear, living rent-free in my head — though he’d tell you he pays his way in stories, laughter, and the occasional good idea.

Red and his friends, and all the kindly souls of Honey Hill Country, are always reminding me to meet the world with a bit more compassion, a bit more patience, a generous helping of good humour, and to be a light for others where we can. Those old, shared teachings — the simple ones about kindness, compassion, empathy, love, and helping others — seem to echo through their adventures. And Red asked me to mention he’s saying hello, but he’s whispering it because he doesn’t want me raising his rent.

Another year older? Yes. But also another year of trying to notice the good along the way, appreciate the simple, and share a bit of light wherever possible. In the end, aren’t those the things that carry us through the years and seasons?

So thank you, truly, for walking this path with me. For reading, for caring, for sharing a portion of your own days here. The road ahead is sure to bring its share of hills and hollers, but travelling it with good company makes all the difference.

Here’s to another year of shared stories, hope, kindness, and whatever small wonders and adventures we may enjoy along the way.

— Jim (and Red!)

P.S. from Little Red Bear —
Little Red Bear says he’s happy to walk this winding path with me — but he wants everyone to know he’s the one carrying the snacks.