Never Lose Hope

BY: Carly Collins

The only disability in life is a bad attitude.
~Scott Hamilton

From a young age, I was intelligent and athletic and lived a pretty easy life, with my future full of trophies and awards. I met my true destiny at the age of thirteen as I lay on a soccer field, clinging desperately to my last shards of consciousness. Finally, I let go and tumbled into a world of darkness, leaving behind pandemonium as people struggled to help an unconscious girl who, just hours ago, had been perfectly healthy. Maybe if someone had warned me how drastically this was going to change my life I would've clung to my consciousness and made a miraculous recovery.

Three months later I was still spending most of my time in bed. I was in eighth grade at the time, and still had not returned to school. Most of my friends had become distant and doctors did not know what was wrong with me. Every day became more and more frustrating.

Eventually I returned to school on a part-time basis. Instead of getting the sympathy I expected, I received dirty looks and harsh rumors about how it was "all in my head." Things that were once easy for me became extremely difficult or altogether impossible. I could never concentrate on my schoolwork and the sports I'd once excelled at were completely out of the picture.

Somehow, I made it through the year and moved on to high school. Since my dreams of being a soccer and cross country star were ruined, I joined the drumline instead. I passed out at nearly every band practice and people were constantly complaining about always having to take care of me. Some people even tried to get me kicked off drumline. Luckily the band director stuck by my side. I think she knew how desperately I needed somewhere to belong. Still, I continued to be bullied and labeled as an "attention-seeker." I was even abandoned by the few friends I had left.

As I struggled through my health problems and loneliness I kept promising myself that things would get better, and eventually they did. I made friends with a few members of the drumline and even developed a crush on one of them. In my PE class I met a few nice girls who were on flagline, another section of the band. By the end of the year they convinced me to try out for flagline, and I made it! My crush also asked me out.

In my sophomore year, things began looking up. Most of the flagline girls understood that my sickness was real and they took good care of me whenever I passed out. My new boyfriend also helped care for me. Finally, I had an understanding group of friends and a boyfriend who loved and supported me through everything. Unfortunately, my struggle still wasn't over. In October, my health began deteriorating and I developed severe throat pain and lost my voice. Once again, I spent most of my time in bed and couldn't attend school, but this time I had friends to help me through it. In December, I still wasn't better and my doctor decided to send me to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota in hopes that the doctors there would be able to solve the case that had puzzled every other doctor I'd seen.

After a week of testing, the Mayo doctors diagnosed me with a problem called POTS, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. They were certain that the fatigue, headaches, passing out, brain fog (trouble concentrating), and other problems I'd been suffering from were not "in my head" and that I'd outgrow the sickness within a few years. They also determined that my throat pain and voice problem were caused by an inflamed nerve, which could be treated with medication.

It has been three months since my return from Mayo and my voice has made a full recovery. Although I still suffer from the many painful symptoms of POTS, I am extremely grateful to finally have a name for my illness. If it hadn't been for my family's perseverance in finding a doctor who could diagnose me, I'd still be wondering if my problem really was "in my head."

In the end, I'm glad that no one warned me what would happen if I let go of my consciousness. I may have lost the easy life of trophies and popularity that I used to have but right now I'm still happier than I've ever been before. I have new friends and an amazing boyfriend whom I never would have met if I hadn't been forced to quit sports and join band instead. I understand now that no one can be perfect, no matter how hard they try, and that strength isn't measured by how far we can run or how many pounds we can lift but instead by how we handle ourselves in the face of adversity. And, most importantly, I've learned to never lose hope because perseverance can get you through any situation, no matter how impossible it may seem.

A Wave of Joy

Teaching a young girl to surf helped me realize my true calling.

BY: Lee Silber

"This is the best day of my life," Joy said as we hauled our surfboards up the beach.  I knew exactly what she meant because surfing changed my life, too.  It's hard to put into words what the simple act of riding a wave can mean to a person, but I'll try.

Surfing is a metaphor for life.  Many people say, "I'll be happy as soon as...," and they finish the sentence with "I get a raise, buy a house, lose some weight" and so on.  The truth is, the pursuit of those goals is the reward.  Surfers always talk about the perfect wave, but some of the most enjoyable rides come in less-than-perfect conditions.  Besides, a good ride lasts less than a minute, but the pursuit of a wave can take all day - and what a great day it is because you are at the beach.

I could tell that Joy "got it" when it came to surfing, even though she was only ten years old.  When she first stepped into my surf shop you could see it in her eyes.  She was stoked.

Her mom came up to the counter and said rather dejectedly, "My daughter says she wants to learn how to surf.  I'm not happy about it, but I'm going along with it because I know it's just a phase."

 

They say the customer is always right, so I didn't dare correct her and tell her the truth.  Surfing is not a phase; it's a lifestyle.  I should know; I own a surf shop.

I took the time to show Joy all the surfboards that would be a good fit for her, as well as some of the accessories that went with them.  As I did this, something occurred to me.  Here I was cooped up in my shop and this girl was going surfing.  That's when I blurted out, "How would you like a free surfing lesson?"

"Really!" Joy replied.

"For free?" her mom asked.

"Yes," I said.  "With each board you buy you get a free surfing lesson."  I was making this up on the fly because I wanted to get out in the water.

"We'll take it," the mom said.

"Can we go now?" Joy asked.

I looked at the mom and said, "Absolutely."

In my mind, there is nothing better than spending the day surfing - except teaching someone else how to surf.  I was a little nervous conducting my first impromptu surf lesson, but once I realized I had been surfing since I was ten, it seemed like this was meant to happen.  The first thing I did when we got to the beach was point out the different colors in the water and what that meant - a sandy bottom creates a lighter coloring while a reef leaves the ocean looking darker and so on.  We talked about what makes a wave break and where to be in order to catch it.  We spent an hour in the sand (the classroom) before we even got in the water.  Joy loved every minute of it.

We waded into the shallow water and spotted a stingray and leopard shark nearby.  "Shuffle your feet," I said.

"That was so cool.  I saw a shark," Joy gushed.

I wondered how she would react to the dolphins that ride the waves at this particular spot.

It didn't take long.  "Did you see that?" she said as two dolphins darted in and out of a wave not more than a few yards from us.

"Those dolphins have it made.  They get to surf all day," I said.

"They are so lucky," Joy replied.

So far my first surf lesson was going great.  All the time I took explaining how waves broke and how to paddle over, around, and under them had paid off - Joy had made it out past the surf with ease.  Once we were beyond where the waves were breaking we were able to sit on our boards and talk.  "Are you ready to ride your first wave?" I asked Joy.

"Oh yeah, but I kinda like just sitting here, too," she said.

"I know.  It's peaceful," I pointed out.

Joy then began telling me about everything going on in her life.

As luck would have it, a great wave was approaching us.  "Joy, are you ready?" I asked.  She nodded.  "Okay, start paddling for this wave and stand up once you've got it."

Joy not only caught the wave perfectly, but she rode it all the way to shore.  I caught the next one and rode it in.  Joy was jumping up and down on the sand, screaming with excitement.

"That was so gnarly!" she said.

"Great wave," I replied.  "You can now surf."

We spent the rest of the day surfing together, and when we were done I knew Joy was hooked.  I also knew I was hooked on teaching people how to surf.

So when Joy said, "This is the best day of my life," I answered back with, "Me, too."

The Cost of Hope

A woman in financial despair discovers the joy of giving to someone else in need.

BY: Susan Hamilton

Danielle sat down with a sigh, discouraged and exhausted. The day had proven frustrating. With only forty dollars left in her wallet, she desperately needed to find a bank to cash her paycheck. She was living in a new city with no local bank of her own - and the banks were not eager to help her. For more than two weeks, she made attempt after attempt - to no avail. With her cash supply dwindling fast, she had no other resources. How could she continue to support herself and her two children? She wondered just how much longer she and her children could get by on the little money they had left.

Taking a break from her struggles, Danielle decided to attend a meeting at the local women's resource center. The women there had been a strong source of encouragement since she fled her home in fear for her safety. Her thoughts were far away as she settled into a chair in the meeting room. In deep despair, she longed for renewed hope that she could make it as a single mom.

Live life more consciously by reaching out

"Good afternoon, everyone," a voice said, breaking Danielle's thoughts. It was the leader of her women's group. "Does anyone want to start?"

Sitting next to Danielle, Amy cleared her throat. "I would," she said. Amy began to share the details of her desperate situation. She had run into severe personal struggles and was just days away from losing her home and her car. Her phone and electric services were both scheduled for disconnection. Her husband had gambled away their money. What little she had tried to squirrel away, he had used to support his drug habit. Their relationship had deteriorated to the point where she feared for her very safety. The last of the money she managed to tuck away allowed her to buy food for her children and diapers for her baby. She had nothing left. Nothing.

As Amy described the extent of the situation, Danielle heard God's soft whisper in her heart: "After the meeting, give Amy twenty dollars." Danielle immediately thought, But I can't. I only have forty dollars. She heard the order again. It was unmistakably clear. Danielle knew she needed to comply. When the meeting concluded, she reached into her purse and quietly slipped twenty dollars to Amy. Knowing Danielle's situation, Amy was reluctant to accept it at first. But as a crowd of women came to give Amy hugs of support, Danielle told her that God wanted her to have it. Then Danielle left.

As Danielle unlocked the door to her car, she heard someone call her name. She turned to find Amy walking toward her. Tears filled Amy's eyes as she began to speak. "How could you have known?" she asked. A large tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto her shoulder as she reached into her purse. She pulled out a small amber prescription bottle. "I took the last one yesterday." She pointed to the bottom of the label. "I'm a medication-dependent diabetic. I need this medication every day. I had no idea what I was going to do." Another tear rolled down her cheek as she pointed to the refill cost printed clearly on the label: $20.00.

It was at that moment that Danielle was renewed with a sense of hope and peace. She told Amy that she did not know, but God did. While Amy's situation seemed to be a mountain before her, God alone could help her navigate every step and meet every need to move beyond that mountain, one step at a time. The words of hope that Danielle spoke to Amy that day were the very words of hope she herself needed.

Now with just twenty dollars left in her wallet, Danielle decided to try cashing her paycheck at just one more bank before heading home. While she anticipated the rejection she had received at so many other banks, she was somehow filled with renewed confidence and optimism. With hope in hand, she walked into the bank adjacent to the women's center. Moments later, the bank cashed her paycheck with no questions asked.

Beaming, Danielle returned home. While she knew there would be days ahead that would certainly hold challenges, her newfound hope inspired her. She never did see Amy again, but she continues to rest confidently that God is still looking out for her and is meeting her daily needs, just as he continues to look out for Danielle and her two children. As for Danielle, it has been three years since that day. While she realizes true hope has no price tag, she continues to be thankful for the lifetime supply that she received for the price of just twenty dollars.

No Small Act of Kindness

A panhandler shows me that nothing is too small or insignificant to effect change.

BY: Donna Wick

The day was Thankful Thursday, our "designated day" of service. It's a weekly tradition that my two little girls and I began years ago. Thursday has become our day to go out in the world and make a positive contribution. On this particular Thursday, we had no idea exactly what we were going to do, but we knew that something would present itself.

Driving along a busy Houston road, praying for guidance in our quest to fulfill our weekly Act of Kindness, the noon hour appropriately triggered hunger pangs in my two little ones. They wasted no time in letting me know, chanting, "McDonald's, McDonald's, McDonald's" as we drove along. I relented and began searching earnestly for the nearest McDonald's. Suddenly I realized that almost every intersection I passed through was occupied by a panhandler. And then it hit me! If my two little ones were hungry, then all these panhandlers must be hungry, too. Perfect! Our Act of Kindness had presented itself. We were going to buy lunch for the panhandlers.

After finding a McDonald's and ordering two Happy Meals for my girls, I ordered an additional 15 lunches and we set out to deliver them. It was exhilarating. We would pull alongside a panhandler, make a contribution, and tell him or her that we hoped things got better. Then we'd say, "Oh, by the way…here's lunch." And then we would varoom off to the next intersection.

It was the best way to give. There wasn't enough time for us to introduce ourselves or explain what we were going to do, nor was there time for them to say anything back to us. The Act of Kindness was anonymous and empowering for each of us, and we loved what we saw in the rear view mirror: a surprised and delighted person holding up his lunch bag and just looking at us as we drove off. It was wonderful!

We had come to the end of our "route" and there was a small woman standing there, asking for change. We handed her our final contribution and lunch bag, and then immediately made a U-turn to head back in the opposite direction for home. Unfortunately, the light caught us again and we were stopped at the same intersection where this little woman stood. I was embarrassed and didn't know quite how to behave. I didn't want her to feel obligated to say or do anything.

She made her way to our car, so I put the window down just as she started to speak. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before," she said with amazement. I replied, "Well, I'm glad that we were the first." Feeling uneasy, and wanting to move the conversation along, I asked, "So, when do you think you'll eat your lunch?"

She just looked at me with her huge, tired brown eyes and said, "Oh honey, I'm not going to eat this lunch." I was confused, but before I could say anything, she continued. "You see, I have a little girl of my own at home and she just loves McDonald's, but I can never buy it for her because I just don't have the money. But you know what…tonight she is going to have McDonald's!"

I don't know if the kids noticed the tears in my eyes. So many times I had questioned whether our Acts of Kindness were too small or insignificant to really effect change. Yet in that moment, I recognized the truth of Mother Teresa's words: "We cannot do great things - only small things with great love."