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References: Isaiah 26: 6-9 / Rom 8: 14-23 / Matt 5: 1-12
The reading from Isaiah this evening was written in some pretty tough times. The people were living in affluence but it didn’t satisfy. Everything else failed to satisfy – especially for people who were thoughtful and were faithful to God and to God’s way. Those who were faithful seemed to be losing out. Everyone was doing their own thing. Isaiah was trying to bring them back to faithfulness to God’s way. He was promising that though they couldn’t see the future clearly they should operate by faith and the end product would be satisfying: “On this mountain the Lord of Hosts will provide for all peoples…The Lord will wipe away all the tears from all faces… let us rejoice and be glad…”
This evening as we celebrate our farewell from your life’s partner, your dad, your grandfather, our brother and our friend, we keep our eyes focused on the larger picture and we see this moment not as sorrow, but a temporary sadness, the sadness of parting, a sadness that has been long in coming – a sadness mixed with the joy that Lewis has now finished this phase of his life. Lewis has completed his earthly life and has gone on ahead of us meet with the Lord, there to be in joy forever.
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In the second reading tonight (Romans 8: 14-23) we heard these words: “I consider the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us… We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now; and not only that, but we ourselves… also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.” In these last couple of years, Lewis has been in the same struggle that all creation is feeling and that we ourselves are part of. For Lewis the struggle is over and he is now in the loving presence of our Lord. This is good.
The pain and uncertainty we felt for him has now ended. We rejoice in the insight St. Paul has given us in his letter to the Romans. We are grateful that Lewis has successfully completed his mortal journey and is now with Jesus Christ in eternity where time is no more – only that endless present existence there with the source of all that is good and true and beautiful.
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The Gospel we chose is from what is called The Beatitudes (sayings about being fortunate, and happy and about the blessing that flows from oneness with God in faith, in deeds and in love.)
“Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven;
Blessed are the meek for they will inherit the land;
Blessed are they who are merciful for they will be shown mercy;
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be satisfied;
Blessed are the clean of heart for they will see God;
Blessed are the peace makers for they will be called the children of God.
Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.”
We are not here to proclaim Lewis to a saint in a formal sense, but to celebrate the way of life he pursued. You can see evidence of this in the way he lived, in his love for Rosalie, in his steady love for his children and grandchildren, in his love for his mom and dad, in his love for his brothers and sisters, and in the kindly way he mingled with his fellow Christians in his life at church. I always knew him in his gentle presence, in his easy smile, in his thoughtful and kind words and in his laughter. He was a man of faith – faith that he learned from his mom and dad, a faith which he brought with him into the life of St. Henry parish.
Those beatitudes are the keynotes of the life of a person moved by their faith. They are descriptive of the life and conduct of every disciple of Jesus. For Matthew they are nails on which to hang the many facets of his description of the authentic follower of Jesus. For us they are the keynotes of our lives as Christians. Those verses have given us the criteria, not for judging others, but for judging our own faith and our own conduct, for we are not to judge others, but to open our selves to growing ever more deeply as disciples of Jesus.
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Use this time of reflection and celebration as a time to see things more clearly and to hold on to true life more firmly. Choose those things we saw more clearly because of the love Lewis gave us and showed us. Times like this, this evening, are the times we think about what is really important. In celebrating his life, we are more fundamentally celebrating the goodness Christ gave each of us. Lewis’s life will always have the power to point those of us who knew him, toward the more abundant life Jesus wanted all of us to have.
There used to be a saying that “if you become a saint by the day you die, you will have done well.” Lewis was a man of flesh and bones. Those who knew him have seen him grow and become more and more what Christ wanted for him. We who knew him can take his example as one who continued to grow throughout his years of becoming all Christ wanted for him. We can take courage from Lewis and do as he did.
We celebrate that he was a man of faith who grew into what Jesus gave his life for. We take courage for ourselves as we then walk the pathway he walked. We remember him with gratitude and joy and in anticipation of being with him in Christ in eternity. May he rest in peace.
Father who made us, unto your mercy which is beyond all telling, and unto your love which is the last good answer to the deepest longing of our hearts, we commend the life of Lewis Jarvis, your servant, who has left us, for a time but not forever. We ask you to hear our prayer as we speak in sorrow but also in faith. Lord our God, may he who used your gift of life to share it with others, now enter upon the more abundant life that Jesus promised. May he who bore witness to your love and faithfulness, your truth and goodness, now enter upon the reward that is promised those who are just and share the victory of our brother Jesus Christ. Bring him, Lord, to the light that will never know darkness, to the joy that will never know pain, to the reunion that shall never be ended, bring him to the contentment that will never weary or cease to delight, to the fullness and possession of all those good things with which you began to bless him in life.
Forgive any weakness that may have been a sign of human frailty. Accept him as one of the joyous company redeemed by Jesus Christ. Admit him to the joy of which the Holy Spirit said, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into our heart to know the things the Father has prepared for those who love him.”
O Lord our God, may he who was yours in faith now enter upon the Kingdom. May your servant, Lewis, who gave us of his life and labor and love, find a place at the banquet table where you are the bridegroom and we are your beloved. We give to you, in Christian faith and human sorrow, the one you gave to us, the one we have been glad to know as husband, dad, grandfather, brother, neighbor and friend. We thank you for the gift of his life. And with your help we lift our eyes from the sorrow of this moment, upward to our future with you, when you will wipe all tears from our eyes.
Dad was a farmer who became a man of the world and then struggled to become a farmer again.
From humble beginnings as a child of the depression, Dad learned to be frugal. He traveled the globe but settled in Poor Valley where he found his happy place. No matter where he traveled, Dad was always ready to head back to his valley and his mountain. As his mind began to fail, he forgot many of the words he once used, but one of the last phrases he remembered was “let’s go home.” The very last was “I love you,” and that was a phrase he used liberally throughout his life. Dad was a loving father and husband to the last.
He was a world traveler, living in exotic places all over the world. From Alaska where he braved the cold to work on the “DEW line” to Libya where be braved the heat to maintain the infrastructure on Wheelus Air Base, Dad trotted the globe for years. Along the way, he managed to serve in World War 2, the Korean War, and in Vietnam. In 1972, he settled in Rogersville.
I remember mowing the cliff he called a yard. Dad would give me a quarter and tell me not to spend it all in one place. Dad liked walk-behind mowers. He said the exercise would do us good.
Early on, we decided to build a tobacco barn, so dad bought a dilapidated old barn from Drusilla Albright. We tore that one down, moved it to our house and raised a new barn up from the scraps. We harvested green oaks from our mountain for the main structure. Driving 16 penny nails into green oak made sparks fly from my hammer. Dad said that driving all those nails into heavy 2 by 10s and 2 by 12s would “put muscles in my ….” Well, he had a way with words, but he was right more often than not.
Dad was a military man—even in retirement. Although he no longer had a uniform allowance, he still bought his clothes at a base exchange whenever possible. From regulation shoes and haircuts to olive drab boxers, Dad never completely left the military. He loved words like “regulation” and “personnel.”
On one of our first days on the farm, Dad issued me an idiot stick. For those who are not familiar, an idiot stick is a blade at the end of a wooden handle which is used for clearing brush. Dad said it got its name from the fact that only an idiot would use it. We cleared several acres of overgrown brush using those sticks. When we were finished clearing the land, Dad bought a bush hog. Timing is everything when you live on a farm.
When we cleaned out dad’s basement and barn for the move to Knoxville, we found can after can of rusty bent nails. You never know when you’ll need to re-use a bent nail. Dad put things aside and saved them for later, but it was not just nails.
He gave freely of himself all his life. He gave his time and skills to people who needed help. Like seeds planted in the soil of my life, Dad’s lessons, gifts, and insights have continued to produce vegetation and fruit. I know we will always miss him, but he was ready to go. His purposes in raising a family and living a good life were complete. I’ve learned that God answers our prayers and God forgives. He answered my selfish prayer to keep my father safe for as long as we needed him, and now He has answered our prayers to take him home.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
A survival raft often includes a sea anchor, which is basically just a little cloth bag on the end of a long string. To use it, you throw it overboard and let it drag behind the raft. It can be pretty helpful in the ocean. It works best when you extend the string to match the distance between wave peaks and troughs. A sea anchor is designed to keep you as stable as possible while inhibiting travel as much as possible. That little bag fills with water and creates drag. If you want to stay in one spot, drag is good.
Sometimes, I feel like I have a sea anchor on my life because I have plenty of stability and I don’t move very fast. Of course, those characteristics can be good things, sometimes; other times, not so much. When floating in the middle of an ocean, you have to decide what you really want before you can form an effective opinion about using your anchor. Stay near your last known location and someone might find you. Move along and you might save yourself, but you run the risk of missing the rescue party. The options are difficult and the future can be scary no matter which way you choose.
Staying put doesn’t ensure survival. Far from it! In reality, staying where you are could be a very bad decision. You might starve to death or die of exposure when you’re really only a mile or two from land. Paddling for it has an equally distasteful downside: You could paddle away into the vast unbounded ocean right before a rescue plane flies over the crash site you just left.
What to do? What to do?
The problem of anchors is related to our lack of actionable intelligence. If we knew exactly where we were on a map, we could decide. If we knew exactly where the rescuers were looking, we could decide. We just don’t have the need-to-know intelligence we crave, and since we don’t know, we always wonder. Are these the right choices? But we’ve got to do something. Wishy-washy won’t work.
Think of the guy who decides to paddle for land and then paddles back. He can’t make up his mind and by vacillating he reduces his chances for shore while he still suffers the risk that the plane will miss him. It may have flown by while he was away from the site. Now, he is back and it is gone but he waits.
In fact, we will never know if our choices are correct. Worrying won’t help. Switching back and forth won’t help. Doing nothing at all won’t help. The best we can do is to make informed decisions and give life our best shot. So let’s take a look at the sea anchors in our lives. Are they working properly? Are they adjusted just right? Is the tether in good shape? Once we’ve inspected the equipment, it is time to assess the situation, make a decision, and act. No need to look back. Just act.
There are no guarantees, but I am pretty sure considered actions are our best shot.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I want a new car and a new house. It would be great to have all new clothes, too. Maybe I could get some new pants to accommodate my new, larger waistline. Oh, and I’d like some wide bottomed shirts to finish off the ensemble. Those are all the rage around town. I’m typing on my laptop but I could just as easily switch to my desktop computer. Both machines are fairly new, but I wouldn’t mind having newer, fancier ones. My guitar sounds tinny to my ear. A Martin would be a wonderful upgrade, and maybe I could get one of those nylon-stringed classical guitars, as well. My iPod still sounds pretty good but it only holds a few hundred songs at a mere 4 gigs, so I guess I’d like a new one. I favor the orange model. I’m sure it would nicer than the green one I have now. I’d really like a mobile phone package that includes unlimited texting and tons bandwidth for wireless web surfing. Of course, I’d need a new phone to take advantage of all those features, but when you’re wishing, why limit yourself.
Given the depths of my comfort, it is hard to believe I could possibly want all the things I just mentioned, but with greater or lesser degrees of enthusiasm, I do want them. I want all those items and more. It makes me wonder why. Am I such a puppet of the American marketing machine that I actually believe happiness will come from these things? Sadly, a quick look around my house leads me to suspect the answer to that question may be “yes,” but I don’t like that answer.
I’m working on a new and improved Mister Hippo. This one won’t be so materialistic. He’ll realize that happiness is rarely ever purchased at a cash register. He’ll understand that faith and family and friends are what deliver true contentment. He’ll remember that a new car sounds like fun, but once it need to be washed and waxed, it becomes just another tool in an already full bag. It becomes yet another encumbrance in an already heavily weighted life.
The well of consumerism is deep, but that water seeps through a sulfuric vein in the rocks. It provides some nourishment, it is true, but its acrid taste and rotten-egg aromas are no competition for clean, fresh water from the well of living relationships. A hug or a smile will nourish the new Mister Hippo in a way a new car never could. A date with a spouse or a call to a sister…these are food for my soul. These refreshments will serve as proof that fresh water is still to be found, and I will wonder how I ever drank that other water.
There is a lot of talk about water shortages. People will tell you not to waste water. People will tell you we only have so much, so go easy on it. But I say there is plenty of fresh water for your soul. No matter how murky things may appear to us, God always sends clean water to fill up our wells. The water God sends for our hearts requires no purification.
Today, I lowered my bucket into the good well, and I ladled out a thirst-quenching, relationship enhancing Mason jar filled with water. Would you like to borrow my bucket?
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
If John Coffey from the Green Mile were to suck the illness from my father, I wonder how many of those black flies would float away afterwards. The warden’s wife was the sickest person John Coffey healed, and that little miracle freed up a ton of flies. I am sure my dad would have at least that many flies inside. My mom could probably produce quite a few flies, and my various aches and pains would maybe generate only a few. If sick flies actually existed, I mean.
Wouldn’t it be nice if there really were people like John Coffey in the world? People who could heal devastating illnesses before harmlessly releasing the remnants into the atmosphere? Or even more common illnesses. Tom Hanks had a urinary tract infection healed. It wasn’t life threatening, but he was sure glad when it was gone. Wouldn’t it be great to be free of all our aches and pains?
Well, I have good news. The healings depicted in the Green Mile are not as farfetched as you might believe. There is a scene not unlike a John-Coffey healing in the future for each of us. Someday each of us will die, and when we do, our bodies will begin breaking down. Eventually there will be little more than ashes remaining. Those ashes aren’t as nasty as a bunch of little black flies, but for the purposes of our cinema, the effect of ashes or flies wafting upward would be pretty similar.
All our trips to the gym and our fancy shampoos and soaps won’t matter much in the end. The wind whisks ashes away no matter what they once were. I like to think of my ashes blowing away to heaven someday. When I am finally carried away with the breeze, I will be free of previous ailments. Diseases and broken bones and chronic conditions will all be gone. It will be like a John-Coffey healing, but better. Instead of returning to my life, I’ll move on to a better life. God will welcome me home.
When I think about God, death doesn’t seem so scary for my Dad or my Mom or me. From ashes we were formed and to ashes we will return. Jesus saves. All things are possible. My Dad understood these things, and I know he’ll be just fine no matter what happens with his health.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
We’ve considered the relative ease with which we can change our approach to others. By adopting a more open demeanor and actually beginning to care about other people, we can say we’re “in for a penny.” But are we ready to be “in for a pound,” as well?
Helping someone at a gas station with a buck or two is pretty easy. You help them and you drive away. If you’re in for that much, you’re in for a penny, but what if that person is a fixture in your life? That it is a much different question, isn’t it? What you do for your friends and family could well become your responsibility. Help them, and you are in for a pound.
It is sort of like feeding a stray cat beside the highway on a road trip. That cat will never find you again, so you know you’re safe to throw a scrap or two in its direction. But if that cat is on your back porch and you feed it, feeding it means adoption. That cat is going to keep asking for more. He knows where you live. If you’re not prepared to adopt the critter, you may decide it is better to chase it away with a broom.
This is true for people as well as cats. Many people will allow you to shoulder their responsibilities. This is problematic because they could step up, but they choose not to handle their own affairs. You may be torn between your sense of what is fair and your desire to be helpful. You probably don’t want to go the “tough love” route with family members, but by the same token, you don’t want your generosity to be abused either. What should you do?
There is an old adage that says if you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day, but if you teach a man to fish, you feed him for a lifetime. Helping people is similar, isn’t it? When we help others to manage their money, for example, are we not helping them for a lifetime? Often the need for “gas money” is created by foolish decisions to spend money on things like cigarettes and beer.
I know people who have grown children, living at home, who make no effort to support themselves. I’m not talking about 19 or 20, either. Try 39 or 40. It strikes me as odd when parents condone this lack of contribution. Parents should be supportive of adult children and even help out financially from time to time if necessary, but full room and board while Johnny takes the easy road is too much for me.
Those who casually help and leave afterwards complicate matters. They think they are doing something helpful, and their hearts are certainly in the right place, but when someone is allowed to depend on others, more dependence is what grows. Takers require enablers, and people who enable take the path of least resistance. They are not always doing what is best; they are often doing what is easiest.
So how do we reconcile these ideas with our attempts to follow the teaching of the bible? We’re told to love one another, to be helpful, to give freely of our time and money. How should we deal with a taker? We’re also told not to judge, so should we ignore selfish behaviors and support those who would do only for themselves? Do we have any responsibility to what is good for the person? Wouldn’t it be better to urge the loafers in our lives to independence?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, but I always come back to this passage from Genesis chapter 3:
“Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food…”
Perhaps I am reading into the passage, but to me it says that life will not be easy, and it doesn’t appear to list any exemptions for loafers. Those who are looking for an easy ride, will have to look elsewhere because the Bible does not promise one.
But how do you deal with the poor? How do you deal with takers? Is there any difference? Are some people poor through no fault of their own while some remain poor out of convenience or laziness? If so, how can you tell the difference? Is it necessary to judge others actions and choices? Are you in for a penny or are you in for a pound?
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
For the longest time, I nurtured a leave-me-alone aura, which I will hereafter refer to as my LMA aura. During my LMA aura era, people who needed something could look at me only briefly before my LMA aura drove them away. People who felt the need to talk would avoid me because of the repellant nature of my aura. Somehow, I effectively transmitted an LMA vibe. I can’t explain it, but “back in the day,” I could communicate with a look my disinterest in hearing life stories, problems, or whatever else may have been about to gush forth. Ah, those were some happy times.
But it seems I’ve lost my LMA aura. It has been replaced by a BIO aura. Where people once left me alone, they now “Bring It On.” Where every day was once LMA day, now I am required to suit up for BIO warfare whenever I leave the house. As it turns out, BIO is a doubly good label for this new aura: It not only invites people to Bring It On, but it also increases my exposure to the various biological hazards prevalent among the sneezing, “snotting,” and generally unwashed masses that frequent my local Walmart.
As a side of effect of my aura change, I’ve triumphed over aversions to germs and human interactions. These were no small obstacles for me. Had I another option, I certainly would have forgone the developmental experience. But the transition has been so insidious as to sneak up on a hippo. Before I knew it, I was a little warmer, a little more caring. And as those traits waxed, my indifference was forced to wane. Like a teeter totter, when one was at the top, the other was relegated to a place at the bottom—still there, but slumped to a lower status.
I’ve decided my ortho boot is feeding the BIO aura. It is a great conversation starter. People tell me about their experiences with similar boots. They ask me how I got mine. They are drawn to the boot as if by gravity. They remain affixed to the boot as if its Velcro were holding them in place along with my foot. It is really quite fascinating to observe the power of the boot.
I believe the ortho boot works by communicating a vulnerability I had not shown before. In my pre-Ortho boot days, I must have looked relatively strong and self-assured. Now, the boot and my modified gait offer silent witness to my weakness. I think people must be drawn to weakness as I’ve noticed that a malady of any sort will encourage others to approach.
My gray hair is a malady of sorts. In this culture, it suggests frailty since only the oldest of hippos have gray hair. I’m pretty sure most American hippos dye their hair until they are well into their 70s when they finally allow their true colors to shine through. I like my gray hair because I don’t like the alternative. I don’t want black dye sweating down my neck on a hot summer afternoon. That’s just tacky. Plus, gray enhances my BIO aura. People think “responsible” and “trustworthy” when they think “old.”
Between my gray hair and my black boot, I’m turning into a veritable poster hippo for the Bring It On movement. When we discard our LMA auras and adopt a more BIO friendly approach, we might say we’re “in for a penny,” but are we “in for a pound?” That is another story entirely, but “in for a pound” is a topic for another day.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
In the early Christian church, persecution was so bad that believers developed a clever way to identify one another. One person would draw an arc in the sand with his foot. If the other drew an opposite arc, a fish shape was formed, and they would recognize one another as fellow believers in Jesus Christ.
The fish was an inspired idea, and it has stayed with us for a long time. Most Americans now recognize it as a uniquely Christian symbol. When we see a fish on a bumper, we assume the driver is a Christian.
These Christian fish are sometimes called Icthus fish because “Icthus” is the Greek word for “fish.” Plus, when spelled in Greek, each letter stands for another word, which leads to a statement of faith: Jesus Christ [is] God’s Son, [the] Savior.
I like Icthus fish because they make a simple statement. They don’t invite debate or attack another’s belief system. They simply identify the bearer as a Christian, and I can find no fault in that. In America, we have freedom of speech and religion, so this sort of expression would seem to be protected.
Icthus fish are not protected from all attacks, however. Some Darwinians have selected a similar symbol to show their distaste for Christianity. You may have seen a few Darwin fish around on car bumpers. These are a direct challenge to Christians. Although their little fish has the name “Darwin” inside and is sometimes seen eating an Icthus fish, it is an obvious attack on our centuries-old Christian symbol.
Because of the ideological affront they represent, these Darwinian bumper adornments share none of the life-and-let-live message of the Icthus fish. They are not about peace, but rather, they are about conflict. Bearers communicate an in-your-face attitude about their disdain for Christianity.
They have co-opted our Christian fish symbol in an attempt to display their faith in Darwin. If they’d found their own symbol and left us out of it, I would have no complaint. But their fish is clearly not about their beliefs as much as it is an attack on ours. If there is an acrostic that provides Darwinian meaning to the fish, I have not heard it, and I believe the Darwin fish is more anti-Christian than pro-Darwin.
Interestingly, a Gallup poll from February 2009 found that “only 39% of Americans say they ‘believe in the theory of evolution’ while a quarter say they do not believe in the theory, and another 36% don’t have an opinion either way.” You’d never know it based on media coverage, which suggests that only a fringe group of religious nuts remain holdouts.
Personally, I haven’t seen enough evidence to suggest this theory should be upgraded to fact. And since it remains a theory all these years after Darwin published, it may be that the “proof” remains unconvincing. Regardless of the ultimate truth, I don’t really want to argue about it.
It would be nice if we could display our Icthus fish on our bumpers without being symbolically attacked by these Darwinian rip off fish. Sadly, even the simplest statement of our faith chafes some observers, so I suppose we’re stuck with these attack fish. Jesus suggested we turn the other cheek, and that is good advice for responding to anti-Christian bumper sticker campaigns. Just turn the other cheek.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
There are 52 cards in a standard deck of playing cards. That isn’t a big number, but the creators of the game repeated themselves four times when trying to fill them all up. There is a bicycle on the back of many decks; on the front, the numbers 2 through 10 along with a few royalty figures and an ace. It may seem as though more diversity would be in order, but the choices they made were just about perfect.
Despite similarities among the cards, they produce an amazing diversity of games and results. In that regard, cards offer a bit of a reflection of humanity. Think about the people you know. Aren’t they surprisingly similar to you? Most people have hair in one of five colors: brown, blond, black, red or gray. Most people have skin tones that are white, yellow, brown or black. Most people have personalities that are either giddy, dry, slapstick, or wry. I could go on, but I suspect you get the idea.
When you think about it, there really isn’t that much to separate one person from the next. It is like we’re all from the same deck of cards but different suits. I’ve found people with very similar habits and hobbies to mine. I’ve found people who share my enthusiasm for books and others who embrace my favorite movies.
For the sake of illustration, let’s say we’re each represented by one card in the deck. Those of us with self esteem issues may relate well to the lowly deuce. But think about the value of the two. Do you play cribbage? If so, you love the two. You need it if you have an 8 and a 5 because 8+5 is 13, but 8+5+2 is 15. For those who don’t play, 15 is good in cribbage. What about Blackjack? Suppose you have a King and a 9. Both are very good cards, but they are even better with a two. Now they add up to 21! In Go Fish! The two is valued because of its similarity to other twos. Together they make a difference. Suppose you have a two displayed and you draw a King for the second card. The King is worthless to you. You need another two not a King!
How about a poker hand… Suppose we have a 3, 4, 5, and 6 of clubs. Each of those is higher than our little 2 of clubs, but that two makes them all that much better. The two makes it a straight flush!
So let’s remember the lessons of our 52-card deck the next time we compare ourselves to others. Whether we’re the highest or the lowest, we always need the help of others to succeed. One person in isolation can’t prevail. Relationships are what matter in cards and in life. And our involvement is what makes our relationships work.
There is no such thing as a superior member of a relationship. Without both parties, there is no relationship at all. Who can claim to be more important, then? I’m not trying to spur egos or build myself up when I say it makes me happy to realize that we are each as valuable as anyone else. When we avoid the hype of others or the media or our society, we can find contentment and satisfaction. When we realize we have something unique and important to offer, we can motivate ourselves to get in the game.
Today, I urge you to get in the game. Today, I invite you to Go Fish!
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
