What am I to do? I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good work, therefore, any kindness, or any service I can render to any soul of man or animal, let me do it now. Let me not neglect or defer it, for I shall not pass this way again.
Sometimes we get too busy in the course of the day (or week or month) to stop and think of others. It is easy to get caught up in our own needs and wants, and we forget how easy it is to encourage others, to just be a friend. And often it takes up far less of our time than we think it will. It is more a matter of resolve than schedule!
Is there someone around you that might need a friend or a listening ear? Perhaps someone crossed your mind and you thought to yourself "I should send her a note" or "I should have them over for coffee." Many times it only takes a minute to let them know that someone cares about them. That life does not have to be lonely. That they do matter. That God does love them. That not everyone who claims to be a Christian is a hypocrite.
***
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were too hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find--
They come in night and silence,
Each chill reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and flagging,
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it's not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun.
~Adelaide Proctor
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were too hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find--
They come in night and silence,
Each chill reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and flagging,
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it's not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun.
~Adelaide Proctor
3 comments:
I struggle with this as well. I call it "in-grown eyeballs" ~ when I find myself focused on myself too much and not on others. I'm ashamed of how often that happens!
marsha, marsha, marsha....
so, so, so, true...I'm adding this one to my new evernote to read over and over again...it's what I preach....the reminder to continually practice it....
thank you!
peace,
lori
"in-grown eyeballs"--hilarious! great post Marsha. thanks!
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