It's been a long day. A tired day. A day I've tried to fill with distractions other than thinking about the fact that my beautiful friend Rebeca Van De Venter has left this earth and traversed to other side of existence where she waits to be reunited with her loved ones some day. But she didn't leave on her own. She was forced against her will in an act of utter hate and violence.
Robbed of all the tomorrows she undoubtedly dreamed of.
Rebeca and I had lost touch a number of years ago. To be truthful, we were only friends for a couple of years. In 2003 to 2005 we both attended the same Mormon ward in Pasco, Washington. She had been assigned to be my "visiting teacher." During her assignment to visit teach me Rebeca had come to my home many times, sat on my couch, shared her life with me and listened to me share mine with her.
She was so young then, probably around twenty-six. I remember thinking how sweet she was. When she saw me at church she would always say hi. She was just that way. She became a new mom while I knew her. She was thrilled.
After a time, the area we lived in exploded with new housing and the ward we attended was split. Rebeca was assigned to attend a different ward. Facebook didn't exist then, so we lost touch. I guess I didn't really think anything of that. I mean, people come and go in our lives.
I moved to Richland in the years after we lost touch. She became a mother two more times. She also went through a painful divorce. It wasn't Rebeca's desire, nor her fault, but having gone through a divorce myself, I know how lonely it can feel. I can only imagine how lonely it must have been for her during that time. I wish I had been there for her.
In the years after her divorce Rebeca looked for love and acceptance in a relationship, as we all do. One man she had a relationship with was abusive and would be the man to rip her from this world.
I went to Rebeca's viewing yesterday. She lay in her casket as lovely as the last time I saw her. Her mother embraced me and took me close to where Rebeca lay. She showed me pictures of her cherished daughter smiling, embracing her sons. Living. She hugged me and told me how much she loved her daughter. Her father's eyes filled with tears as I told him my memories of Rebeca. Her kindness. Her friendship. He hugged me tightly. I felt his loss. So much loss
Among the sadness I was feeling during my day I was also looking for a distraction. I read a blog article someone posted, by Elyssa Andrus, entitled "Because I said so: The end of the make-believe Supermom". After reading it I challenged all the moms I know to post a picture of the messiest room in their home and dispose of the need to appear always put together all the time. I was surprised at how many women actually posted pictures. The first brave posters made it easier for later posters to be brave
and put their pictures up too.
As more pictures popped up I started to realize something, and this connects to Rebeca, so hang in with me. As one woman would post her picture, other women would gain the courage to do the same. In a small way, these women were doing for each other, in spirit, what I wish I could have done for Rebeca. They were showing hidden parts of themselves and helping each other see that it's okay not to be perfect. It's okay to be flawed. To just be you. And that is what I wish I could have done for Rebeca. I wish I could have shown her something I keep hidden and told her how strong I knew she was and that she would be okay
The hidden part about me isn't my messy kitchen or bathroom. It's much more serious. After my divorce in 2000 I fell in love with a man who was abusive to me. Initially he swept me off my feet. He was handsome and smart. He was a dentist. He was an officer in the army. I felt important and needed. After a while though the attention bled into criticism. Criticism led to
verbal abuse and small acts of betrayal. In spite of this, I married him in January of 2003. Yep. I married a guy who was abusive to me. Because I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be needed. I didn't feel okay just being me.
It didn't take long for the verbal abuse to take a turn for the worse. He called me names I choose not to repeat. He screamed at
me. Threatened me. And then one day two and a half months into the marriage, he did what I should have predicted, but didn't want to believe he was capable of. He attacked me physically. Slammed me up against the island in our kitchen with his hands around my throat, cutting off my air supply for a few seconds. Then he slammed me up against a wall. The look in his eyes told me that if I didn't get away, he was going to kill me. All six of our kids, my two and his four, were in the house. That didn't matter to him. He was full of rage and hate toward me. He was going to kill me.
I don't know how, but I got away. Got my two sons and fled. I would have taken his children with me, but he threatened to tell the police I kidnapped them. My boys and I ran for our lives. A few days later I moved back home with my parents, divorced him as soon as I could and over time put my life back together. I was fortunate. I knew he was capable of murder. He even told me over the phone that I was lucky he didn't kill me.
Years later, my prediction that he was capable of killing came true. He committed suicide in 2012 in a horrendous way. When I heard the news I was relieved. The fear in the back of my mind that he would show up one day and try to hurt me again finally
And now, I am mourning the loss of beautiful Rebeca and feeling that if only I had stayed in contact with her, I could have
told her to get away from that guy. That she didn't need him to be whole. That I had done it and I knew she could too. Like my brave friends who made it easier for other woman to be brave and post pictures of the messy rooms in their homes, I could have made it easier for Rebeca to see that she was brave and didn't need an abuser to feel loved. That she was okay just the way she was. Although she did eventually break up with him, it was too late. He took her away.
So after thinking about her today and seeing all my friends bravely post their messy room pictures, I decided to put my messy life out there. In honor of Rebeca. I think she would have wanted me to do that. She would have wanted me to reveal this hidden part of myself so that other women would feel inspired to be brave and get out if they're in an abusive relationship.
For the record, I love good men. My brother and my father are two amazing men. I work with good men and go to church with good men. I'm raising my two sons to be amazing men, and they are amazing young men now, by their own choices. So I have nothing against men. I just have a lot against abusive men.
I want any woman who can read, EVERY woman who can read, to share this with all the women in their lives.
Because even if you're not in an abusive relationship, chances are you know someone who is. Maybe a sister, your mother, or a friend. Maybe a young lady out there who hasn't yet had a serious relationship needs to hear that she is okay just the way she is and that if a man, any man ever treats her in a way she feels is abusive, she needs to get away.
I wish I could have found Rebeca, wrapped her in my arms and told her she was okay. Told her she was beautiful and strong and good and that I was here for her. But I didn't know, and maybe you don't know if one of your friends or acquaintances is
being abused by the man in her life. So, please share MY dark secret, because I don't want to lose any more beautiful women.
In honor of my beautiful friend Rebeca Van De Venter, please. Here is my messy life so that other women will feel brave enough.
I know this hasn't been the cheeriest blog post to read. It wasn't easy to write. But again, in honor of Rebeca. I miss you friend. Until we meet again.
Peace and Blessings,
I want to believe that there is enough good in this world to save us all. Enough decency. Enough integrity. Enough good people doing good things to outweigh the rubbish that sometimes surrounds us.
I want to believe that goodness prevails. That good people are everywhere. That we surround each other. That the bad we hear about is just overblown and exaggerated by a media thirsty for the next mind-boggling story that will drive ratings.
But I also know, at this point we've all witnessed, either in person or on television, the real result of evil and its ability to shake us to the core.
So, today, I want to share a story with you. A true story about a random act of kindness brought about by the raw unabated emotion of the tragic loss of a cherished little boy. As told by my friend, Keith. I've edited some parts in an effort to respect all parties.
"Our friend's son died. The loss of this child, age 9, was very upsetting to all of us! It was a superhero stunt acted out in his room that ended horribly. My wife and I taught him in Sunday school when he was 4-ish. Cutest kid in our class I swear!
After his death, I could barely make it home on my twelve mile bike ride at times because of the tears. I HATE TO CRY! I Hate wimps! I didn't cry when a car hit me on my bicycle last year, or when I hit a tree snowboarding (breaking ribs),
or when I fell onto a rock mountain biking (breaking more ribs). I hate cry sallies! But this event, at this moment in my life had struck me to the core.
At this little boy's funeral everyone kept talking about how he would often give money to bums. Being an x-ray tech in a big city I get to experience bums in a whole different way than most people. I know some rape each other and touch things that you and I will be touching after they have smeared feces off their body with their hands. They spread MRSA, c-diff and other
wonderful diseases. Many refuse to go to shelters that would help because their minds are so far gone that they barely speak a language anymore.
I can't stand bums. I never give them anything. However, in one of my moments crying and biking home I came across
this woman. It was a very cold morning and she had spent the night huddling under a cheap looking bed spread from the garbage via Wal-Mart.
When I bike home I bring peanut butter and graham crackers in case I decide to ride extra far. I convinced myself that my little friend who was no longer with us would appreciate the act of kindness if I shared my peanut butter and graham crackers with this homeless woman. So, I stopped and placed them on her side and pedaled away.
The next day she was still there and as I was getting the food out to place on her side again she said, "I appreciated the peanut butter and crackers but you didn't have to do that." I said, "Sweetie why don't you go somewhere to get out of this cold?" She told me that she would go to her dad's house, but that her sister starts trouble when she goes there. I told her there are places she can go, like shelters that could help her and she should go there. Then I rode off.
All of this was because of my nine year-old friend. I do this on his behalf as I have a hard time feeling bad for adults who don't seem to be helping themselves. I don't stop every day now, but I still do on occasion. She has been there at that spot almost the entire 4 years that I have been riding my bike home."
Keith told me this story almost a month ago. I held on to it because I knew the right time to share it would present itself.
And so I end this blog with this thought; there is definitely enough good out there. It lies within each one of us and in our willingness to act. To set previous notions aside. To allow that soft whisper undeniably present in the kindness of another, lead us to spread the kindness of giving to those we come across.
May the soft whisper of kindness touch your heart this day.
Peace and blessings,
Latest Person of the Month
It's easy for me to strike up random conversations with perfect strangers, and when I do, I like to see how long it takes me to uncover something the person I'm speaking to has done to give back. Recently I struck up a conversation with a charming doctor here in the Pacific Northwest. As I listened to her account of giving back I was inspired and humbled. You will be too. Read on!
Dr. Jaime Bowman is quite unlike any doctor you may ever meet. With a bright and shiny personality, she hardly looks old enough to even be a graduate of med school.She is truly passionate not only about medicine, but about making a
A mother to two children, her oldest attends a charter school in Moscow, Idaho. And that’s where this story begins. When the director of the charter school approached her shortly before Christmas 2012 he needed to ask her an important question. Could she and her husband fund their daughter’s excursions for the upcoming calendar year? The school was running short on funding. When she didn’t hesitate to say that they would, he had another question. Could she afford to donate funding of the same amount, effectively "gifting" the money, for another student’s excursions as well?
Dr. Bowman told the director she needed to talk to her husband. She would get back to him in a day or two. And that is where the real magic of this story begins. After the couple talked it over, the matter was decided. They definitely wanted to contribute the funds for another student. But somehow, that just didn’t seem like enough. They wanted to do more.
So, they called all their family members. They suggested that instead of going online and buying gifts, or rushing to the nearest sale to get each other the latest and greatest gadget, would it be okay with everyone if instead of traditional Christmas gifts all the adults in the family donated what amount they could to their daughter’s charter school in order to fund additional
excursions for students who couldn’t afford it? The entire family was on board.
But the magic doesn’t end there. When their seven year-old daughter found out about their plan she wanted to be a part of it too. "I don’t need any Christmas gifts from grandma and grandpa. I want them to donate to my school instead of buying me gifts." It was settled. Before long the Bowman clan had raised enough money to fund excursions for ten students.
Besides knowing they were helping their daughter’s charter school, Dr. Bowman and her family felt so good about giving back that they didn’t want it to end. And so, it hasn’t.
Dr. Bowman delivers around 15 babies a year. She thought it would be a wonderful thing if every year for the remainder of these baby’s childhoods she sent them a card on their birthday with happy wishes and news that money had been donated in their name, by her and her family, to local medical services in the Pullman community. In this way she was continuing her passion for giving and ensuring that the area she resided in would continue to provide needed medical services for everyone in the community. Even those on hard financial times.
What stories about giving back do you know about? Please share them here so I can broadcast the good to the world.
Peace and blessings
It's been a while since I updated World4Good. A year, to be exact. After publishing the second story I realized the vision I had in my mind was not what was unfolding in real time. In truth, I hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be to convey to the reader everything I felt was important.
The purpose of the website was so personal. Yet I felt compelled to bring it to others. To share a dream I've seen come to life in my mind and heart for so many years. But you can't force a dream. And that presented a challenge. How was I supposed to bring something so personal to life for the reader?
I hadn't anticipated that I might get some negative reviews about the site either. A few people told me that they were left feeling a bit sad and empty after reading Beth's and Katherine's stories. That was devistating for me hear. The people whose stories I wanted to tell deserved better than a misdirected author clumsily grasping for understanding of her own purposes.
Wanting to carry on, but having no desire to bring negativity in any form to anyone, I froze in place. I simply stopped. I pondered. I regrouped. And I wrestled with the question; was it worth another shot? The more time passed, the less likely that seemed. And that presented a problem, because by then I had already received permission from numerous people to publish their stories.
Those stories were alive inside of me. They were precious to me. People I knew and respected had entrusted me with them. Daily, the strories greeted me, but I had nothing to offer other than the promise to carry them close to my heart.
The original idea was to inspire. To uplift. And I hadn't entirely accomplished that. And so, like cupping butterflies tightly in the palms of my hands, I held the stories close. So afraid to let them go.
But with time I understood. To hold on so tightly, like butterflies cupped in the palms of my hands, would be to keep their beauty hidden. And if butterflies are held for too long, their wings become damaged. They lose the ability to fly and eventually, they die.
I didn't want these stories to die. I wanted them to fly. The amazing people who had told me their stories deserved better. They deserved to have their stories written and read. Understood and considered.
After a time I began to understand, like any dream, World4Good will unfold in its own way. I can no more direct its destination any more than I can tell a butterfly where it should fly.
I hope you enjoy the unfolding of World4Good. The stories are real. And soft, like wings of a butterfly, they will touch you and remind you that even in the midst of trial and struggle, there is beauty and triumph. Restoration and redemption.
This newest story is an example of continued motivation. We all face struggle. And then we face the question; how do we proceed as the strife dissapates and life resumes as it once was?
Click here to learn about an inspiring young man, Geoff Cseh, Jr.
Your feedback and comments are welcome!Peace and blessings.
One of my favorite songs is "God's Hands" by Jewel. It reminds me that each of us has the ability to affect at least one other person's life for the better. Click the butterfly to hear it.
Nancy Rogers is the Director of Development and Fundraising at the Susan B. Anthony Project, domestic violence shelter. She was more than happy to speak to me today about ways World4Good.com's readers can help the organization that helped Katherine through her ordeal with domestic violence.
If you haven't read Katherine's story, you can find it by clicking this link.
As stated on the website, the shelter, "promotes safety, healing and growth for all survivors of domestic and sexual abuse and advocates for the autonomy of women and the end of interpersonal violence." According to Nancy, the shelter has a staff of 25 professionals who are trained to work directly with victims. The shelter also runs community outreach programs focused on prevention. This includes providing education to children as young as kindergarten about the value of respecting others and working problems out proactively rather than with the use of violence. The shelter also provides support groups, counselors, a crisis hotline and transitional housing .
"It's a safe place for victims to go to talk about their situation, even if they're not ready to leave yet, there will be someone who will be there to listen to them."
Victims of domestic and sexual abuse, "come from all walks of life, all educational backgrounds, all financial situations, ages and living situations." Nancy asked me to tell readers that while many people may not believe that they know someone in their circle of friends or acquaintences who have edured or are enduring the harm of domestic or sexual abuse, they would be surprised to learn that they probably do.
"It could be the person standing next to you in the grocery store line, your neighbor or someone you work with or go to church with. Domestic violence happens in all communities."
When I asked Nancy about ways readers could help the shelter she told me the easiest way is to simply go to their website and click on the "Donate Now" button. She also wanted to encourage readers to reach out to shelters in their own communities to give back. "Shelters can always use bedding for twin size beds and cribs, pillow cases, towels and washcloths and of course toiletries. Things you would need in your own home. Cash donations are a great help, but so are gift cards to local stores."
Nancy asked me to let readers know that victims of domestic and sexual abuse should know that they are not at fault and should not feel shame or blame for what has happened to them. There is a way out. Victims can call a toll free crisis hot line that is available 24-hours a day, 7-days a week if they are looking for help. The number is 860-482-7133.
World4Good isn't a site dedicated to educating readers on domestic violence, but this is part of Katherine's story and her bravery has made it possible to help others who may be facing a similar ordeal.
I hope you'll take a moment and reach out to your local domestic violence shelter. I've provided some links below to make it easier for you to find a shelter in your area. Even something as simple as an extra tube of toothpaste, bar of soap or extra bottle of shampoo can be of help. If you "like" this blog, or "Tweet" about it, it will allow others to see ways they can help too!
World4Good ~ You've got it in you! ~Crystal
The other day I was having a wonderful conversation with some great folks in one of the medical offices I visit. We laughed and made jokes. I was smiling from ear to ear. Before leaving I visited the lady's room. While fixing my hair in the mirror I noticed that to my horror, I had a huge hunk of black pepper stuck right between my two front teeth. My face flushed a bright red and I wondered why none of the people had taken a moment to tell me about the pepper.
Maybe they thought they'd offend me or make me feel bad. Maybe they didn't want to deal with an awkward situation if I'd feel embarassed. Maybe they didn't even notice, but I doubt it. It was a pretty huge hunk of black pepper.
On that note I want to thank the people who had the humanity to give me some really honest feedback about my latest "Person of the Week" article. As hard as constructive criticism can be to hear, sometimes it's the only way we'll ever know another perspective.
Because of their feedback I've decided to change a few things.
First, I'll be doing a "Person of the Month" article rather than a "Person of the Week". With my busy schedule there's just no way I can keep up with a weekly person.
Second, I realized that telling Katherine's story just wasn't enough. It left some readers feeling emplty and helpless. I've decided to provide a way for readers to reach out and contribute.
Third, I realize that many people want to know more about Katherine and how things are working out for her. Throughout the month I plan to have periodic updates and information so that readers feel informed and uplifted.
Fourth, I recognize that my writing skills could use some improvement so that the flow of the article is more fluid and congruent.
Katherine's story inspired people, but it also may have left them feeling flat with no way to give back. Because of this I'd like to provide a link to the Susan B. Anthony Project's donation page. http://www.sbaproject.org/donations.html I also plan to contact their office and find out if there are other ways readers can help out this month in honor of Katherine.
Click here to read about Katherine and her triumph over enormous odds.
I started this site to promote good and to uplift others. If that's not being accomplished then I'm falling short. This is a learning process and I'm enjoying it very much. It's wonderful to see different aspects of it come into focus. I appreciate your honest feedback and participation.
Please go below and "like" this blog, or tweet about it so that others can have an opportunity to read about Katherine and her triumph over tragedy.
Peace and blessings,
Not long ago I had an interesting conversation with a doctor in my sales territory. He told me that his goal for the new year was to cut back on the "stuff" in his life. He's come to realize that stuff isn't what really matters to him. Stuff, he's determined, doesn't really make him happy. In fact, some of the stuff he's acquired has caused him difficulty. He has to worry about the upkeap of his stuff, where he's going to put his stuff and how much it costs to repair his stuff when it breaks.
We both laughed at the reality that we'd worked pretty hard in our lives to get to a place where we could afford to get "stuff", only to realize that stuff isn't what really makes us happy. That back in the times when we'd struggled, been on the brink of poverty and only had PEOPLE to fill our lives, we'd both felt more fulfilled.
The whole conversation reminded me of a recent purchase I made. A few months back my old vacuum broke. To understand the importance of a vacuum in my life you must first understand that the house I bought seventeen months ago was built in 1975. It hasn't been updated since that time. I'm not exagerating. It really hasn't. I bought this fun little "fixer-upper" knowing I'd need to update it. Well, given that I spend eight to ten hours a day working and another 12 hours driving my kids around, I haven't really had the time to do much updating. So Yes, 1975 was the era of wall-to-wall carpeting. And when I say wall-to-wall, trust me, that's what I mean. Carpet in the kitchent? You know it. Carpet in the bathroom? I'm not even going to go there. Let's just say this spring, there's going to be some serious carpet pulling.
Anyhow, back to the broken vacuum. I knew that I could take it to a repair service and get the belt replaced and that it would be as good as new. But it was an old vacuum and not very sophisticated. I'd purchased it years ago when I'd been struggling finacially. In truth, I was ready for a new vacuum. Excited even. Oh yes folks, when you work the hours I do, buying a new vacuum is what constitutes excitment. So I made my excursion to the big "box store", looked over the wide selection of vacuums and seriously contemplated my decision. This was no small matter. There is literally 2800 square feet of surface area to be vacuumed.
I could buy another middle of the road vacuum that would simply get the job done. I mean, what's in a vacuum? Not much really. No need to be extravagent, was there? That's what the frugal side of myself whispered. But the side of me that felt I had something to prove spoke much louder. It was clear. I deserved a serious vacuum. Bells, whistles, attachments. One vacuum had a feature that allowed the power chord to be automatically rolled up inside and neatly stored. It was bagless. It was more powerful than the others, according to the specs on the box anyway. I promptly grabbed that model, rolled my cart to the check-out and proudly bought my new, state of the art vacuum.
Long story short, the fancy new vaccuum is no better than the cheap model I'd bought years ago. Well, other than the fact that it's not broken. But the point is, I would've been better off taking the old vacuum in for repair and getting the belt replaced. In fact, the feature on the new vacuum that automatically rolls up the power chord inside the vacuum broke after a few months. So now I have this long chord that takes up space on the floor around the vacuum because there's no hook on the outside of the vacuum to roll the chord onto. In short, the promise of "new and better" has now become a real pain.
But in an effort to tie together the conversation I had with the doctor and the purchase of my state of the art vacuum, I'll say this. In my attempt to prove something, and reward myself, I missed the mark. Let us not put false belief that by getting rid of the things in our lives that have always been reliable but may need a little repair, and replacing them with "new and better" is going to bring us any more joy than we already have available to us. Does that make sense? If not, then I probably have some work to do on authoring my blog posts. Anyway, that's all I've got right now.
One last thing. I'm excited to share another entry with readers about a "Person of the Week". Of course, it's been a whole month since my last "Person of the Week" posting. If you've done the math you already know it doesn't quite add up. All I can say is, I have a whole lot of respect for folks who do a great job keeping up websites on a regular basis. It's not as easy as it looks. At least not for me. And while me being able to keep up with something may not be the best judge of it's ease, I can tell you that I'm excited to finally get another person's story online.
Peace and blessings.
October 2006. I sat in an empty Phoenix hotel room after a day of attending educational workshops for the benefit of my
7thgrade math classroom. Alone and far from my home in Washington State I was sorely missing my two sons. At that moment I wondered what I had been thinking when registering for the conference a few months prior. I came up short on the answer. My mind began to wander. I didn’t feel like watching television. Going out might have been fun, but I wasn’t brave enough to venture out alone and I didn’t know anyone in the area. Then the thought came to me that in my predicament I was presented with a rare opportunity. The chance to just sit and think. Something I rarely was able to do with all the busy things that needed to be done every day. And so I began. To think. I thought about things that were important to me. Things I’d done that I wished I hadn’t. Oh how my mind wandered. And then I began to think about things I wished I could accomplish. About things I’d never dared to think about accomplishing. One thought in particular was recurrent from earlier in the day. I fixated on it for a while and as I did it grew into an idea.
At first the idea was nebulous. Just a mass of scattered thoughts, pictures, emotions and desires I’d pieced together. What if I could build a website based on the notion of what is good? There is always so much attention drawn to what is bad in the world. I wished I could combat that. What if I could? I thought about what the website would look like. I’d need a logo. I’d need subject matter. And all of a sudden the idea that had brought a whimsical feeling to me just moments before overwhelmed me with self-doubt. As soon as the thought was released into my active consciousness it was like an active force was trying to squelch it. I felt smothered. How could I ahccomplish something like that? Who in the world would even give a care about anything I had to say? I wasn’t savvy enough to pull something like that off. The self-doubt kept coming. I gave in and put the idea away in the far reaches of my mind. But it had struck a chord in my heart. I would be revisiting it.
Over time my nebulous idea never went away. Every time I’d be brave enough to venture a peak back into that far corners of my mind where I’d stashed it away, I’d feed it. Like a famished animal, it would devour anything I threw its way. Curiosity. Wonder. Even negativity. And like anything that is fed, it began to grow. But because it was undefined, due to my fear of
failure and self-doubt, it only enhaled what I fed it giving nothing in return. It grew in strength and in existence, but it was miserably out of focus.
In 2007 my career changed from teaching middle school math to 7th graders, to pharmaceutical sales. I had a large territory and sometimes, when I’d be traveling a long stretch of highway I'd have the luxory of thinking on my idea again. As time progressed it became easier for me to revisit those far reaches of my mind. During those long stretches, I'd feed it some more. Eventually I slowed down the process of visiting and feeding. My curiosity was more directed. Self-doubt was gradually put away. This was just an idea after all. No fear in that. Soon the idea evolved into more of a living puzzle made up of fragmented thoughts pleading to be put together. As soon as I’d see a thought that made sense I’d put it into place, creating order. The more order I created, the closer the idea came into focus. After a while I began to see a more refined picture.
The end of 2008 brought on a corporate layoff, and with it, one of the most interesting jobs I could’ve ever had. Teaching various classes to male felons in a state correctional institution. It was this job that would subsequently seal the thought that I had to pursue my idea. I had to solidify it and make it real. 2010 I hired on with another pharmaceutical company. Each transition, each phase of my life has brought opportunity after opportunity to refine my idea, grow my skills and talents and made me more determined to follow my dream.
Why am I going on about the beginnings to the idea I am now putting into motion? The answer to that is simple. I want to be clear that my life is incredibly ordinary. I struggle with feelings of doubt and discouragement like everyone else. But I’ve come to realize every day that I’m more than I thought I was the day before. We all are. Our capacity for good is far beyond what we often allow ourselves to see.
I’m not under the notion that by building this website I will single-handedly bring about world peace, or solve world hunger or rid the world of any number of other scourges. Though you wouldn’t hear me complaining if that were the result. I’m not naive to the fact that there is often ugliness and chaos in the world. But I’ve come to understand that the idea clear back in 2006 in that empty Phoenix hotel room was more than just a passing moment of boredom. It was the unveiling of part of me that would someday need to be born.
And so I introduce World4Good. As you see it, it’s in its infancy. There are components that are still out of focus. But I’ve learned that’s all part of the process.
I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know some of the most fascinating people. I love hearing other people’s stories and looking inside their hearts to try and figure out just how they overcame hardship. Almost everyone I’ve ever spoken to has a story of triumph to share. Most people don’t see it as triumph. They see it as living. But that’s just because they’re too busy getting done what needs to get done to focus on how they’ve overcome difficulty. But in truth, people who’ve overcome hardship and survived the fires of tragedy, defeat and discouragement are fascinating to me. These people have managed to make beauty where before there had only been ashes. I am compelled to share their stories.
Peace and blessings,