 It Is Later Than You Think
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"For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life.
But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first,
some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid.
Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.
This perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness.
Happiness is the way."
- Alfred D'Souza.
In 1938, I received a letter that completely changed my way of life:
Peking, China
Dear Doctor:
Please don't be too surprised in getting a letter from me. I am signing only my first name. My surname is the same as yours. You won't even remember me. Two years ago, I was in your hospital, under the care of another doctor. I lost my baby the day it was born.
That same day my doctor came into see me, and as he left he said, "Oh, by the way, there is a doctor here with the same name as yours who noticed your name on the board, and asked me about you. He said he would like to come in to see you because you might be a relative. I told him you had lost your baby and I didn't think you would want to see anybody, but it was all right with me."
And then in a little while, you came in. You put your hand on my arm and sat down for a moment beside my bed. You didn't say much of anything, but your eyes and voice were kind, and pretty soon, I felt better. As you sat there, I noticed that you looked tired and that the lines in your face were very deep. I never saw you again but the nurses told me you were in the hospital practically night and day.
This afternoon I was a guest in a beautiful Chinese home here in Peking. The garden was enclosed by a high wall, and on one side, surrounded by twining red and white flowers, was a brass plate about two feet long. I asked someone to translate the Chinese characters for me. They said:
Enjoy Yourself
It Is Later Than You Think
I began to think about it for myself. I had not wanted another baby because I was still grieving for the one I lost. But I decided that moment that I should not wait any longer. Perhaps it may be later than I think, too. And then, because I was thinking of my baby, I thought of you and the tired lines in your face, and the moment of sympathy you gave me when I so needed it. I don't know how old you are but I am quite sure you are old enough to be my father; and I know that those few minutes you spent with me meant little or nothing to you, of course- but they meant a great deal to a woman who was desperately unhappy.
So I am so presumptous as to think that in turn I can do something for you, too. Perhaps for you it is later than you think. Please forgive me, but when your work is over, on the day you get my letter, please sit down very quietly, all by yourself, and think about it.
Marguerite
Usually I sleep very well when I am not disturbed by the telephone, but that night I woke a dozen times, seeing the brass plate in the Chinese wall. I dismissed the thing from my mind; but before I knew it I found myself saying again to myself: Well, maybe it is later than you think; why don't you do something about it?
I went to my office the next morning and told them I was going away for three months. Then I telephoned Shorty, my best friend, and asked him to come to my office. On his arrival I told him to go home and pack a grip and come on down to South America with me. I read him the letter. He shook his head. "I can't go," he said. "Of course I'd like to, but for weeks now I've been waiting to close a deal. I'm sorry, old man, but maybe sometime...sometime..." His words came more slowly. "What was that thing again that woman said? It is later than you think. Well..." He sat quietly for a moment. At last he spoke. "I waited three months for those people to make up their minds. I am not going to wait any longer. When would you like to go?"
We went to South America. By good fortune, we were entertained by one of the prominent men of the country, a man who had built enormous steel plants and whose industries were growing rapidly.
During the visit, Shorty asked our host if he played golf. He replied, "Senor, I play a little, I would like to play much more. My wife is on vacation in the United States with our children. I would like to join her. I can do none of these things because I am too busy. I am 55 years old and in five years more I shall stop. It is true I said the same thing five years ago, but I did not know much we should be growing. We are building a new plant."
"Senor," I said, "do you know why I am in South America?"
"Because," he said, "because perhaps you had not too much to do and had the necessary time and money to permit it."
"No," I replied, "I had a great deal to do and I did not have too much of either time or money."
I told him the story of the letter. Like Shorty, he made me repeat the words: "Enjoy yourself, it is later than you think." During the rest of the afternoon he seemed a bit preoccupied.
The next morning I met him in the corridor of our hotel. "Doctor," he said, "please wait a moment. I have not slept well. It is strange, is it not, that a casual acquaintance, which you would say yourself you are, could change the current of a very busy life. I have thought long and hard since I saw you yesterday. I have cabled my wife that I am coming."
He put his hand on my shoulder. "It was a very long finger indeed," he said, "that wrote those words on the garden wall in China."
Shorty, strong and well a few weeks ago, has gone to his reward. I spent the last hours at his bedside. Over and over again he said, "Fred, I am so happy that we went to South America together. I thank God we did not wait too long."
© Frederic Loomis
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The Station
Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are travelling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.
But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day, at a certain hour, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come rue, and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering- waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion."
Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.
So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.
© Robert J. Hastings
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Laugh!
Many years ago, Norman Cousins was diagnosed as "terminally ill." He was given 6 months to live. His chance for recovery was 1 in 500. He could see the worry, depression and anger in his life contributed to, and perhaps helped cause, his disease. He wondered, "If illness can be caused by negativity, can wellness be created by positivity?"
He decided to make an experiment of himself. Laughter was one of the most positive activities he knew. He rented all the funny movies he could find - Keaton, Chaplin, Fields, the Marx Brothers. (This was before VCRs, so he had to rent the actual films.) He read funny stories. He asked his friends to call him whenever they said, heard or did something funny.
His pain was so great he could not sleep. Laughing for 10 solid minutes, he found, relieved the pain for several hours so he could sleep. He fully recovered from his illness and lived another 20 happy, healthy and productive years. (His journey is detailed in his book, Anatomy of an Illness.) He credits visualization, the love of his family and friends and laughter for his recovery.
Some people think laughter is a waste of time. It is a luxury, they say, a frivolity, something to indulge in only every so often. Nothing could be further from the truth. Laughter is essential to our equilibrium, to our well-being, to our aliveness. If we're not well, laughter helps us get well; if we're well, laughter helps us stay that way.
Since Cousins' ground-breaking subjective work, scientific studies have shown that laughter has a curative effect on the body, the mind and the emotions. So, if you like laughter, consider it sound medical advice to indulge in it as often as you can. If you don't like laughter, then take your medicine - laugh anyway.
Use whatever makes you laugh - movies, sitcoms, Monty Python, records, books, New Yorker cartoons, jokes, friends. Give yourself permission to laugh - long and loud and out loud - whenever anything strikes you as funny. The people around you may think you're strange, but sooner or later they'll join in even if they don't know what you're laughing about. Some diseases may be contagious, but none is as contagious as the cure- Laughter!
© Peter McWlliams |
"Be the change you want to see in the world." Gandhi 
"A person's true wealth is the good he or she does in the world." Mohammed (PBUH)
"All things are possible to those who believe." Jesus
