She once said to me, “I hope I am what others need me to be to them.”

She is my earth.

I saw her when my eyes first opened to this world.

And finally now I realize the roots I have in her.

The roots she still, and will always let me plant within.

She is a feeling of trust and stability.

As a child, with angel hair and wild excitement,

I told her blue eyes everything.

And still do.

She gave me these feathered breaths.

With love to fill my lungs,

And her wisdom to swell my heart,

I can count on her to know what matters most of all.

She is my breath of this fragile life.

My warmth and my health and my shelter,

My haven when the night grows cold.

She is a place where I am always me.

Holding onto my roots,

She lets me grow as a wildflower.

With a love unconditional but not binding,

She lets me choose my own way.

She tells me the secrets of life,

Sharing this world with me.

Casting me into this beautiful depth of life,

To believe, to dream, to live, and to just be.

She has showed me the winds,

Gave me the wings to my imagination,

And with fearless grace, let me go.

To fly into the great wide open.

She is the only person in the whole world,

A whole lifetime,

Who can be these things to me.

Even her clothes feel different.

Only to touch her skirt or her sleeve,

I can feel the power, the mystery, the love…

Of my mother.

Mother’s Day will soon be here. See her. Think of her. Remember her.

Oil Change

“Have compassion for all beings, rich and poor alike; each has their suffering. Some suffer too much, others too little.” ~Buddha

The rain was coming down hard, and the signs were blurred. I drove past a thrift shop, a few cafés, a pub, and a bookstore.

Then I saw the sign I was looking for: “Tony’s One-Stop Auto Repair.”

I parked on the street. It was five o’clock and still raining. I ran across the street and stepped inside.

“Hi. I brought my car in for an oil change. My name’s Kelly.”

“Oh, yes,” said the woman behind the desk, “Fill out these papers, and we’ll have that done in a half hour.”

Scribbling my signature I said, “Thanks, I’ll see you then.”

Thirty minutes later, the rain had let up, and I left the bookstore to walk back to Tony’s.

My car not yet done, I sat on the couch to wait. Pacing in the room was a man—who looked to be about my age—wearing work boots, Levi’s, and a tucked in plaid shirt.

The woman behind the desk said to him, “Tony will be in shortly for your interview.”

“No wonder the pacing,” I thought, “he must be nervous.”

Tony came in from the garage. He shook hands with the young man, who introduced himself as Sean. They sat in folding chairs and proceeded to have the interview behind the front desk, where we could all hear and see them.

I felt bad for him, thinking, “Interviews are nerve-raking to begin with, and to have to do one in front of us onlookers, that sucks.”

The interview was awkward. The entire time Sean seemed nervous and self-conscious. He stumbled on everything he said.

Then Tony said, “I’m looking for a fulltime worker.”

Enthused, Sean said, “Yeah! I’m looking for hours, and can work fulltime! I’m a hard-worker, and learn fast.”

Tony asked, “Why do you want to leave your job at another auto shop, to work here?”

Sean answered, “Right now I’m working fulltime. My boss gives me the most hours to work, because he pays me the least hourly wage out of the other employees. So it’s cheaper for him to have me work. I work as many hours as I can get. But I don’t get paid overtime.”

“It sounds like you work a lot. What else do you do when you’re not working?”

“Well, I don’t get paid enough at my current job. But if I ask for a higher wage, then I won’t get as many hours. My boss would give my hours to someone who will accept a lower wage. So I do a paper route three or four times a week.”

Surprised, Tony asked, “When do you find time to do that if you’re working fulltime?”

“Oh, the route’s at night. I start at 2:30.”

Tony let out a sighing whistle, “Man, that’s no way to do it. You have to find time to sleep. To do things for yourself too.”

The young man shrugged. (I don’t know if he caught onto Tony’s concern, or “attempted advice.”)

Pondering momentarily, Tony said, “Mmm, well it doesn’t seem like you’re in such a great situation at your job now. But let me think for a couple days, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay, sure. Thanks!” Said Sean.

They shook hands, and both left the office.

I sat there, feeling troubled. I can’t describe the exact feeling I had. But I felt bothered in some way.

I looked down at the floor, thinking. Looking at my feet, I stared at my $70 pair of Adidas tennis shoes. They seemed to match my privileged education at a private University. In the auto shop, I had a nice, safe car to drive. The shoulder bag at my side had my Apple computer in it. And to match with all that, I had a paid internship that allowed me to live in a safe neighborhood, and to pay my heating and grocery bill. But above all my material blessings, I have good people in my life who consistently love me, support me, and treat me with kindness.

I’m not naïve; I know life’s not fair, and that not everyone is treated so kindly and have the same opportunities. But I wondered, “Why am I so lucky? What makes the ‘cookies crumble’ in such a way?” I don’t really know anything about this man’s life, but from what I heard in his interview and how his boss cheats him, his life seemed harder than mine. And I wondered where he came from, what his story was. What his story would have been—what mine would have been—if we’d switched places?

These thoughts made me realize: that I don’t think of these things often enough; that I could be more grateful for what and whom I have; that—though we all suffer—my own sufferings are far less significant compared to others.

And with these realizations, I understand that I’m in a position to have a greater capacity to give my attention to those less fortunate.

Are you, too?