What If You Couldn’t Get a Glass of Clean Water…Ever!

Thirsty? Walk over to your sink, turn on the faucet and imagine nothing
but a stream of dark, gritty, river water running into your best
crystal goblet…

You wouldn’t drink that, right?

But millions do…daily. And thousands die from it.

I’ve been lucky enough to spend substantial time in Ethiopia, Kenya,
Peru, Mexico and China. I know this water problem is real. I’ve seen it.

While driving to our small village in Ethiopia, I saw families bathing
and filling water buckets in streams where cattle were also wading,
bathing and defecating within a few feet of them.

My family, living in a tiny Ethiopian village, employed a 16-year old
girl to bring two five-gallon jerry cans full of clean water on a donkey from the village
well nearly a half mile away six times a day, every day, 7 days a week
to fill their holding tank. A shower was a very precious – and fast -
activity.

Clean water – or the lack of it – poses "a major threat to human
health. Diarrhoeal disease alone amounts to an estimated 4.1 % of the
total global burden of disease and is responsible for the deaths of 1.8
million people every year," according to the World Health Organization (WHO).

"It was estimated that 88% of that burden is attributable to unsafe water supply, sanitation and hygiene and is mostly concentrated on children in developing countries."

Did you get that? From water-based diarrhea alone, 1.8 million people die each year.

That means that nearly 4 people have died from drinking bad water since you began reading this article.

But that doesn’t include the dozens of other diseases that result from little access to clean water. The numbers jump to more than 5 million who die annually when you add them in.

That’s so sad…but it’s over there, right? It doesn’t really affect me or you. And there’s nothing you can really do anyway, right? You’re just one person.

Wrong!

Luke Hutcherson is just one person too. But he’s making a difference and you can help. Here’s how:

Support him and his team in bringing low-cost water purifiers to the worst-hit areas such as Ghana in West Africa.

By the end of November, you can help him install these water purifiers and be confident that you’ve helped nearly 10,000 people have access to clean water who don’t right now.

You can make a big – HUGE – difference in their lives…without leaving your house!

How’s that for direct action?

On Nov. 5, Luke is leading a team of four people including a union pipefitter who has volunteered his time to Ghana. Paying their own expenses, they are armed with knowledge and portable McGuire Water Purifiers to villages where no clean water exists.

Now, you may ask, "Where’s the money going?" I asked some really hard questions and Luke responded candidly. Here are his words:

"Part of the funds will be used to hire a vehicle and a driver for the ground transportation along with gas."

"All of the money beyond this will be spent on the necessary expenses for the batteries, chargers, pumps, pipes, holding tanks, etc. for installing the system under any conditions. All we will need is a source of water which can be filtered and purified using chlorine gas as shown on the web site."

"Three of us will be attending a workshop with New Life International, Edge Outreach and the inventor, Duvon McGuire on October 19 – 21. This is why the trip date is set for November. I have used water funds to pay for the pipe fitter to attend, but I have paid for myself and the third person to attend."

"I have an accountability board set up. All funds that I have any access to, including the paypal donations, have to go into the FBA, Brotherhood account. Any expenses I pay, must be invoiced and I have to have two signatures on each and every check. These measures are in place to assure anyone giving that the money is not going in my pocket. I can’t get any of it without approval."

There’s no monetary gain for Luke or his team. He’s on a mission from God.

All he needs is our donation, large or small…it doesn’t matter.

You can donate directly here at Luke’s site called "Water for Ghana"…

Clean water in the third world solves many of the health issues. The McGuire Water Purifier is an amazing machine / process. Purifying 55 gallons of water a minute, enough for 10,000 people a day, the McGuire Water Purifier is an available and portable technology, relatively inexpensive, easy to install, and easy to use.

When I read Luke’s website and the information about the McGuire Water Purifiers, I thought it was too good to be true. So, I dug in find out more. Immediately, I saw that the Rotary Club has partnered with New Life International (a Christian non-Profit organization) to implement these all over the world.

That’s reputable enough for me.

I’m donating big to this effort

And you can too without taking the money out of your pocket. Here’s how:

Luke’s trip begins on Nov. 5. I currently have My 31-Day Birthday Celebration online between Oct. 12 and ending Nov. 7.

My wife and I will donate 25% of all of my personal sales from My Birthday Celebration – all 31 days of it – to this endeavor. And I will challenge every affiliate and joint venture partner to do the very same. Together, we can have a tremendous impact.

Go to the "How to Promote" page to see how you can promote the Birthday Celebration if you’d like to donate too. I challenge you to drive as much traffic to the sale as you can AND to donate as much as you can from the sale to Luke’s project.

I worried about this girl all last week…

You know who I’m talking about – South Carolina Miss Teen America. Why on earth would I worry about her?

Well, let’s see…

She’s 18 years old, and ridiculed all over America for a dumb answer she gave under pressure.

Clips on Youtube.com portraying the incident have been viewed more than 19,000,000 times. Tons of additional cruel clips have cropped up ridiculing her. Even Subway (the sandwich place) created a commercial that took a cheap shot.

That’s the kind of thing that a fragile mind (like most of us possess) could obsess about to the point of paranoia, and really turn into a life defining moment.

You probably remember those moments…good or bad in your life that stayed with you. Often, they’re moments we’d like to redo.

But, seldom are there redo’s in real life.

So I was tickled to see an interview with her on The Today Show also on YouTube where her situation was handled fairly and with compassion. Click on the image above to start the video in a new window.

She’s a smart girl with a great future…and a healthy perspective, I’m glad to say.

Good God! She’s 18. I’d hate to be judged on what I did when I was 18…

In 1998, you could not have drug me to an Opera. I was more of James Taylor-Santana-Steppenwolf kind of guy.

But then I married an opera singer.

I was really nervous going to my first opera (Andre Chenier) to watch my wife on stage, but I hadn’t fallen in love with a beautiful woman with a beautiful voice.

At the end of Chenier, I had fallen in love with opera too.

Yesterday, Luciano Pavarotti died. A great voice, huge talent. He brought opera to the masses. Even if you don’t like opera, you know Pavarotti.

Today, my friend Mark Hendricks (who spent several years in the music business as well) sent me a link to a scene from the British version of The American Idol.

A man – a cell phone salesman named by day
Paul Potts – wows the audience with his version of a Pavarotti standard taking everyone by surprise.

As soon as he opened his mouth, I gasped…and tears started flowing.

It was the story that got me, not the music itself. Oh, he’s good, but when I’m in Atlanta, I room with a tenor who practices every day and is a much better singer.

But this little guy is everyman, hiding in little job because he doesn’t have great confidence in himself. He’s the chubby guy in the lunchroom who sat by himself avoiding social interaction. He’s the one who doesn’t say much or smile much because he’s got bad teeth.

And inside him, lay a spirit – his voice – that couldn’t be contained.

We’ve all got that spirit. All we have to do is find our voice.

Click on the link – turn up your speakers. Watch and cry.

Then click to the bottom of the page and listen to his next-to-final performance.

And click here to see his final performance on Youtube.

Whew!

Ninty-year old Sen. Robert Byrd stood on the senate floor shaking
with anger, screaming an outrage felt by many Americans, as he choked
with emotion, "Barbaric…Barbaric…Barbaric…"

Michael Vick, the celebrated Atlanta Falcon Quarterback and
multi-millionaire sports celebrity, had been indicted for being
involved in dogfighting.

Byrd’s words about the incident were appropriate…"Barbaric…"

When I told my wife about the episode, she nearly cried. We’re both dog
lovers and don’t understand how anyone can take pleasure from hurting
these or any other animals.

As the news crews latched on to the outrage, the evidence against Vick grew.

Not only was he "involved", but he was breeding dozens of dogs on his
property using "Rape Stands" – a contraption that immobilizes the
female for mating because the best fighting females are so mean that
they’ll bite the males.

Cajun-style dog fight pits were found on his estate in Virginia.

Barbaric…

Later that day, an e-mail notice…

dropped in my wife’s inbox reminding her that she had sponsored several dogs last year at Best Friends – a beautiful organization in Utah that takes in stray, injured or neglected animals.

She sponsored five more this year, each with a moving story.

Shortly, an e-card arrived in my inbox from Best Friends saying that Charlsa had sponsored "Apple Butter" in my name (because she knows I love apple butter). Click on the image on the left to see "Apple Butter" and while you’re there, choose a dog or other animal that you can help.

I smiled, thinking about my two dogs at home: Sophie and LuAnn.

LuAnn had come to us when a friend found the frightened six-week old puppy fending for herself in a church parking lot. She became our lover dog – respectful, sweet and playful…and a glutton for attention.

After six months, reluctantly, we realized this puppy needed a playmate. The neighbor brought six-month old retriever-mixed breed Sophie by the house to play with LuAnn and, of course, they fell in love with each other running, rolling and rumbling in the front yard.

When it was time to leave, she told us that she had six dogs and Sophie was going to the animal shelter because she was more than she could handle.

That’s how she came to live with us. We didn’t really want another dog. How could we love her as much as LuAnn?

Loving each other and never biting, they played so hard and made so much noise that visitors thought they were fighting. They knew how to have a good time.

Sophie especially loved life. In addition to playing, she loved getting on the furniture – especially when we weren’t looking – and terrorizing the cat.

When we returned home down our long drive, she and LuAnn would stop growling and playing when they saw our truck, and Sophie would search desperately for a stick. She always met an open car door by presenting a stick (or stick-like-substance) in big jaws for us, while wagging her big, bushy tail so hard that her whole body swayed with the momentum.

For three years, they were never separated. If they had to spend the night at the vet’s for shots, checkups or boarding, they slept in the same dog run because they couldn’t be apart.

Slowly, Sophie wagged her way into our hearts…like dogs tend to do.

I’ve noticed over the years that dog lovers are just better people. It’s hard to hold anger and resentment against other humans when you love a dog. There’s something about letting the creature inside our protective wall that softens us.

So, when a neighbor called last night to tell us that Sophie was laying on the road, we panicked fearing the worst. We flew to the road and there she lay, just below the crest of hill, all life gone from the sweet girl who loved life so much.

Our hearts exploded with the loss of a beautiful friend who knew nothing but joy.

Back to Michael Vick

The outrage is justified.

Jail time is warranted.

Suspension from the NFL a no-brainer.

But a better sentence would be working at Best Friends supporting and nurturing those animals in need of his love – any love – until he opens his heart to one of those dogs.

When that happens, a day will come when he no longer feels that soft-wet nuzzle on his arm, and his heart will ache with a pain like he’s never felt before.

Then, he’ll understand the wrongs he’s committed.

Go to Best Friends now to learn how you can sponsor a dog (cat, horse or other animal) for just a few cents a month? I would be so happy if you would sponsor a dog in honor of Sophie…

If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, you know that being a better
father is one of my goals – even though my kids are grown and gone.

I built my first online business around this niche concept and created
a course on how to do it with The 60-Day Experiment.

I am committed to supporting fathers and children, and use my experience as a pretty terrible dad to help others…

But as I described in Bad Dad: 10 Keys to Regaining Trust, it’s never too late to turn things around.

My own sons have become fathers and I’m happy to say they’re terrific dads.

What was my problem? I worked too hard and didn’t spend enough time loving my kids in the ways that were important to them. I thought providing a fat allowance, the coolest sneakers and a nice place to live was all that mattered.

Boy, was I wrong.

This morning I took advice from a man who was much less educated than I am, but had a wisdom that only can be taught through experience.

He had spent 12 years in prison by the time he was 30. That was nearly 20 years ago. Yet, he changed his life because he had two daughters who needed him to be a better father.

And what advice did he give about becoming a better dad?

Love your kids enough to let them make their own mistakes and be there when they need your help.

Whew! Pretty simple advice. And pretty solid too.

There have been two studies released in the past month about the effect of fathers on their children:

1) This week, USA Today reported on a study that compared real-life fathers to TV sit-com dads. Not surprisingly, real-life dads didn’t fare so well. Nearly all the respondents said their dad had a lot more work pressure than the TV dads and much less time for them.

Even Homer Simpson rated as a better father!

2) The second (which I can’t seem to find on the net…but I saw it on TV so that makes it true, right?) demonstrates that fathers are just as important, if not more, important than mothers when it comes to raising children.

And if you’ve read my report on disappearing daddies called Absentee Dads: A Child’s Worst Nightmare! you already knew this. If you think an absentee dad is physically removed, you’re only partially right. Some kids never know their dads. But others sit at the dinner table with them each night and still have an absentee dad.

It is just as much an emotional state as it is physical. Being in the house is not enough. Dad must be emotionally engaged and participating with the rearing of the children.

These are some of the horrors of dads who ignore the kids. Children from "fatherless" homes are:

• Five times more likely to commit suicide
• Thirty-two times more likely to run away
• Twenty times more likely to have behavioral disorders
• Fourteen times more likely to commit rape (this applies to boys)
• Nine times more likely to drop out of high school
• Ten times more likely to abuse chemical substances
• Nine times more likely to end up in a state-operated or charitable institution
• Twenty times more like to end up in prison for a long period of time 

Those statistics vary from study to study, but nearly all agree that the consequences of "fatherless" homes is no less than the breakdown of society.

So, why am I telling you all of this on Father’s Day?

Dad, you’re really important. How you raise your children not only affects them, but possibly the rest of our society. Your responsibility as a dad is huge.

Mom, you’re not off the hook. You agreed to birth these children and you assumed your partner was going to be the best dad possible. If he’s not, you need to talk. Download the special report on absentee dads. Share it. Protect your children and make sure Dad is part of the picture.

What an honor to be a father today! And what a responsibility…

Go ahead. Celebrate today. Enjoy the hot dogs on the grill or the steak at the Golden Corral, but remember, being a dad is not about you at all.

It’s all about your children. Enjoy them. Teach them. Love them.

Then you can truly celebrate Father’s Day…everyday!

I’d love to hear your parenting experience here.

It’s funny how the world works – giving you what you need instead of what you think you want.

First, you take a shot to the left jaw and you see stars. Then, in a
flash, the second part of the 1-2 punch lands on the right jaw…and
NOW we’ve got your attention.

Friday, I took the first hit.

A book arrived that my…

friend Mark Hendricks recommended called, The 4-Hour Workweek. Talk about a title that speaks to me!

So, I dived in. Even in the introduction, I’m blown away by the accomplishments of the author and 29-year old master, Tim Ferris. On every page that follows, I recognize that I’m busy, not productive, or doing what he calls "work for work’s sake".

I hate that. I like to think I’m a systems guy – someone who can figure out a problem and put in a solution that efficiently accomplishes the task with minimal effort.

But efficiency, the author points out, is not effectiveness. OUCH! That stung…

The question, he points out, is not how can I solve this problem, but what happens if I ignore this problem? Is it worth trading my time for?

As I’m reeling from the first realization of how ineffective I tend to be in my quest for efficiency, I get a note from another friend, Roger Carr at the Everyday Giving Blog, who has tagged me in an ongoing blog project to "Describe my single most effective productivity tactic…"

That’s the second blow in the 1-2 punch

After a 24-hour sprint to Atlanta to have a little fun with two of my children and my grandson who were in town, it became very apparent to me that I do a terrible job of having fun!

Yet, that’s my primary goal in life: Have fun.

To this point, I’ve not accomplished that because I have a deep belief that fun has to be purchased – you know, "When I get enough money, I can relax and THEN I’ll have fun doing…"

Seriously wrong thinking!

Above my door that leads to the deck that overlooks a stream in the middle of the north Alabama woods (sounds like fun already, right?) is a sign with one word painted in huge letters: Simplify!

Tim Ferris, the author of The 4-Hour Workweek, says doing less is the key to accomplishing more.

Better read that again:

Doing less is the key to accomplishing more…

How’s that for a paradox? But I know in my heart it’s the truth. And I plan to do less, not more, and be much more effective in those things I do.

Including having fun!

This was not the first time I’ve heard this refrain. My friend Mark Hendricks, who I’m tagging by the way to carry on this productivity exposition, calls this process The Real Secret. You can view the video he uses to explain it here.

And I’m also going to drag Alan Bechtold into this as well.

Why?

Alan, who writes a weekly Ezine called the E-Wealth Report and continues to amaze me with all the irons he has in the fire including his recently launched Big Ass Profits TV, seems to be a master at balancing work and life, while remaining true to himself.

Somehow, I think that holds a key to being more productive AND effective.

Can’t wait to see how they answer the question: What’s your greatest productivity secret?

Charlsa came running into the kitchen, screaming, "David, it’s a snake. Oh, David, it’s a snake…"

We live in the woods. Snakes are not uncommon. Seldom is it more than a shock, and seldom does it cause us to get a little hysterical. Basically, we’ve learned to live together: Don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.

But this snake had brought a small tragedy into our lives.

Here’s how it began…

While sitting on our deck not long ago, we noticed two birds that we hadn’t seen before. We know our bird population pretty well. With bird feeders hanging around the house, the Indigo Buntings, Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, Nuthatches, black-capped Chickadees, Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds – all know that they’re very welcome.

We love they’re music.

When we saw a couple that we didn’t recognize, my wife dove into the field guide and discovered that they were Eastern Phoebes, a non-distinct gray-to-olive green bird with a very distinct tail wag.

The male and the female are hard to distinguish, but seem to travel in pairs.

In nearly four years of living here, they made their first appearance known to us…and they made themselves home. Diligently, they were flying to the rafters in the eves at the corner of our screened-in porch.

In fact, we could sit at the table and watch as they built their nest in the shade of the roof. Back and forth, back and forth they came, alternately bringing in grass and the makings of a first-class home.

The Missus sat on the nest as the Mister sat in the nearby tree flipping his tail up and down. Shortly, we snuck a peak at the nest with a hand mirror to find four white eggs buried in the nest.

In what seemed like just a few days, the eggs were replaced by little brown lumps with wide-open beaks. Mom and Dad took turns bringing food morsels to the nest as the young ones matured enough to cheep lightly for food. While we had dinner on the deck, we could hear the kids crying out for more like little eating machines.

We delighted in the natural display outside our window.

Then one early morning, with coffee in hand, my wife said, "The phoebes are acting strange. Watch. They take turns going up to the nest and fluttering, then race away."

I shrugged it off as nothing, as I poured my cereal.

Charlsa went into the utility room to get a better view. That’s when she came running back into the kitchen.

In my bathrobe, I grabbed a stick and ran to the deck. There, a gray rat snake lay coiled around the nest, guarding it closely as if it were shielding the nest from anyone else. I knocked it out of the rafters to the ground below.

Rat snakes are useful varmints to leave unspoiled. They keep the mice population low. I’ve side-stepped several rat snakes, maybe even this one, to let them do their job in our world and to honor them and their work. But they are NOT my favorite creatures.

But this one made me mad. And he paid the price, although it was a useless slaughter because he’d already done the damage.

All four of the baby phoebes were gone – small bulges in the snakes belly attested to their fate.

Back in the kitchen, I held Charlsa as she sobbed. "Those poor parents," she said. "They must be heart-broken."

As the phoebes fluttered to the nest looking for their young, I felt their loss. For nearly two days, they flew to the nest, expecting something different each time they showed up.

I started to take the nest down. It was spring and time to pressure wash the house including around the nest so we could re-stain this year.

But the Charlsa begged me not to mess with the nest, please. "They might come back," she said.

Fat chance, I thought. Birds won’t come back to a nest where the snake has invaded. They’re defeated. It’s over.

But three days later, the phoebes were adding material to the nest, making it higher and deeper.

And this week, the missus was sitting on the nest again. Yesterday, hand mirror at the ready, I peaked into the nest and found four more gleaming white eggs.

A big smile erupted on my on my face. They won.

This is where I can add a paragraph or ten driving home the moral of this story: never giving up, or how we all must respect our own nature as well as our partners on Earth, or about the beauty of God’s innate natural laws.

But frankly, I’m just tickled to imagine the phoebes starting over against all odds. I’ll let you know when the babies fly away this time.

BTW – we’ve put a plastic Great Horned Owl on the deck below the nest to scare off the invaders.

Tell me about your experiences of starting all over again…

You can be anything you want to be…fireman, astronaut, professional
baseball player, cowboy, or President…anything. Because, in America
(substitute your country), you can have everything if you work hard for
it.

Did someone tell you something similar to that when you were a child?

So, when did it change? When did you decide that…

you must pick and choose carefully among your options because you really can’t have it all?

It’s funny (strange, not ha-ha) how the messages of innocence and hope disappear as we grow older. By the time we have children, businesses, and…responsibilities (don’t you hate that word!), we’re fully aware that we can’t have everything.

Everybody says so. Sound wisdom tells us that we must be cautious, frugal and somber in our choices. Responsible…

But when we look at those role models that we admire, they place no such limitations on themselves.

While we’re busy making a buck and choosing what we really want and discarding the "unrealistic" aspirations, they’re filling their plate with passionate options.

Me? I learned early

Ball player?! Come on…get real!

My passion was becoming a professional baseball player. I was pretty good, but certainly not professional quality. But I still harbored the aspiration until I was 48 and paunchy. Old dreams die hard.

I just couldn’t shake the idea that I could have gone pro.

(Yes, I know that’s ridiculous, but I played hard until I was 48 in what I called, "old man baseball" with a bunch of ex-college, pros, and people like me – wannabes. I’d still be playing except the cost of gauze to bind my wounds and Ben Gay to soothe my muscles became a budget concern…)

Objectively, I know this is just revisionist history.

When I was 18, I was playing in a semi-pro league. I had a day job, a girlfriend, and no real aspiration. I’d dropped out of (asked to leave, actually) college, and had very little faith in my ability as a player or as anything else.

In my final game though, I pitched against a Major League pitcher’s highly-scouted son. And I smoked him. As I walked to the dugout in the last inning (I’d thrown all strikes and held the other team to 1 hit) I heard the Major Leaguer say, "Wow! Who is this guy? Where’d he come from?"

I went home smiling, iced my arm, and folded up my uniform and put it away, never to look at it again. In just a couple of days, I knew I would be on a bus to the Lackland Air Force base for basic training because my girlfriend and I were going to get married…

You can’t have it all, right? Marriage and baseball didn’t mix.

By then, I’d learned that having it all wasn’t a possibility for me. I could have a little, but just enough. And only my share. Even though I wanted it all.

As my friend, Katherine the artist said, I learned to settle for…

For the next 30 years, I settled.

When my wife and I moved to this beautiful Paradise in the woods, we thought we’d gotten something special. And we had. So why did we feel a little regret about leaving the city? And our friends?

To make us feel good about the geographic change, we tried very hard to dislike the city. Yet, every visit to Atlanta rewarded us with the smiling faces of good friends, good food and fun – all the stuff we liked most about Atlanta.

Thursday, two blocks from my rented house, I stopped at The Flying Biscuit – the kind of quirky in-town restaurant that only a big city will support – and picked up a biscuit (with apple butter) and a large coffee. I sat at the counter and watched friendly neighborhood people come and go.

For two years now, I’ve lived in this part of Atlanta with my good friend and roommate when I’m not flying, or living at home in the woods with my beautiful wife.

This is MY neighborhood too.

And it struck me…

• I’ve got a great independent worklife with a good contract, flexibility, and interesting and challenging tasks.
• I’ve got an excellent Internet business that continues to grow and teaches me new things every day.
• I’ve made really good friends in Atlanta, Seattle and Dallas, as well as all of my new friends online.
• I’ve got a loving and supportive wife and family.
• And I have the best of both living situations, country and city.

I don’t need to dislike one because I have the other.

Truth is…I have it all. Everything I want. I just didn’t know what it was until I learned how to look at it.

Having it all seems like such a selfish aspiration. But the willingness to entertain the idea that you can have it all is a gift that I hope I can give to my kids and anyone else who will listen. Now, that I’ve learned it, I’ll take it to the grave with me.

Have it all? Why not! Like they said in the Army a few years ago,

"Be All You Can Be…"

Having it all seems like such a selfish aspiration. But the willingness to entertain the idea that you can is a gift that I want to give my children and anyone else who will listen. It’s also a belief that I want to take to the grave with me.

Do you believe you can have it all? Do you even want it – let’s hear it?

We drove to Huntsville yesterday to say good bye to one of my best friends.

By the time, you read this Tommy probably will have passed away. The doctor said he wouldn’t make it through the weekend.

Just in his early 70′s, I watched him decline over the past five years
from a terrible disease that robbed him of his breath — COPD (Chronic
Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.) You can read about it here.

COPD is the 4th leading killer in America killing more women than men.
But 80-90 percent of all COPD sufferers are (or have been) smokers.
Tommy smoked for 30 years. Even though he stopped 25 years ago,
the damage was done.

After moving to Alabama, Tommy had become my friend, confidante and advisor…

He was not a rich guy by standard measures. But he had more friends and affected more people than any man I’ve ever met.

He was the definition of spiritual — kind, gentle, forgiving, loving and active in his faith.

I’d sit with him and "Bubba" — his small portable oxygen tank — while he listened to me whine about trivial situations. My problems.

Occasionally, Tommy would stop talking and breathe deeply to get enough oxygen in his system. Then he’d comment or listen some more. To me and my problems! He never judged me for being self-absorbed. In fact, I sometimes thought he preferred listening to my problems than talking about his own.

After a few years of going to lunch and getting closer, he told me more and more about his situation and his struggles with money, health, and family. And I felt privileged that he shared that with me.

But it wasn’t just me.

Being in the hospital room with Tommy and his wife yesterday was like being in parade. A constant stream of people — family and friends — paused by his bedside to hold his hand and look into his eyes. They all longed for some miracle to keep this wonderful man alive awhile longer in a world that needs him so badly.

But he’s done more work and contributed more to the welfare of family and friends than anyone can hope. And he did it selflessly with humility and gratitude for what he had.

Lying in a hospital bed hooked up to tubes and electrodes, feeling the effects of serious relaxation medication, he was in less pain and his struggle seemed deceptively easier. He talked…and he talked…as much as he could say, he wanted to get it out.

He’d known my wife since childhood. And when he saw her, he hugged her neck and kissed her cheek as she bent to kiss his forehead. "I wish I could have helped you more," he said. "You’ve been such an inspiration to me coming back to take care of your momma…"

Laying at death’s door, his words to my wife were "I wish I could help you more," not "can’t you do something for me?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. But I smiled big as I held his hand and told him I loved him. At the same time, I was so sad that I hadn’t built a closer relationship. That I hadn’t listened to him more and learned more from him. Instead, he listened to me.

Only a few weeks ago, he said words that haunt me even now: "David, I worry about you. You’re just running through life missing so much of the important stuff. Slow down, boy."

Slowly, I’m learning to walk again and appreciate more of the scenery around me. Tommy was the one who helped me see the value in that. That’s how I remember him — walking me through life and showing the important stuff.

As I was leaving his side to make room for more family and friends, he squeezed my hand tightly and looked into my eyes and said, "I love you, boy…"

Tommy will always be with me, but now, it’s time to cry for those missed opportunities to walk with him a little more.