Comments on: Acts of Kindness - Give ‘em a Hand http://thesocialage.com/blog/2008/01/23/acts-of-kindness-give-em-a-hand/ Tue, 22 May 2012 20:36:32 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.2 By: Nez http://thesocialage.com/blog/2008/01/23/acts-of-kindness-give-em-a-hand/#comment-2686 Nez Sat, 26 Jan 2008 19:09:17 +0000 http://thesocialage.com/blog/2008/01/23/acts-of-kindness-give-em-a-hand/#comment-2686 Wow. Suzanne and Ligia -- your stories are simple proof that sometimes there are more than one "correct" answer, and that each one has merit. In the end, you just have to do what you feel is right (but not necessarily impose your view on others, saying, "You must do this, to", but rather, "This is what I'm doing, and here's why." which is what you both did. Thanks for sharing. Wow.

Suzanne and Ligia — your stories are simple proof that sometimes there are more than one “correct” answer, and that each one has merit.

In the end, you just have to do what you feel is right (but not necessarily impose your view on others, saying, “You must do this, to”, but rather, “This is what I’m doing, and here’s why.” which is what you both did.

Thanks for sharing.

]]> By: Ligia Buzan http://thesocialage.com/blog/2008/01/23/acts-of-kindness-give-em-a-hand/#comment-2657 Ligia Buzan Fri, 25 Jan 2008 05:59:04 +0000 http://thesocialage.com/blog/2008/01/23/acts-of-kindness-give-em-a-hand/#comment-2657 Thanks Susanne. The 'Spirit' of giving and of love is always with us. I'd like to share a story of a few years ago, a story that is deeply etched into my mind. I was in the US a year or two, after I moved here from Romania, and though I barely had a few dollars a month to spend, I did not feel poor. A generous community of monks had adopted me and I was living in a house of spirit and love; I was going to school; life was great, I thought. I was commuting late at night, every night, from South Station to Milton and meeting the same old woman in the train station asking for money. Small of stature, dress raggedly, with long silver hair, she was full of dignity and kindness, but perhaps I was reading into it. One cold night, particularly touched by the kindness of the monks who waited up for me with warm dinner, I spent the last few bucks I had to buy this old woman dinner. I placed it near to her, as she was sleeping on the floor and very content with myself, I was making a quiet exit to the train. Suddently-- she opened her eyes, grabbed my coat and started screaming at me. I was stunned and mortified --everyone had stopped to stare--barely making sense of what she was saying, I finally got it. What she said was: "I am asking you for money. If you don't want to give me money, fine ---it's your choice. But do not patronize me, do not feel pity for me, do not think you can chose for me, do not give me things I am not asking for. I am not part of your status based world, and I live the consequences of my choices. Judge me if you will, and she laughed this frightening short, toothless laugh--you will never understand until you walk in my shoes. Go away now." It was an extraordinary lesson for me. I thought: we may think that a beggar will drink the money, will do drugs or will do God knows what else which we disapprove. We give a dollar and want control and returns (hoping we do good for society). Since then I always give money if someone is asking for money(if I can give, and as much as I can give), and I do not judge. I give a dollar with respect (Respect is the first thing to go when people beg) and I chose to have faith that they would make the best decision possible under the circumstances. Thanks Susanne. The ‘Spirit’ of giving and of love is always with us. I’d like to share a story of a few years ago, a story that is deeply etched into my mind. I was in the US a year or two, after I moved here from Romania, and though I barely had a few dollars a month to spend, I did not feel poor. A generous community of monks had adopted me and I was living in a house of spirit and love; I was going to school; life was great, I thought. I was commuting late at night, every night, from South Station to Milton and meeting the same old woman in the train station asking for money. Small of stature, dress raggedly, with long silver hair, she was full of dignity and kindness, but perhaps I was reading into it. One cold night, particularly touched by the kindness of the monks who waited up for me with warm dinner, I spent the last few bucks I had to buy this old woman dinner. I placed it near to her, as she was sleeping on the floor and very content with myself, I was making a quiet exit to the train. Suddently– she opened her eyes, grabbed my coat and started screaming at me. I was stunned and mortified –everyone had stopped to stare–barely making sense of what she was saying, I finally got it. What she said was: “I am asking you for money. If you don’t want to give me money, fine —it’s your choice. But do not patronize me, do not feel pity for me, do not think you can chose for me, do not give me things I am not asking for. I am not part of your status based world, and I live the consequences of my choices. Judge me if you will, and she laughed this frightening short, toothless laugh–you will never understand until you walk in my shoes. Go away now.” It was an extraordinary lesson for me. I thought: we may think that a beggar will drink the money, will do drugs or will do God knows what else which we disapprove. We give a dollar and want control and returns (hoping we do good for society). Since then I always give money if someone is asking for money(if I can give, and as much as I can give), and I do not judge. I give a dollar with respect (Respect is the first thing to go when people beg) and I chose to have faith that they would make the best decision possible under the circumstances.

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