【推荐1】It all started with a simple question: “Can I paint your portrait?”

This summer, Brian Peterson and his wife, Vanessa, had just moved to California. Outside the couple’s fourth-floor apartment, an untidy homeless man was often yelling on the street corner, sometimes keeping them awake at night.

One day, Peterson was relaxing in his living room, reading the book Love Does, about the power of love in action, when his quiet was disturbed by the homeless man. Inspired by the book’s compassionate message, Peterson made an unexpected decision: He was going to go outside and introduce himself.

In that first unexpected, Peterson learned that the man’s name was Matt Faris. He’d moved to California to pursue a career in music, but he soon fell on hard times and ended up living on the street for more than a decade. “It was the weirdest thing to me,” Peterson recalled later. “I saw beauty on the face of a man who hadn’t shaved in probably a year. But his story, the life inside of him, inspired me.” And even though Peterson hadn’t picked up a brush in about eight years, he found himself asking if he could paint Faris’s portrait. Faris said yes.

Peterson’s connection with Faris led him to form Faces of Santa Ana, a nonprofit organization focused on befriending and painting portraits of members of the community who are unhoused. Peterson sells the impressive 30-by-40-inch canvas-signed by both subject and artist-for a few thousand dollars, splitting the proceeds and putting half into what he calls a “love account” for his model. He then helps people use the money to get back on their feet.

Peterson has painted 41 of these portraits himself. But there’s more to the finished products than the money they bring to someone down-and-out. He’s discovered that the buyers tend to connect to the story of the person in the painting, finding similarities with someone they might have otherwise overlooked or misunderstood.

“People often tell me, ‘I was the one that would cross the street. But I see homeless people differently now,’” Peterson says. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

【推荐3】Nothing good generally comes of a conversation that start with the words, “I think you should probably sit down before I tell you this.”

And so it came to pass. Away for Christmas, we got a call from kind friends at home, our neighbor's house had caught fire while they were out. The fire didn't spread to our house but the smoke very much did.

It's weeks of either throwing out, or sending away for specialist cleaning, every single thing into which smoke could have permeated because the particles are an ongoing health risk and washing isn't enough. Anything soft-sofas and carpets and children's teddy bears, clothes — is suspected. We will be seeing in the New Year in a decidedly minimalist fashion.

What I didn't expect to feel, however, is lucky. Friends and neighbors have come together with incredible generosity. We will never again underestimate the closeness of the village community in which we live, or the innate kindness that is most people's natural reaction to trouble, and are grateful to be reminded of so much that is good. But that's not the only thing I've learned. For in a sense, we have a chance to start again.

The surprise on being forced to think about what might urgently need replacing is how short the list of essentials seems; how much we must have been hanging on to out of habit, and how much we have been conditioned to think was important.

It's all too easily assumed that family history lives in tangible things — old photographs, a dress bought decades ago for a night heavy with memories — but that's not quite right. These things were only reminders of what we already carry with us in head and heart.

Walking through the house, sweeping up the broken glass, I realized that the answer to the old question of   “What would you save in a fire?” is actually that nothing really matters but each other.

【推荐3】One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class, named Kyle, was walking home from school, seemingly carrying all of his books. I wanted to lend him a hand. But I had quite a weekend planned, so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. Suddenly, a bunch of kids running at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him.

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him when he crawled around looking for his glasses. “Hey, thanks!” He said as I handed him his glasses. There was a big smile on his face.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors and leaving for college, Kyle was valedictorian (毕业致辞者) of our class.

“Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, maybe a coach... but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story.”

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his mom wouldn’t have to do it later and was carrying his belongings home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. “Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable.”

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize the depth of my small help.

【推荐1】When I was 8 years old, I decided to run away from home after a quarrel with my mother. With my suitcase packed and some sandwiches in a bag, I started for the front door.

My mom asked where I was going. “I’m leaving home,” I said. “What’s that you’re carrying?” she asked.

“Some clothes and food,” I replied.

“If you want to run away, that’s all right,” she said. “But you came into this home without anything and you can leave the same way.”

I threw my suitcase and sandwiches on the floor and started for the door again.

“Wait a minute,” Mom said. “You didn’t have any clothes on when you arrived, and I want them back.”

This infuriated me. I tore my clothes off — shoes, socks, underwear and all — and shouted, “Can I go now?”

“Yes,” my mom answered, “but once you close that door, don’t expect to come back.”

I was so angry that I shut the door forcefully and stepped out of my home. Then I noticed down the street two neighbor girls walking toward our house. I was so shy that I saw the big spruce (云杉) tree in our yard and jumped under the low-hang ng branches (树枝). A pile of dried-up brown needles (针状物) were beneath the tree, and you can’t imagine the pain those sharp needles caused to my body.

After I was sure the girls had passed by, I ran to the front door and knocked at it loudly.

“It’s Billy! Let me in!”

The voice behind the door answered, “Billy doesn’t live here anymore. He ran away from home.”

Looking behind me to see if anyone else was coming down the street I said, “Mom! I’m sorry. I’m still your son. Let me in!”

The door opened and Mom’s smiling face appeared. “Did you change your mind about running away?” she asked.

“What’s for supper?” I smiled back.

Now that I am no longer young. I have friends whose mothers have passed away. I have heard these sons and daughters say they never fully thanked their mothers until it was too late to tell them.

I am blessed with the dear mother who is still alive. I appreciate her devotion more each day. My mother does not change, but I do. As I grow older and wiser, I realize what an extraordinary person the is. It’s sad that I am unable to say these words in her presence, but they flow easily from my pen.

How does a daughter begin to thank her mother for life itself? For the love, patience and just plain hard work that go into raising a child? For running after a toddler, for understanding a moody teenager, and for tolerating a college student who knows everything? For wailing for the day when the daughter realizes what her mother really is?

How does a grown woman thank a mother for continuing to be a mother? For being ready with advice when asked or remaining silent when it is needed? For not saying “I told you so.” when she could have voiced these words dozens of times? For being essentially herself — loving, thoughtful, patient and forgiving?

I don’t know how to thank her, dear God, except to bless her and live up to the example she has set. I pray that I will look as good in the eyes of my children as my mother looks in mine.

【推荐1】Eleven-year-old Angela was stricken with a terrible disease. She was unable to walk and she moved only in other ways. The doctors thought she'd spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, for few, if any, were able to come back to normal after getting this disease. The little girl was brave. There, lying in her hospital bed, she would promise to anyone who'd listen that she was going to be walking again someday,

She was moved to a special hospital. Many ways were used to treat her disease. The doctors there were moved by her undefeatable spirit They taught her about imagining seeing herself walking. If it would do nothing else, it would at least give her hope and something positive（积极的）to do in the long waking hours in her bed. Angela would work as hard as possible in exercise period. But she worked just as hard lying there faithfully imagining herself moving!

One day, as she was trying with all her might to imagine her legs moving again, it seemed as though a wonder happened: the bed moved! It began to move around the room! She shouted out, “Look what I’m doing! I can do it! I moved!”

Of course, at this very moment everyone else in the hospital was shouting, too. Many things were falling and glass breaking. It was an earthquake. But she believed that she made it. And now only a few years later, she's back in school. On her own two legs. No wheelchair. You see, anyone who can shake the earth between San Francisco and Oakland can defeat an unimportant little disease, can’t they?

【推荐2】They say a cat has nine lives, and I think that possible since I am now living my third life     and I’m not even a cat. My father died when I was 15, and we had a hard struggle to make a living. And my mother, who was seriously ill in her last years, died while still in her 60s. My sister married soon after, and I followed her example within the year.

This was when I began to enjoy my first life. I was very happy, in excellent health. I had a good job in San Jose and a beautiful home up the peninsula in San Carlos. Life was a pleasant dream. Then the dream ended. I became afflicted(使苦恼) with a slowly progressive disease of the motor nerves, affecting first my right arm and leg, and then my other side. Thus began my second life...

In spite of my disease I still drove to and from work each day, with the aid of special equipment installed in my car. And I managed to keep my health and optimism, to a degree, because of 14 steps. Crazy? Not at all. Our home was an affair with 14 steps leading up from the garage to the kitchen door. Those steps were a standard measure of life. They were my yardstick, my challenge to continue living. I felt that if the day arrived when I was unable to lift one foot up one step and then drag the other painfully after it-repeating the process 14 times, I would be through-I could then admit defeat and lie down and die.

Then on a dark night in August, 1971, I began my third life. It was raining when I started home that night; strong winds and slashing rain beat down on the car as I drove slowly down one of the less-traveled roads. Suddenly the steering wheel jerked(猝然一动). In the same instant I heard the bang of a blowout. It was impossible for me to change that tire! Utterly impossible!

I started the engine and thumped(砰然地响) slowly along until I came to the dirt road, where I turned in and where I found lighted windows welcomed me to a house and pulled into the driveway and blared the horn.

The door opened and a little girl stood there. When she knew what happened to me, she went into the house and a moment later came out, followed by a man who called a cheerful greeting. I sat there comfortable and dry, and felt a bit sorry for the man and the little girl working so hard in the storm.

About an hour later, the man’s voice was heard, “This is a bad night for car trouble, but you’re all set now.” “Thanks,” I said. “How much do I owe you?” He shook his head, “Nothing. Cynthia told me you were a cripple(跛者). Glad to be of help. I know you’d do the same for me. There’s no charge, friend.” I held out a five-dollar bill, “No! I like to pay my way.” He made no effort to take it and the little girl stepped closer to the window and said quietly, “Grandpa can’t see it. ”

【推荐3】As the drought eased and the water cooled in late August, Barbara, 70, and me, at 71, decided to keep swimming. We have both read Bonnie Tsui’s Why We Swim, a fine book about cold-water swimming. We challenged ourselves to swim for as long as possible through September and into October.

I have long loved swimming, though the fear of being seen as fat has upset me. Cold-water swimming deepened my sense of well-being and let me use my body. It became a ritual Barbara and I developed as swimming sisters. When she returned to the United States, I did not know how I could continue our cold-water tradition. I wasn’t prepared to freeze alone.

There were larger commitments I could not remove. In the summer, we planned to cross from the cove to an island across the lake. I had to stay fit. We also planned to host a cold-water swimming race for locals in the fall. We would make it an annual event, so that, in our 80s, we might swim through October and into November.

With these plans in mind, I joined my local city pool. I had not been in a public pool for about 30 years. But my body said swim, my brain said swim and my heart, could not let go. So I went anyway.

I am swimming. I am alive to my love of the water, alive to my promise for the spring and the summer that will come. We are increasingly aware of the miracle of being able — bodied enough to share the cold — water wonder side by side.