【推荐1】Chase Poust is a 7-year-old boy. He and his dad Steven, as well as his 4-year-old sister, Abigail were out for a family boating trip on Florida’s St. Johns River near Mandarin Point. Chase and Abigail were swimming at the back end of the anchored (停泊的) boat while Steven was on deck fishing.

It was a pleasant outing—until a strong wave came. It was too strong for Abigail to hold onto the boat. Instantly realizing his sister would be swept away, Chase let go of the boat as well to try and reach her.

Steven jumped into the water but after realizing he couldn’t keep up with both kids, he was faced with a hard decision, “I told them loved them because I wasn’t sure what’s going to happen,” Steven told News-4 JAX. “I tried to stick with both of them. I wore myself out. She drifted away from me.”

Directing Chase lo swim to shore for help, Steven stayed behind, keeping as close as he could to Abigail as the life-vest that was keeping her above the waves floated further and further from his reach.

It was a tough go for the 7-year-old but rather than attempting to swim all out, Chase wisely paced himself. Stopping to float or dog paddle when he was tired, he’d rest and then set off again. It took Chase an hour to reach the shore. Once on solid ground, he ran to the nearest house and called for help.

Rescuers arrived soon to search for Steven and Abigail. Miraculously, the two were found and rescued about an hour later—more than a mild away from the family’s abandoned boat.

【推荐2】The phone rings. It is either for my wife Susan, who’s the only one receiving calls on the home line, or it’s the latest of 300 attempts to sell me something useless.

“Hello,” I say, an edge in my voice.

“Daddy, it’s me.” It’s Alyce, my 12-year-old daughter. “Mommy was in a car accident.”

My heart stops and then begins pounding.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Is Mommy?”

A deep sob.

“I don’t know…I don’t think so. Come quick.”

I rush a few blocks to what looks like a shoot for a disaster movie. Fire engines, police cars, and ambulances are randomly parked in the street. A city bus is on the wrong side of the road. In front of it are the torn remains of Susan’s car.

Alyce is covered in tiny pieces of glass but uninjured. Susan isn’t so lucky. But she is alive. She has broken many bones, and spends three months in hospital.

Two years later, Susan and I were at an event at our synagogue (犹太教堂) celebrating Martin Lather King Jr. Our temple’s musical director rushed to us. “There’s a woman here tonight from one of the church choirs who you have to meet!” He returned with an African American woman. She told us she lived in the apartment building by where the accident had happened. That morning, she rushed to the street, and saw Alyce crying. She approached her, asking, “Is that your mom in there?” Alyce nodded, and the woman said, “Let's pray together.” Innocent Alyce looked at this woman wearing a cross around her neck and said, “OK, but you should know I’m Jewish (犹太人).” The woman took Alyce’s hand, held it to her chest, and said, “In here we’re all the same.”

After the accident, she said, she had continued to pray for our family.

We hugged warmly and had our picture taken together. As we were saying goodbye, realizing we had never been formally introduced, she asked me for my name. I told her it was Douglas, and she paused, and then said, “Wait, your name is Susan? And your name is Douglas?” The woman put her hand over her heart. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “My name is Susan Douglas.”