As I approached my fortieth birthday, I realized that my life was quite meaningless in the larger scheme of things. I had friends and a loving husband and yet something was missing. With no children, I felt that I hadn’t done anything that would help mankind or change the world. I would have no legacy to leave.

One day I was watching TV and I thought of my desire. It was to be someone who mattered. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of people and in the lives of animals. After all, dogs had always been a large part of my life, from the time when I was a little girl growing up in central Oklahoma. I thought that my “purpose” would somehow include my love of singing, writing, travel, and of course, working with animals.

Then, something happened that shook my entire core. The “love of my life” dog, my Nicholas, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He died thirteen months later. I became quite concerned for Bear, our remaining dog, who was six years old. Bear had been Nicholas’s shadow and now that Nicholas was gone, Bear wouldn’t even eat. Our vet suggested that we get another dog to see if that would encourage Bear to eat.

I found an online advertisement for a Bichon Frise （卷毛比熊犬） and when we arrived at the place, it was a nightmare, like one of those puppy mills （工厂） you read about or see on the television news. I decided to delay my search for my “purpose” as I needed to tell the world about the horror I had discovered right in my own backyard.

I had even a bigger fight ahead of me than Nicholas’s cancer. This was a fight that would take years. I did research and then I spread the word on the Internet. People began to listen and we formed a small group of Bichon Frise lovers called Small Paws Rescue.

I started out sending the latest news on our rescue efforts to about twenty-five people.\

My achievement made me reflect on the past.

My father never told me he loved me when I was a child. I always saw him as being a serious man who rarely had a smile. But my mom told me “I love you” everyday. So I really never thought about not hearing it from my dad. I never really thought about it much until I faced the reality of death.

On November 9th, 1990, I received word that my National Guard unit was going to the war zone. I had been in the Guard for 10 years and never dreamed that we would be activated for a war, even though I knew it was what we trained for. I went to my father and gave him the news. I could sense he was worried about me going but he said nothing, and eight days later I was gone.

On November 17th,1990, our military vehicles rolled out of rural Greenville, Michigan. The streets were filled with families and well-wishers to see us off. As we were close to the edge of town, I looked out the window of my truck and saw my wife, my children, and Mom and Dad. They were all waving and crying, except for my father. He just stood there, almost like a stone statue. He looked pretty old at that moment. I don’t know why, he just did.

I was gone for that Thanksgiving and missed our family’s dinner. A few days after Thanksgiving I was able to call my wife, and she told me something that has made me look at my father in a different way ever since. She told me that my father recited his usual Thanksgiving prayer. But this time he added one last sentence. As a tear ran down his cheek, he said, “Dear Lord, please watch over and guide my son, Rick, with your hand in his time of need as he serves his country, and bring him home to us safely.” At that point he burst into tears. I had never seen my father cry, and when I heard this, I guessed my father really did love me.

Eight months later, I returned home from the war.

Ever since that day, my relationship with my father was never the same.

A disability only becomes a disability when you allow it to stop you from being genuinely happy and spreading happiness to others.

In a high school in Missouri, there is a remarkable student named Ryheem Lumpkins. At the age of 16, Ryheem displayed a tough spirit that challenged physical limitations. While his arms and hands hadn’t fully developed, he still managed to land a part-time job as a cashier at a local pizza restaurant.

Although he had only been employed for a month, Ryheem’s work ethic shone exceptionally bright. When it’s not so busy at the counter, he would grab a broom to sweep the floors or carefully clean the buffet. Despite his disability, he had such enthusiasm for life that he even got his driver’s license and worked hard to save money to buy his first car.

As a naturally shy individual, this new job unexpectedly revealed his hidden positive character. Interacting with new people, engaging in conversations, and delivering services became a source of excitement for him.

One fateful day, a customer named Robert Samay recognized the exceptional personality of young Ryheem. The young cashier left a lasting impression on Mr. Samay, leading him to commit an act of kindness that would astonish Ryheem and warm the hearts of those who witnessed it.

Impressed by Ryheem’s personality, Mr. Samay decided to express his appreciation. He slipped a five-dollar bill into Ryheem’s hands and spoke words that sympathized deeply within the teenager’s soul. “I appreciate your infectious smile and your exceptional attitude,” Mr. Samay said warmly. “Such qualities are rare these days, especially among young individuals.”

Ryheem’s eyes gleaned with gratitude as he thanked Mr. Samay, his voice earnest and sincere. He carefully folded the five-dollar bill, tucking it into his pocket with a smile that could light up a room. The warmth of the kind gesture infused Ryheem with a sense of validation and empowerment, reminding him that his disabilities did not define him. The sight of joy that lightened Ryheem’s face as he received the modest tip remained impressive in Mr. Samay’s memory.

It fueled an urge for Mr. Samay to reward the young man’s happiness even more.

After the video was posted online by the shop owner, it swiftly spread across various platforms.

It was two days before Christmas and young Maggie was told again that Paxton would not be returning.

Maggie’s father had found the weak deer a year ago and they had taken care of him. Maggie’s father, a vet, tended to the deer’s injuries and bandaged his foot. Maggie noticed that he had markings above his eyes that resembled the sun with rays of light. She named him Paxton and promised to take care of him.

Maggie couldn’t sleep that night and kept checking on Paxton from her window. The next morning, she rushed to the house to see Paxton. Paxton was still timid around her, but with time, he started eating carrots from her hand. Every morning before school, Maggie would feed Paxton.

Maggie wanted to keep Paxton, but her father explained that he was a wild animal and needed to be released after his foot was healed. Mr. Dotson could see his daughter’s affection for the little deer. That scared him, because he knew Maggie would never be able to say goodbye. So when Paxton’s foot had been healed, Mr. Dotson came home early one afternoon to set Paxton free. Maggie was overcome with sadness and called out to Paxton every day, hoping he would hear her.

In time, though, Maggie did come to understand that wild animals, even little deer, need to be in their natural habitat. But that didn’t change how much Maggie cared for and missed Paxton.

One day, as it started snowing, Maggie stood by a pond behind their house, feeling upset. The pond hadn’t frozen that winter, as the weather was warmer than usual. Mr. Dotson felt guilty about having not been more supportive of his daughter’s belief that she would see Paxton again. Although he didn’t want to give her false hope, he realized that no longer mattered, since Maggie was hurting and he wanted to help.

As Mr. Dotson walked outside to greet his daughter, he carried a pair of binoculars (双筒望远镜) with him. He and Maggie would spend the next couple of hours in the woods, where they searched for deer tracks in the newly fallen snow. As Mr. Dotson had expected, their search came up empty.

“I’m sorry we didn’t have better luck, Maggie.”

As they hiked through the snow towards home, Maggie’s heart felt heavy.

“Daddy, look! It’s Paxton!” Maggie shouted, her voice filled with excitement.

My name is Wen Yu, but you can call me “Fish”. I want to talk about the time I went to the US to meet my American pen pal Drew, but first I need to go back a little bit to explain things.

I was a second-year junior high schooler when my English teacher, Ms. Gao, had us experiment with a pen pal program set up through our school. This was an amazing opportunity at the time since it meant we could use our English skills to communicate with other teenagers the same age as us around the world through email! Still, I was a bit shy and nervous since I knew my English was pretty poor; but at the same time, I was excited to make a new friend and was determined to improve with this new opportunity presented to me.

Ms. Gao assigned me to write emails with a boy named Drew in the US. He was from a city called Cincinnati in Ohio. I knew a little about the biggest cities in the US— New York, Boston, San Francisco, Chicago— But Cincinnati? I had no idea where it was. Maybe it was somewhere near one of those cities?

As we continued to talk through email, I was surprised to find my English was slowly improving. I found my English going from stiff and formulaic (刻板的) to more natural and casual to match the way he wrote. I even picked up some slang (俚语) words along the way! We got to know each other’s hobbies and interests as well as our dreams and hopes for the future. Drew seemed so nice, and I found myself wanting to visit him someday and see what Cincinnati had to offer. He, too, wanted to visit Beijing and try out the local food I had told him so much about.

We continued our email conversations even after the program ended. Drew told me how long his summer break was going to be and said he’d show me around if I were to ever visit. To my surprise, that opportunity would come sooner than I thought.

As it turned out, my parents were planning a surprise vacation to the US.

Entering the baggage claim area (行李领取处), I finally came face-to-face with Drew.

I was an average student in my early elementary years. I came home with a steady flow of B’s, C’s and the occasional F’s in second language subjects. I was told that I wasn’t applying myself and, as every report card I ever brought home clearly stated, I talked too much.

I didn’t write when I was supposed to write. I talked to others while the teacher was giving instructions. That I could recite what she had said to the class while I was talking was not helpful because I had a negative effect on my classmates’ learning. So I regularly brought home disappointing report cards.

My parents and my teachers didn’t know what to do with me. Punishments didn’t seem to work. Rewards didn’t seem to either. And, frankly, I don’t think I knew what I could do to “apply myself”. And I certainly didn’t know how to not enjoy talking with my classmates! What I knew was that I talked too much. Until grade 5.

That autumn, we had a sudden change in teachers as our elderly teacher took a medical leave. In his place, a young substitute (代课老师) arrived — Mrs Royal. She looked like she was freshly out of university and seemed too young to be cast in the role of being responsible for a class of tween, but there she was, charged with a lively group, and me.

I don’t remember many details of that year except the afternoon when I got my first report card from her. She handed out the report cards right after the afternoon break and invited us to look them over. Then she let us know that we could all talk quietly amongst ourselves while she called each student up one at a time, in alphabetical order (按字母顺序), to discuss our report cards with her.

I looked over my report card, expecting the usual result.

Then it was my turn to talk with her.