Enough

• At an airport I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together.  They had announced her plane's departure and standing near the door, he said to his daughter, "I love you. I wish you enough." She said,  "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy." They kissed good-bye and she left.

  He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?"

   "Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me.

  Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face-to-face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man was experiencing.
  "Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?" I  asked." I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, her next trip back will be for my funeral," he said.

  "When you were saying good-bye I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?" He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone."

  He paused for a moment -- and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he  smiled even  more. "When we said 'I wish you enough, we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with enough good things to sustain them," he continued, and then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
  
  I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
  I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
  I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
  I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
  I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
  I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
  I wish  you enough 'Hello's' to get you through the final 'Good-bye.'"
  
  He then began to sob and walked away.

When they moved into the house, the room at the top of the stairs was just a junk room.

As the years passed, they slowly transformed the room into a guest room.

When they decided they needed another voice in the house, they transformed the room again: out went the fold-out couch, in came a crib and rocking chair; off went the art gallery prints from the walls, up went Winnie-the-Pooh.

It was no longer a guest room, but a place for the baby, a new -- and permanent -- member of the family.

We always have room for more in our lives.

When we are ready for it, what we need for growth will emerge.

A professor stood before his Philosophy 101 class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

 He then asked the students if the jar was full? They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

 He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else.  

"Now," said the professor, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things -- your family, your partner, your health, your children, your friends, your favorite passions -- things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full."

 "The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else -- the small stuff."

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. 

 Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. Play another 18. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal."  "Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. 

Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."