Glory Of Friendship
The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand,
nor the kindly smile nor the joy of companionship;
it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when
he discovers that someone else believes in him and is
willing to trust him.
A Smile
A smile costs nothing, but gives a lot.
It enriches those who receive it without making poorer those who give it.
A smile takes only a moment, but the memory of it can last forever.
No one is so rich, or so mighty, that they can get a long without a smile.
And no one is so poor that they cannot be made richer by a smile.
A smile creates happiness in the home, fosters goodwill in business and is the
counter sign of friendship.
A smile brings rest to the weary, cheer to the discouraged, sunshine to the
sad and is nature’s best cure for trouble
Yet it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen for it is of no value to anyone until it is given away.
Some people are too tired to give a smile so give them one of yours as no one needs a smile so much as he who has no more of his own to give.
Bruce Bertram in 1968
David Brooks – How the Elite rigged Society (and why it’s falling apart).
David Brooks’ speech was challenging and thought provoking, calling for us to reassess what we think cultural renewal looks like and to reconnect to our spiritual roots.
Click to view the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSa52TR9tCA
A Discussion on AI With Dr. Roman Yampolskiy
Quote of the Day
“I was obliged to be industrious. Whoever is equally industrious will succeed equally well.”
Johann Sebastian Bach – Composer (1685 – 1750)
A New Start
In a prison cell near Seattle, a man serving a 25-year sentence taught himself advanced mathematics and ended up publishing a groundbreaking paper from behind bars.
Christopher Havens, a high school dropout, found himself with a lot of time and a desire to change his life. He decided to dedicate himself to studying math.
He got his hands on some basic textbooks and started from the beginning. He quickly worked his way through algebra, calculus, and then into much more complex fields.
His self-study led him to a very old mathematical puzzle involving something called continued fractions. It was a problem that had stumped professional mathematicians for some time.
Working alone in his cell with just pen and paper, Havens managed to find a solution. He figured out a way to discover new patterns in a whole class of numbers.
He wrote a letter to a mathematics journal, hoping someone would look at his work. That letter eventually made its way to mathematics professors in Italy, who were stunned by what he had done.
After a rigorous review process, his work was confirmed to be correct and original. In January 2020, his paper was published in the journal *Research in Number Theory*, a major accomplishment for any mathematician, let alone one who is self-taught in prison.
Christopher Havens’ story is a powerful example of how a person can find purpose and achieve something remarkable, no matter their circumstances.
Sources: Popular Mechanics, Scientific American
Validating Rightnesses
My husband isn’t going to be happy I’m posting this. Tonight, we were at Walmart and as we were checking out, we overheard this young guy’s conversation with the cashier.
He said, ‘I worked all summer long. So, I told my mom she didn’t have to spend a dime on my school supplies this year.’ Next thing I know my husband is shaking this guy’s hand and paying for his school supplies.
Alan has always valued hard work and he encouraged this guy to continue doing what he was doing, and his future could go anywhere he wanted to take it. I didn’t want to post this just to brag on my husband. But also to brag on this young guy! In a world where we are so quick to ‘share’ the bad things going on, I thought this was just the kind of goodness I needed to see!
Changing The World – One Person At A Time
I never planned to start a movement in the middle of a Walmart checkout line—but one carton of milk changed everything that morning.
I’m Frank. Seventy-six. Vietnam vet. My knees sound like gravel when I get out of bed, and my hands tremble just enough to make pouring coffee a challenge. I live alone now. My wife, Joanne, died of lung cancer six years ago. Since then, Tuesdays at Walmart have been my routine—something steady in a world that stopped feeling steady.
Last Tuesday, I wheeled my cart into checkout lane six. I had bread, eggs, and a jar of instant coffee. Nothing special. Just the usual.
That’s when I saw her.
An older woman—maybe early seventies—stood ahead of me. She wore a faded pink coat with the buttons misaligned, like she’d dressed in a hurry. Her cart was nearly empty: a loaf of bread, a single can of soup, and a carton of milk.
When the cashier gave her the total, the woman reached into her purse and pulled out food stamps, coupons, and a few crumpled dollar bills. Her fingers shook as she tried to count the coins. The line grew restless.
Behind me, a man muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “If you can’t afford milk, maybe you shouldn’t be buying anything at all.” His wife snickered. Another younger woman rolled her eyes, whispering about how long it was taking.
I watched the old woman’s shoulders slump. She quietly pushed the carton of milk aside, her face turning red. She didn’t argue. Didn’t complain. Just gave up.
And something in me snapped.
I stepped forward, pulled out my wallet, and laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Put the milk back,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant. “She needs it.”
The cashier froze. The line went quiet. The woman turned, eyes wide, as if I’d just handed her gold.
“You don’t have to—” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. “But I want to.”
The cashier bagged the milk. The woman’s lips trembled as she reached for the carton. She whispered, “Bless you,” and for a second, her hand lingered on mine. Cold, fragile, but steady in its gratitude.
That could’ve been the end of it. Just one Tuesday, one small act.
But it wasn’t.
The next week, I brought a notepad with me. Before I left home, I tore out a sheet, wrote six words, and folded it in half: If you see someone struggling, help.
When I got to Walmart, I taped that paper to the card reader stand at checkout lane six. Didn’t make a speech. Didn’t wait for applause. Just taped it there and paid for my groceries.
The week after, there were two new notes taped beside mine. One read: “Someone once helped my mom—thank you.” Another said: “Called my dad today after years. You reminded me.”
I stood there, my throat tight, reading those shaky letters. I hadn’t built a church or written a law. I’d just bought milk. But something had caught fire.
Then came the backlash.
The fourth week, a note appeared scrawled in thick black marker: “Stop rewarding laziness. I worked for everything I have. Nobody helped me.”
People were whispering in line. Some agreed. Some shook their heads. It turned the checkout into a battlefield—kindness on one side, bitterness on the other.
I wanted to rip that note down. Instead, I left it. Because maybe that’s the point. Not everyone believes in stepping up. Not everyone wants to. But the conversation? That’s what matters.
That morning, the woman in the pink coat—her name’s Martha, I later learned—found me in the produce section. She pressed a small plastic bag into my hand. Inside was a carton of strawberries, a little bruised but sweet-smelling.
“For you,” she said. “My grandson works at the orchard. Brought too many.”
I tried to protest, but she shook her head. Her eyes watered. “You didn’t just buy milk. You reminded me I still matter.”
I swear to you, those words hit harder than any medal pinned on my chest.
By the sixth week, checkout lane six had become something else. A bulletin board. A confession wall. [This story was written by Things That Make You Think. Elsewhere it’s an unauthorized copy.]Dozens of folded papers, taped with gum, stickers, whatever people had. Notes that said:
“I left groceries on a neighbor’s porch today.”
“My daughter finally called. Thank you.”
“I bought coffee for the man who sleeps by the bus stop.”
And yes, a few more angry ones too: “This is just virtue signaling.” “No one helped me when I struggled.”
But the positive outweighed the poison.
One teenager scribbled: “Kindness isn’t charity. It’s contagious.”
I stood there, groceries in my arms, and realized something I wish I’d understood years ago: We wait for politicians, pastors, heroes to fix the world. But maybe it starts in aisle six, with ten dollars and a carton of milk.
Yesterday, as I was leaving, I saw a young man—tattoos up his arm, hoodie pulled low—step forward in line. The woman ahead of him was short two bucks. He paid without a word. Didn’t even look for thanks. Just did it.
When he walked past me, he nodded at the notes taped to the card reader. “Guess it’s catching on, old man.”
I smiled. My knees ached, my hands shook, but my chest felt lighter than it had in years.
I’m not telling you this to brag. I’m telling you because I’ve learned something the hard way:
Kindness isn’t charity. It’s a mirror. It reflects what we choose to see in each other.
Some people see laziness. I choose to see dignity. Some see weakness. I choose to see humanity.
So tomorrow, when you’re standing in line, and someone is fumbling with coupons or counting out coins—don’t roll your eyes. Don’t mutter about laziness. Step up. Be the note in someone else’s aisle.
Because here’s the truth: you never know when one carton of milk might change the world—or at least someone’s world.
When The Cam Hits You
