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Episode 110: What Season 10 Taught Me about Showing Up

Seven months ago, we launched Season 10 of the Charity Matters Podcast with our 100th episode. It was an incredible milestone. After more than one hundred conversations with remarkable humans, I thought I knew exactly what this season would bring: more inspiring stories of people who saw a need, stepped forward and decided to do something about it.

What I didn’t know was what was about to happen in my own life. Even more surprising, I didn’t realize that each person sitting across from me would give me a lesson I was going to need. Looking back, it feels as if these conversations were preparing me for what was coming.

When the Helper Needs Help

Season 10 began at an unusual moment. I had badly injured my leg skiing, torn my calf and developed a blood clot. Suddenly, I went from being someone who was always moving to someone who could barely walk. For anyone who knows me, sitting still is not exactly my superpower.

At the same time, I was preparing to walk the Camino de Santiago with girlfriends to celebrate my 60th birthday. Now, I wasn’t sure I would be able to go. Meanwhile, I was interviewing extraordinary people.

Our 100th episode featured Dave Anderson of Safe Families for Children. Dave built an organization around one powerful idea: What if a parent in crisis never had to say, “I have no one to call?”

Then I spoke with Robb Pollard of Walk With Me Brother. Robb’s journey began when he finally said three words: “I need help.” Those words landed differently because suddenly, I needed help too. I’ve always been comfortable being the helper. Receiving help was another story. Yet, this season reminded me that sometimes the helper needs help. More importantly, allowing someone to help us may be an act of generosity too.

One Step at a Time

By May, I had worked incredibly hard to recover. Still, I had only started really walking again on May 1st. The farthest I had walked before leaving for the Camino was about three miles. Our first day was nine. Then came thirteen.

I was slow. My friends weren’t. Yet, they waited for me. They adjusted their pace and walked beside me. Somewhere along the Camino, my question changed. I stopped asking, Can I do this? Instead, I began realizing that I didn’t have to do it alone.

Another guest this season, Jane Veron of The Acceleration Project, talked about simply taking the first step. We don’t need to know exactly how we’ll get there. We don’t need every answer. We simply need to begin. So I kept walking. Then, while on the Camino, I learned that my beloved Aunt Sheila was very sick.

Suddenly, the walk changed.

What Is My Life For?

There are beautiful old churches and tiny chapels everywhere along the Camino. They became places for me to stop, light candles and pray for Aunt Sheila. One of this season’s guests, Jessie Fahay of Ripple Effects Artists, had asked herself a question that kept coming back to me: “What is my life actually for?”

Not, what do I do? Not, what have I accomplished? Not, how busy am I? What is my life for?

That question hits differently when you’re turning 60. It hits differently when you’re walking mile after mile. And it really hits differently when someone you love is dying. I returned home from the Camino stronger, but also changed. Then I began walking a very different road with Aunt Sheila.

Joy and Grief

As Aunt Sheila became sicker, lessons from other Season 10 guests continued to find me. Julie Coyne of Southeast Community Foundation talked about what children need most and said simply, “See them.”

Aunt Sheila did that better than almost anyone I knew. She saw people. She listened. She was present. She made people feel that they mattered. Then there was Tammy Krause of Bags of Fun, who lost her five-year-old daughter, Gabby. Tammy understands something about grief that I am still learning:

Joy and grief can exist together. There was tremendous sadness during those final weeks with Aunt Sheila. However, there was also laughter, family, stories, gratitude and so much love. Both were true.

How Do You Measure a Life?

Aunt Sheila died on August 13th at the age of 88. Then I was asked to give her eulogy. How do you take 88 years and put them into ten minutes? How do you measure a human life?

I’ve spent fifteen years asking nonprofit founders about impact. How do you know you’ve made a difference? What will your legacy be? Suddenly, those weren’t interview questions anymore. I thought about everything Aunt Sheila had done. She had been a Sister of the Holy Child Jesus for 67 years. She was an educator, principal, therapist, missionary, advocate, sister, aunt and friend. Surely, her legacy was service.

Except I had actually asked her that question before she died. I asked Aunt Sheila what she thought her legacy was. She didn’t give me a long answer. Instead, she simply put her hands together and made the shape of a heart. Love. Of course.

For fifteen years, I’ve talked about service. I’ve interviewed hundreds of people who have dedicated their lives to helping others. I even wrote a book about it. Yet, at 60 years old, Aunt Sheila gave me perhaps the simplest answer I’ve ever received.

I thought her legacy was service. I was wrong. Service was simply the vehicle she used to distribute her love to the world.

The Lessons Were There All Along

Suddenly, I saw Season 10 differently. My guests had been telling me all along: Open your door. Build the bed. Ask for help. Help someone see. Bring joy into grief. See people. Take the first step. Walk beside someone. Show up. Then our final guest, Steve Smith of Pacer Nation, brought the season full circle. Walking.

In March, I couldn’t walk. Then I learned to walk again. I walked the Camino. My friends walked beside me. I came home and walked beside Aunt Sheila as far as I could. Finally, I ended the season talking with someone who built a community around walking and running together.

Sometimes, we think we’re building communities when those communities are actually building us. Mine certainly built me.

What Season 10 Taught Me

On September 11th, I stood in church with ten minutes of words meant to represent Aunt Sheila’s 88 years. Since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about one question: If someone had ten minutes to tell the story of my life, what would they say?

I don’t think they would talk about how many emails I answered, how many meetings I attended or how many things I checked off my list. They would talk about who I loved. Who I helped. Whether I listened. If I saw people or whether I showed up?

When Season 10 began, I thought I was going to spend seven months bringing you extraordinary stories about people changing the world. I did. What I didn’t know was that those people were also preparing me for what was coming in my own life.

Perhaps that is what service has been all along. Love put into action. Somewhere along the Camino, I realized that we are all walking one another home. We don’t know how long anyone’s walk will be. So love the people God puts in your life. Give them your time. See them. Let them help you. Help them. Walk beside them.

And when it matters, show up. As we close Season 10, thank you for walking alongside me.

Season 11 is coming, and I cannot wait to introduce you to another group of extraordinary humans. But first, I’ll leave you with the question I’ve been asking myself: What are you doing with the time you’ve been given?

And perhaps an even simpler one: Who needs you to show up?

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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Making room for What Comes Next

October is here, and with it comes a new rhythm that feels different from September’s hurried return to routines. The back-to-school chaos has settled, football is in full swing, and suddenly there are pumpkins everywhere. The days are getting shorter, the evenings cooler, and fall has officially arrived.

October has always felt like a month of change.

Perhaps it is because the change is impossible to miss. The trees turn brilliant shades of gold, red and orange before eventually letting go. There is something so beautiful about that process. Nature doesn’t fight the season or try to hold onto what was. It simply changes.

Maybe there is something in that for all of us.

What a Difference a Year Makes

Last October, I wrote about a very different season in our family. Our son had just gotten married. We were still coming down from the joy of the wedding, adjusting to this wonderful new chapter and welcoming an incredible daughter into our family. A year later, what once felt like a big transition simply feels like our family.

Isn’t that how change works?

At first, something new can feel enormous. We anticipate it, worry about it, plan for it and sometimes even resist it. Then, almost without realizing it, the unfamiliar becomes familiar. The new becomes normal. Before long, we have a hard time remembering what life looked like before.

Watching our son become a husband has been one of those beautiful reminders. Our family didn’t lose anything when he got married. Instead, love simply made room for more love.

Of course, not every change arrives wrapped in joy. Some seasons ask us to let go of people, plans, dreams or versions of ourselves we thought would always be there. Those changes are harder. They stretch us in ways we never asked to be stretched.

Still, they change us.

Two Years of Change for Good

This October also marks two years since the release of my book, Change for Good. Even writing that feels a little surreal. For so long, the book was something I was working toward. I spent years writing, rewriting and wondering if anyone would ever actually read it. Then suddenly, there it was in the world.

At the time, I thought publishing the book was the destination. Two years later, I realize it was really just another beginning. Change for Good was born from my belief that service has the power to transform us. I had spent decades watching people take their pain, loss and heartbreak and turn those experiences into something that helped someone else. Again and again, I witnessed ordinary people doing extraordinary things simply because they chose to help.

I knew helping changed the person receiving the kindness. What I came to understand was how profoundly it changes the person giving it. Since the book came out, that message has continued to grow in ways I never expected. Readers have shared stories about volunteering, reconnecting with people they love and becoming more intentional about how they show up in the world. The book has led to conversations, speaking opportunities and connections with people I never would have met otherwise.

Most surprisingly, its message continues to work on me. Two years later, I am still learning how to let go, how to trust what comes next and how to turn life’s harder moments into something useful. Perhaps that is the funny thing about writing a book called Change for Good. Life continues to make sure I practice what I preach.

The Lesson of October

This year has given me plenty of opportunities to practice.

There have been joyful beginnings, difficult goodbyes, unexpected turns and moments when life looked very different from what I had imagined. Through all of it, I keep coming back to the same truth: we cannot always choose the changes that come our way, but we can choose what we do with them.

That choice matters. We can hold tightly to what was, or we can remain open to what might be. We can see every ending only as a loss, or we can leave a little room for the possibility that something new may eventually grow in that empty space. October shows us this every single year.

The trees do not seem afraid to let go. They put on one spectacular show and then release what they no longer need. There is no panic about whether another spring will come. Somehow, nature simply trusts the process. I wish I were always that good at it.

Making Room for What Comes Next

There are so many things I love about October. I love college football weekends, crisp mornings, sweaters coming out of the closet and the first real hint that the holidays are around the corner. More than anything, though, I love the reminder this month gives us.

Life is always changing.

Our children grow up and create families of their own. Dreams become reality and then evolve into something we never expected. People we love leave us. New people arrive. Careers shift. Friendships change. Our bodies change. Even our understanding of who we are continues to grow.

Perhaps our job isn’t to resist any of it. Instead, maybe our work is to pay attention. To be grateful for what was, present to what is and hopeful about what is still ahead. So, as October arrives in all of its glorious color, I am trying to take a lesson from the trees. I am holding tightly to gratitude and a little more loosely to everything else.

Because sometimes letting go isn’t the end of the story. Sometimes it is how we make room for what comes next.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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The Gift of Showing Up

I had never had the privilege of writing a eulogy, let alone delivering one. It was one of the greatest honors of my life. It was also one of the hardest things I have ever written.

How do you take a life and condense it into ten minutes? How do you measure the impact of another human being? How do you possibly find the words to explain what one person meant to a family, a community, a school, a church, or simply to you? It is an enormous and daunting task.

What I didn’t expect was that while I was trying to measure someone else’s life, I would begin measuring my own.

How Do You Measure a Life?

My Aunt Sheila was laid to rest a little over two weeks ago. Since delivering her eulogy, I have spent a lot of time thinking about what matters. I know what you’re thinking……..Heidi, you have been talking about what matters for fifteen years.

Fair point. Yet somehow, this feels different. Writing a eulogy asks you to look at someone’s life from the outside. You search for the moments, choices, relationships and threads that defined that person. However, it is almost impossible to do that without eventually turning the mirror around and looking within your own.

The honor isn’t meant to be a measuring stick or a comparison. Still, evaluating someone else’s life from the outside has a funny way of making you evaluate your own from the inside.

What am I doing with my time? Who am I showing up for? What will the people I love remember? Those questions have stayed with me.

A Legacy of Love

For most of my life, I would have told you that Aunt Sheila’s legacy was service. She was a Sister of the Holy Child Jesus for 67 years. She was an educator, principal, therapist, pastoral minister and advocate. She served children, families, schools, survivors of sexual abuse, communities and countless people whose names I will never know. Service seemed like the obvious answer.

Near the end of her life, however, I asked her what she thought her legacy was. I told her that I thought it was service. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she lifted her hands and formed them into the shape of a heart. Love.

Of course. I had gotten it wrong. Service was simply the vehicle Aunt Sheila used to distribute her love to the world. There was another way she shared that love too. Perhaps it was even simpler. She showed up.

Again and again, she was there. She came to games, school plays, Grandparents’ Days, celebrations, difficult moments and ordinary ones. Sometimes she arrived early. Occasionally she arrived unannounced. Every once in a while, I’m not entirely sure she was actually invited. But she showed up. More importantly, she was present.

A Different Decision

About a month ago, I heard that a dear friend of mine from out of town was having a surprise 60th birthday party. Normally, my practical brain would have taken over immediately. Too far. Too expensive. Too much going on. I can’t possibly justify flying somewhere for a surprise birthday party. There would have been a dozen perfectly reasonable reasons not to go.

Then I thought about Aunt Sheila.

I had just written and delivered an entire eulogy about the importance of showing up for the people we love. How could I stand in a church and talk about her beautiful example and then not allow that example to change me? So I texted my girlfriend’s husband. “I’m coming. I’ll be there!” And I went.

The look on my friend’s face when she realized I had flown in from Los Angeles just for her party was priceless. However, the real gift wasn’t the surprise. It was the time. We have shared more than forty years of friendship. Four decades of life, laughter, change, joy, loss and memories. We were in each others weddings and have been dear friends since high school. Suddenly, spending the money and making the trip didn’t feel extravagant. Not going would have.

Showing up was a privilege and a gift, not for her but for me. In some small way, it felt like I was honoring my friend, our friendship and Aunt Sheila all at once.

The Gift of Our Time

We make hundreds of decisions every day about how to spend our time. Most of them feel small and inconsequential. Yet perhaps they aren’t. Time is one of the most precious things we have because we cannot earn more of it, save it for later or get it back once it is gone.

Where we go matters. Who we spend it with matters. Most importantly, showing up matters. When we intentionally align the gift of our time with the gift of the people we love, something changes. We become more present. Our relationships deepen. The people we love feel valued, and somehow, we do too.

Aunt Sheila understood that. Her life wasn’t extraordinary because of a résumé filled with accomplishments. It was extraordinary because of the countless people who knew she was there for them.

In the End

Someday, someone may stand up and try to condense each of our lives into ten minutes. But in the end, it really isn’t about the eulogy. It isn’t even about how many people show up at our funeral. It is about how we showed up for the people we loved while we were here. Did we make the call? Take the trip? Sit beside someone who was hurting? Celebrate the birthday? Listen when someone needed to be heard? Were we present?

Aunt Sheila taught me that service is love in action. Now I understand that showing up is too. Perhaps that is the real measure of a life. Not how much we accomplished, how busy we were or how many things we checked off our lists.

Maybe it is much simpler than that. Love the people God puts in your life. Give them your time. And when it matters, show up.

Because in the end, love is the only measure that matters.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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What Matters?

Smiling through my tears

I’m really sad.

It is a feeling that, thankfully, has been at bay for a while. But like so many things in life, sadness eventually finds its way back. A little like a lost dog returning home, except when this one returns home you are not excited to see it.

There is a heaviness that comes with sadness. It makes life feel like you are walking through cement. There is an ache in your chest that hurts so darn badly you just want it to stop.

I know this feeling. My long-lost friend grief has arrived once again.

When Grief Comes Back

You really want to believe that once you have lived through loss, the next time won’t be as bad. Somehow, you think you have built up some sort of grief muscle or immunity.

It is a little like that second pregnancy. Miraculously, you forget all of the “discomfort” until suddenly it comes reeling back. Then you remember every bit of it.

I think grief works the same way.

You forget how much it hurts until the floodgates open. Suddenly, all that pain comes rushing back. The truth is, it hurts every single time you say goodbye to someone you love. The bigger the love, the bigger the pain.

That is simply the way it works.

We Had Time

I really thought it would be different this time because we had time. We had time to say all of the things. And I said them. Every last one. We held hands. We talked about life, legacy, love and what comes next. Most importantly, my aunt didn’t suffer.

At 88, after an extraordinary life well lived, she was completely at peace with “going home.” She was ready. In many ways, the peace she had about dying was one final beautiful gift she gave all of us. One day, as we sat together, I asked her, “Do you think you have more friends waiting for you there than you have here?”

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. With almost childlike wonder, she replied, “I don’t know, but that makes me happy to think about.”

“I think you should think about everyone who will be there to welcome you,” I told her. She squeezed my hand, smiled and closed her eyes. That smile said everything.

A Promise

Before I left, I had one more request. “Please send me a sign to let me know you are okay and that you got there safely.” Again, she nodded and squeezed my hand.

“Promise me,” I said. “I promise,” she whispered.

This morning, almost a week after she died, I was getting ready for a meeting. I looked up and said, “I haven’t gotten that sign yet, Aunt Sheesh, and it’s almost been a week.” Then something happened.

I reached for a purse on the top shelf of my closet, one I haven’t used in a minute. As I pulled it down, an envelope fell out. There was my aunt’s perfect nun penmanship. My name was written across the front.

It was the birthday card she had given me in June, just days before her diagnosis. Inside she had written: “Look how fun 60’s are. Enjoy the adventure! You are a true treasure of joy, creativity and good.”

Well, she was speedy on the request for a sign. I have to give her that. I asked, and boom. There it was.

The Gift and the Ache

Of course, the sign didn’t arrive alone. It came with tears. It brought sadness. It brought that familiar ache. Most of all, it brought my old friend grief right along with it.

Don’t get me wrong. That card was a gift straight from heaven, and I am so grateful. Honestly, I hope there are more signs. The sadness, however, I could do without.

Unfortunately, I know it doesn’t work that way.

Grief is the price we pay for loving someone deeply. Right now, we are trying to plan a celebration for an extraordinary life well lived. At the same time, regular life keeps moving.

Meetings still happen. Emails still arrive. People still need things. Running a nonprofit is tricky enough on a good day. Trying to be high functioning while grieving is an entirely different challenge.

This morning, when that giant wave of grief hit, I worried for a moment that it might take me down. Yet, here I am. Back up. Writing. Working. Trying to process the reality that she is really gone. And realizing that this will be the last birthday card I ever receive from her.

That one really hurts.

The Yin to My Yang

I loved my aunt so darn much. She was the yin to my yang. I chat nonstop. She quietly listened. I am a spaz. She was the strong, steady presence who made everyone around her feel calm.

Our personalities could not have been more different. Yet somehow, we always had this connection, an innate understanding of each other that didn’t need words. She got me.

To grow up knowing that at least one human being truly gets you is one of life’s greatest gifts.

More than that, my aunt showed me the way to serve. If I am being totally honest, I have tried to emulate her my entire life. Of course, I skipped the religious life part, but so much of who I am and what I believe about helping others came from watching her.

She never needed attention or applause.  She simply showed up and loved people.

Her Legacy Was Love

My aunt was kindness. She was joy. She was purpose and peace. More than anything, she was love.

A few weeks ago, I asked her what she thought her legacy would be. She smiled, held her two hands together and quietly whispered one word. “Love.”

Of course it was. That was her life.

I truly believe my aunt is home now. I believe she is smiling down, watching over and guiding all of the people she loved. By the way, that is a heck of a lot of people.

She is at peace.

I know the waves of grief will continue to come. Some will be small, while others may knock me down for a minute. Eventually, they will come less often. I know that because I have been here before. Still, knowing that doesn’t make today’s wave hurt any less.

There is a quote often attributed to Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” Today, I understand those words in an entirely new way. I am smiling. I am grateful. I am heartbroken.

And through all of it, I am reminded that this much grief can only exist because there was first this much love. So, for now, I’ll keep smiling through my tears.

 

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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What The Camino Taught Me

Two years ago, my dear friend and I were doing what we have done for decades…..we were walking. Our walks have always been our therapy. Together, we have walked through raising young children, celebrated life’s biggest moments, cried through heartbreak, solved countless problems, and dreamed about what might come next. Somehow, putting one foot in front of the other always helped us move forward.

During one of those walks, we stopped and laughed. “How can we possibly be only two years away from turning sixty?” Where had the time gone? That simple question led to another. How should we celebrate this milestone? Without much hesitation, one of us suggested walking the Camino de Santiago. Within minutes, we had the beginning of a plan.

Preparing for the Journey

Over the next two years, we spent hours learning about the Camino. I joined Facebook groups, talked with friends who had already made the journey, and read everything I could find. Along the way, I discovered that more than 500,000 pilgrims travel to Santiago de Compostela each year to visit the tomb of the Apostle James.

One piece of advice came up again and again. “Don’t compare your Camino to anyone else’s. Every journey is unique.” Those words stayed with me.

With more than 400 different routes through France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy, every pilgrim truly does have a different experience. We chose the Portuguese Coastal Route from Porto because it covered the required 100 kilometers, or about 65 miles. While many people dream of the famous French Route that stretches nearly 500 miles over five weeks, this route felt right for us. Looking back, it was exactly the right choice.

Life Had Other Plans

In late February, I had an accident and tore my calf. Suddenly, walking disappeared from my life. For weeks, I wondered if our dream trip would even happen. Then I slowly began physical therapy and finally started walking again on May 1, only thirty days before leaving for Portugal. Before our trip, the longest walk I managed was just three miles. Needless to say, I had doubts. Could I really walk sixty-five miles? Even so, I never considered canceling.

What began as two friends celebrating a birthday soon became seven women walking together. Three came from Los Angeles and four came from New Jersey. We were all Catholic, and several of us were celebrating our sixtieth birthdays. Many pilgrims begin the Camino carrying grief, loss, or heavy burdens. They hope the journey will bring healing. That wasn’t my Camino.

Instead, my hardest journey had already happened. The months of pain, uncertainty, and recovery came before Portugal. By the time I arrived, I wasn’t searching for answers. Rather, I felt grateful for a blank slate. My only goal was to be open to whatever God wanted to show me. That alone felt like a gift.

A Beautiful Beginning

Our first morning of the Camino happened to be the Feast of Corpus Christi. As we stepped onto the streets of Portugal, church bells rang across the city. Mass played through loudspeakers while schoolchildren sang in Portuguese. Meanwhile, beautiful flower petals covered the streets for the procession.

It felt as if God was sending us on our way with a blessing. Of course, the magic quickly met reality. My longest training walk had been three miles. Our first Camino day covered nine. Fortunately, my friends became my biggest cheerleaders. They slowed down when I needed them to, celebrated every mile, and never once made me feel like I was holding anyone back.

Each evening followed a familiar routine. First, I searched for ice, which was surprisingly difficult to find in Portugal and Spain. Next, I elevated my leg and rested before another day on the trail. Thankfully, pain never became the center of the story. Instead, every evening ended with laughter, wonderful dinners, and conversations with people from everywhere.

The Gift of Slowing Down

Every day brought new scenery. Sometimes we walked beside the Atlantic Ocean. Other times we wandered through forests, vineyards, tiny villages, and quiet farms. Before long, we would arrive in charming beach towns where fresh bread, seafood, and paella reminded us to slow down and enjoy the moment.

However, the greatest gift wasn’t the scenery. It was the walking itself. Walking gave me time to think. Soon, I noticed things I normally rushed past. Most importantly, I found time to simply be. Along the route, we stopped in small churches that had welcomed pilgrims for hundreds of years. Inside each one, I lit a candle, sat quietly, and prayed.

While we were away, I learned that my beloved aunt, a Holy Child Sister, had become seriously ill. Because of that news, every church became another chance to place her in God’s hands. Each prayer brought a little more peace. At the same time, I felt my mom’s presence in a way I hadn’t expected. She has been gone for more than twenty years, yet I knew she was walking beside me. Although I cannot explain it, I never questioned it either.

The Hardest Day

Day Four tested me. Thirteen miles stretched before us, and my calf reminded me of every step. I remember thinking, What have I done? Can I really do this for four more days? Then something beautiful happened. My friends stayed beside me. No one rushed ahead. No one complained. Instead, they walked with me.

In that moment, I realized the Camino was never about how fast we walked. It was about never having to walk alone. After that day, everything felt different. The finish line finally seemed possible.

What the Camino Taught Me

We arrived in Santiago around four o’clock in the afternoon. After taking pictures and cleaning up, we returned to the cathedral for the Pilgrim Mass. We arrived an hour early. I’m so glad we did. Pilgrims from every corner of the world filled the church. Different languages echoed through the cathedral. Different stories had brought people there. Yet we were united by one shared journey.

The joy was impossible to miss. The gratitude filled the room. Most of all, God’s presence surrounded us. People often ask what I learned from my Camino. My answer is simple. It wasn’t the destination. It was the journey. More importantly, it was who I shared that journey with. Friendship carried me. My faith strengthened me. The encouragement of others kept me moving. Along the way, God’s grace met me every single day.

Life isn’t much different.

Every one of us is walking our own Camino. Some people carry grief. Others carry hope. Many carry both. We rarely know what someone beside us is carrying. However, we can always choose to walk with them. After all, that may be the greatest lesson of all.

We are all walking one another home.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

This piece was originally written and published for The Angelus Magazine.

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The Child I Never Planned

Fifteen. How did that happen?

It feels like only yesterday you were a tiny spark of an idea. Now, somehow, you are a teenager. Like every parent, I find myself wondering where the time went while marveling at how much you’ve grown….Charity Matters.

When a child is born, we quietly write a script for their life. We dream about who they will become. As we cradle that newborn, we see training wheels, the first day of kindergarten, middle school graduation, driver’s licenses, prom, college, careers, and families. In our minds, the story unfolds before the first chapter is even written.

Then we do something a little crazy.

We tuck that script away. We don’t share it with anyone not our spouse, not our child, sometimes not even ourselves. Instead, we simply hope life follows the plan. I can’t explain why parents do this, but I know I wasn’t the only one.

When Life Goes Off Script

Sooner or later, the script begins to unravel. Maybe the baby doesn’t crawl “on time.” Perhaps a milestone comes later than expected. Suddenly, panic sets in because something has gone off script.

Susie doesn’t love piano, even though we were sure she would become a concert pianist. Joey quits baseball, and somehow our entire future seems to collapse with his Little League uniform.

Looking back after raising three incredible sons, I finally realized something important. Each one arrived with a script of his own. Eventually, they handed me a copy, smiled, and essentially said, “Buckle up, Mom.”

Thankfully, I listened. So when this fourth child entered my life  (Charity Matters) I decided to do something different. I would try and let the story unfold.

A Child With No Script

Fifteen years ago, the only vision I had was to find people who started nonprofits and tell their stories. Remember, Google wasn’t what it is today. Finding those remarkable people wasn’t easy, and neither was learning how to build a website or start a blog.

Those few simple ideas were the only pages I had written. Everything else came one small step at a time.

First came a logo. Then a brand built around the simple belief that helping others matters. After that came the first website, a first post, then another. A Facebook page followed, and eventually social media, newsletters, interviews, and countless new adventures.

Like a toddler taking uncertain first steps, Charity Matters kept growing. Meanwhile, every New Year’s Day, my old habits would return. I’d make plans, create goals, promise growth, and try to control the future. Thankfully, this child had other ideas.

 

The Greatest Gifts Were Never Planned

You see, Charity Matters has always been much more than a blog. You are my diary, my creative outlet, my classroom, and the place where I get to imagine the kind of world I hope we can create together.

That’s a lot of pressure for a fifteen-year-old. Yet, just like my children, you carved out your own path.

Because of you, I’ve met extraordinary people. Better yet, many of those remarkable nonprofit founders have become real friends. They have filled my life with joy, purpose, compassion, and hope. None of that was in my script.

Did I ever imagine you would become a podcast? Not for a second. Honestly, I didn’t even know what a podcast was. Then one day, there it was.

Not only did Charity Matters become a podcast, but it grew into one of the top-rated nonprofit podcasts in it’s category the country. Watching that happen felt like sitting in the stands as your child scored the winning touchdown. No one was more surprised, more grateful, or more proud than I was.

Once again, life reminded me that the best moments almost always happen off script.

More Than I Ever Imagined

Along the way came a monthly column for FORCE Magazine. Then came a bestselling book, Change for Good, on Amazon.

After that arrived opportunities to speak on stages, interview hundreds of nonprofit founders, and build a community of people who believe kindness, generosity, and service truly can change the world. Those accomplishments are wonderful and still a bit of a mystery. However, they aren’t the greatest gifts.

The greatest gifts have been learning how love grows through service. They have shown me that compassion is contagious. Most importantly, they have revealed that a life lived for others becomes a life filled with purpose.

Those are the treasures Charity Matters has given me and, I hope, all of us.

Happy Birthday, My Fourth Child

As we celebrate fifteen incredible years, part of me still wants to pull out that old script. I could fill its pages with dreams of creating a Substack, speaking on more stages, writing more books, and finding even more ways to spread the message of kindness and service.

Then I remember the greatest lesson this remarkable child has taught me. Put the script away. Trust the journey. Enjoy the ride. Allow the magic of life and the power of giving to unfold exactly as it’s meant to.

I could not be more proud of this fourth child or more grateful for all the good Charity Matters has brought into the world over the past fifteen years. The truth is, I have no idea where this journey will lead next. And for the first time, I wouldn’t want to know.

Thank you for walking alongside me. Thank you for reading, listening, encouraging, and believing that small acts of kindness really do matter. You have helped raise this child every step of the way.

Happy 15th Birthday, Charity Matters.

Because after fifteen years, Charity Matters has taught me that the best stories are never the ones we write they’re the ones we have the courage to live.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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Charity Matters Inspiration

At 250 America is just getting started!

We really are babies.

A few weeks ago, I was walking through Portugal and Spain, surrounded by history that stretches back hundreds and even thousands of years. In Lisbon, I learned about the devastating earthquake and tsunami that leveled the city in 1755. As I listened to stories of destruction and rebuilding, one thought kept coming to mind: all of this happened before America was even born.

Our nation is only 250 years old. By comparison, we are still in our infancy….a mere babie to many parts of the world.

Our Shared Story

My mom’s family came over on the Mayflower, and she loved being a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. She was proud of our family’s lineage and often talked about the history and struggles that her ancestors endured to come to this country.

Her pride was never really about genealogy. Instead, it was rooted in courage, sacrifice, and the determination of people who left everything they knew in the hope of building something better.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is our shared story as Americans. Every one of us came from somewhere. Whether our families arrived on the Mayflower, crossed an ocean generations later, came through Ellis Island, (like my husband’s grandfather) journeyed from neighboring countries, or arrived only recently, we all share a common thread.

A mother or father made a difficult choice. A family sacrificed for the next generation. Somewhere along the way, someone held onto hope despite uncertainty. Today we call it resilience. In the late 1700s, it was simply survival.

Built by Resilient People

There is much discussion these days about cellular memory and whether we carry the experiences of our ancestors in our genes. I am certainly no scientist. However, I do believe there is something uniquely American that has been passed down from generation to generation.

Part of our national character is toughness. Another piece is our willingness to work hard. Add a little grit and an unwillingness to accept “no,” and you have something that feels distinctly American.

Maybe that spirit comes from generations of people who had to adapt, rebuild, persevere, and begin again.

After all, this country was built by people who believed tomorrow could be better than today. They worked the land, started businesses, raised families, fought wars, and built communities. Through every challenge, Americans somehow found ways to keep moving forward. That determination still lives within us. I love that about being American.

The American Spirit

People around the world may see us as less refined or even a little rude. Yet I think they sometimes misunderstand us. Americans simply expect things to get done.

When we see a problem, we look for solutions. Faced with obstacles, we usually ask, “How can we make this work?” Presented with an impossible idea, many of us instinctively wonder if it might actually be possible.

That attitude has shaped our nation and, in many ways, the world. We have become known for our creativity, our entrepreneurial spirit, our willingness to innovate, and our belief that impossible things can become reality.

This is the country that put a man on the moon. It is also the nation that created countless inventions, built extraordinary businesses, and inspired movements that changed lives around the globe. Of course, we don’t always get it right. No family does, and no country does either. Nevertheless, we keep trying, learning, and moving forward.

That, too, is part of our story.

We Are Just Getting Started

This Fourth of July is about more than fireworks, barbecues, and birthday cake. It is an opportunity to pause and celebrate what we have built together over these last 250 years.  Even more important, it is a chance to remember who we are.

At our core, we are descendants of dreamers and doers. Behind us stand generations of people who sacrificed tremendously. Ahead of us lies endless possibility if we are willing to work together. Perhaps the most exciting part is that we are still young.

At 250 years old, America is just getting started.

The next chapter of our story is still being written, and it belongs to all of us. Therefore, our task is to keep coming together, remember where we came from, and decide where we want to go.

If our first 250 years have taught us anything, it is this: Americans are resilient. We are builders, problem-solvers, and people who believe tomorrow can be better than today. Most of all, when we come together with a common purpose, there is very little we cannot accomplish.

After all, if we can put a man on the moon, imagine what we can do next?

Happy 250th Birthday, America. The best is yet to come.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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Walking With my Mom

The Gift of 60

Have you ever heard a man talk about how long he thinks he will live based on the age his father died? I certainly have. In fact, I heard my dad do it for years. Men who lose their fathers often keep one eye on the calendar. As they approach the age their dad was when he died, they naturally begin to wonder what lies ahead.

However, I had never heard a woman talk that way. Until now. My mom died at the age of 60. This past week I turned 60. To say that number hasn’t been on my mind would be a lie. For years, I thought this was something only men did. Then suddenly, I found myself standing at the exact age where my mother’s story ended. That realization has stayed with me and made this birthday sit a little different.

Looking Back

When my mom died, I was only 35 years old. At the time, she didn’t seem old at all. She was a grandmother to three children and was eagerly awaiting the arrival of a fourth grandchild. More importantly, she was thriving.

Joy followed my mother everywhere. She laughed easily, loved deeply, and shared wisdom without ever preaching. Most of all, she had reached a wonderful season of life where she was finally doing what she wanted to do. By then, worries had loosened their grip.

The children were grown. Financial concerns had settled down. Other people’s opinions mattered less. Instead, she focused on what brought her happiness: traveling, working, spending time with friends, and loving her grandchildren. In short, it was finally her time.

Now that I have arrived at this same age, I finally understand what she was feeling. I especially miss her this birthday.

When Time Feels Different

Women spend so much of their lives caring for others. First come the children. Then there are spouses, careers, friendships, volunteer commitments, and eventually aging parents. Meanwhile, the years seem to move faster and faster.

Before long, you wake up and realize you are 60. Something shifts. Suddenly, time feels a little more precious. An alarm bell quietly rings somewhere in the distance. As a result, you start asking different questions.  How many more chances will I have to ski, hike, travel, laugh, and explore?

Perhaps that is why turning 60 feels different. It isn’t really about the number. Instead, it is about recognizing that time is a gift. I am reminded of that old soap opera opening: “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.”

At this stage, there is clearly less sand in the top half than there is in the bottom. Therefore, paying attention feels more important than ever.

Choosing Adventure

Age isn’t a number. Rather, age is an attitude. Even more than that, age is energy.

Each day gives us a choice. We can stay comfortable, or we can keep growing. We can sleep in, or we can get up before sunrise and walk with friends. We can avoid risk, or we can choose adventure. Unfortunately, comfort can quietly become a habit.

Even after tearing my calf while skiing this year, I still cannot wait to get back on a mountain. Recovery has been slow. Some days have been frustrating. Nevertheless, I would rather risk getting hurt doing something I love than spend my life sitting on the sidelines. That choice matters.

Interestingly, my mother lived the same way.

Whether it was walking the Rose Bowl with girlfriends at dawn, swimming in a cold lake, or saying yes to another trip, she kept choosing life. While many people slow down, she leaned in. As a result, she showed all of us what was possible.

Walking With My Mom

I spent ten days walking the Camino de Santiago. Throughout the journey, thoughts of my mother were never far away. In fact, I felt her presence almost every day.

During difficult climbs, I thought about her strength. Whenever my legs were tired, I imagined her cheering me forward just as she always had. Because of that, the trip became far more than a physical journey. It became a gift.

Perhaps the cord between parent and child is never truly cut. Even after death, something remains. Love remains. Memory remains. Connection remains. As I walked through Portugal and Spain, that connection felt stronger than ever. Although she was not physically beside me, I felt her encouragement in countless moments.

Without question, that was one of the greatest gifts of turning 60.

The Gift Is This

After all the reflection, the lesson feels surprisingly simple:

Live.

Not someday. Not when the timing is better. Not when the to-do list is finished.

Live now.

Feed your soul. Nurture your spirit. Call the friend. Take the trip. Watch the hummingbird. Eat the good bread. Furthermore, don’t rush through the small moments. Enjoy the blue sky. Listen to the song you love. Savor a great conversation. Laugh a little longer than necessary.

Those gifts are all around us.

Unfortunately, we are all moving too fast to notice. The Camino reminded me to slow down. It taught me to listen more carefully, notice more deeply, and appreciate more fully. Although daily life makes that harder, the lesson remains the same.

Slow down. Pay attention. Find joy. Choose gratitude. Most importantly, choose life.

My mother’s journey ended at 60. Mine feels like it is just beginning.

As I step into this new decade, I am not focused on how much sand remains in the hourglass. Instead, how I want to make every grain count. Because if turning 60 has taught me anything, it is this: Life is precious and life is short. Joy is available, if we look for it. And every single day is an invitation to fully live. The choice is ours….

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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Charity Matters Inspiration

The Journey Ahead

Walking Into 60

For the past few months, I honestly wasn’t sure what this summer would look like. After my ski accident in February, life suddenly became much smaller. There were surgeries, crutches, a boot, physical therapy appointments, and countless frustrating moments simply trying to do the basic things we all take for granted. As a result, my world slowed down in ways I never expected. When you go from moving freely through life to struggling to take a single step, perspective changes quickly.

That is why preparing to leave for the Camino feels emotional in ways I never anticipated.

In just a few days, I will head to Portugal with dear friends to begin walking the Camino de Santiago as part of celebrating my 60th birthday. Even writing those words feels surreal. Only a few months ago, I couldn’t walk at all. Now, however, I am preparing to walk one of the world’s most historic pilgrimage routes one step at a time. Honestly, it feels like such a gift.

The Journey Ahead

For centuries, pilgrims from around the world have walked the Camino searching for something meaningful. Some walk for healing, while others seek faith, clarity, forgiveness, adventure, or transformation. Along the way, each traveler carries their own burdens, hopes, questions, and stories.

Lately, people keep asking me what I am hoping to find on this journey.

The truth is, I’m not walking in search of anything.

Instead, I hope to simply be present enough to receive whatever the journey wants to offer. Somewhere along the road between Portugal and Spain, between quiet mornings and aching feet, between laughter with friends and moments of silence, I trust there will be lessons waiting.

After all, life teaches us when we slow down enough to listen.

Perhaps that is why the Camino has drawn people in for generations. In a world that constantly tells us to hurry, produce, achieve, and consume, the Camino invites something entirely different. Walk slowly. Carry only what you need. Notice the people beside you. Pay attention to the beauty around you. Trust the next step.

There is something deeply beautiful about that rhythm.

As I stand on the edge of turning 60, I realize this season of life may be inviting the same thing. Less rushing and more presence. Less proving and more gratitude. Less noise and more purpose.

Lessons From Recovery

Without question, these past few months have reminded me repeatedly that health is not something to take for granted. In addition, community matters deeply. Purpose matters too. During difficult moments, you quickly discover who truly shows up for you.

Some people text encouragement. Others pray faithfully. Many bring meals, offer support, or simply remind you not to give up. Throughout this recovery, I have felt incredibly carried by love.

At the same time, another unexpected gift arrived this week that left me emotional in the very best way.

The Charity Matters Podcast was recognized by Million Podcasts in multiple national rankings for 2026:
#7 Best Charity Podcast in the United States
#15 Best Philanthropy Podcast
#44 Best Nonprofit Podcast

Additionally, the podcast was recognized in categories focused on changemakers, social impact, advocacy, kindness, nonprofit leadership, and philanthropy.

Gratitude For This Community

When I first started Charity Matters all those years ago, my only hope was to shine a light on good people doing extraordinary things to help others. Back then, I never imagined where this journey would lead. More importantly, I could never have imagined the incredible community that would grow from it.

According to Million Podcasts, their rankings are based on audience engagement, consistency, authority within the space, ratings, reviews, and podcast activity. Behind every one of those statistics are real people. More specifically, all of you.

Many of you listen faithfully each week.
Others generously share stories and encourage friends to tune in.
Still more continue showing up because you believe kindness matters and goodness matters. Because of this community, we continue putting more good into the world together.

That recognition felt like the most beautiful early birthday gift because it reminded me that this work matters. Stories matter. Encouragement matters. Service matters. Most importantly, goodness matters.

Buen Camino

As I head off toward Portugal and begin walking into this next decade of life, my heart is filled with gratitude. Gratitude for healing. Gratitude for friendship. Gratitude for this beautiful community. Most of all, gratitude for every lesson these difficult months have brought.

Although I don’t know exactly what the Camino will teach me yet, I do know this: life itself is a pilgrimage. In one way or another, we are all walking each other home.

If I have learned anything over these past sixty years, it is that the journey becomes infinitely more meaningful when we walk it with love, purpose, faith, and kindness.

I promise to share more reflections when I return.

Until then…Buen Camino.

Charity Matters

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Progress not perfection: A 2026 Progress Report

 

At the beginning of this year, I shared something very personal with you. I shared my dreams for 2026 and my commitment to making this year different. Not because last year was bad, but because sometimes life calls us to step forward more intentionally. And as I approach a milestone birthday, turning sixty next month, I knew deep down that I wanted to close out this decade with purpose, courage, and a little bit of adventure.

So today is simply a progress report.

Since July of 2011, you have walked alongside me on this journey through Charity Matters. You have been my sounding board, my encouragement, my accountability partners, and quite honestly, my inspiration. When I wrote my Dreams for 2026 post, it felt a bit like standing at the edge of a new chapter. I wasn’t entirely sure what it would look like, but I knew that if I was going to dream big, I needed to act.

The first promise I made to myself this year was to grow. To do something that scared me and stretched me in ways that show vulnerability. For me, that meant committing to something that both excites and terrifies me…..public speaking. I like to talk and maybe a little too much sometimes. While I do speak to nonprofit groups, leadership conferences, and audiences who care deeply about service. I really want to improve, to refine the message and  become a better storyteller.

In February, I committed to taking a public speaking class. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to get better. I wanted to sharpen the message of service that has changed my life and that sits at the heart of Charity Matters. I wanted to better craft the stories that remind people that helping others is not just something nice to do, it is often the very thing that heals us.

Each week in class we work on refining stories, clarifying our message, and identifying the tools we can give an audience so that they leave not only inspired but empowered to act. It has been challenging and invigorating all at the same time. Some days I leave feeling confident, other days humbled, but every week I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Because if we believe in growth, we have to be willing to do the work.

Like many of us, I set great New Year’s goals around health and fitness.  I had big plans…exercise, strength, preparation for the adventures ahead. And like so many things in life, those plans hit a bit of a detour. Right now, instead of running around at full speed, I find myself learning to walk again since my ski accident in February. The crutches are gone and now replaced with a cane.  This was certainly not part of the plan. In fact, if I’m honest, it has been a lesson in patience and humility. But as we all know, the best laid plans sometimes take their own path.

Healing takes time, and perhaps this is simply a reminder to slow down and listen to the body as much as the heart. There hasn’t been much choice.  I have been working so hard in physical therapy because I have had a clear goal for healing and regaining strength for what lies ahead. And what lies ahead is something I am incredibly excited about.

This year, in celebration of turning sixty, a group of friends and I will be traveling to Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago together. If you have ever dreamed about walking the Camino, you know that it is more than just a physical journey. It is a pilgrimage. One that offers reflection, friendship, laughter, and a chance to reconnect with what matters most.

Until recently, it was a little unclear if I would be able to make it. Doctors said that I am good to go. As a result, I have been working so hard physically to rehab. This trip is the result of one of the best decisions  made this year  which was scheduling our fun first. Instead of waiting for the calendar to magically create space for joy, we put it there ourselves. We made the commitment to adventure, to friendship, and to celebration. Now life is simply filling in the cracks around those moments. And honestly, that might be one of the biggest lessons of this year so far.

Too often we plan work first and hope life fits in somewhere later. This year we flipped that script. We planned the joy, the connection,  the memories and the rest will come. So while the year is only mid way through, I can say this much:  this year has tested me in ways I have not been tested before. Growth is happening. Dreams are moving. Healing, physical therapy and training are all underway. And adventure is on the horizon.

Most importantly, I am reminded once again that dreams don’t come true simply because we write them down. They come to life because we take small, brave steps toward them each day. Thank you for continuing to walk this journey with me. As always, your encouragement reminds me that none of us dream alone.

And if the first few months of this year are any indication, 2026 is going to continue to test me and to stretch me.  Here is to hoping that we all come out stronger on the other side!

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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Health

I’ve been thinking…

“I’ve been thinking…”

My husband believes those are three very dangerous words. Perhaps he’s right. Over the past few months being unable to walk, being sick, and being tested……I’ve had more time than usual to sit with my thoughts. Life has felt like a funnel, with so much pouring in and only a slow drip coming out the other end.

Lately, it feels as if I’ve been placed in the observation chair and told to sit, listen, and take everything in. No driving, no constant motion…..just observing.  This is unfamiliar territory.

Normally, I’m in the driver’s seat, pedal to the metal, moving full speed ahead. What I’m beginning to understand is that when you move that fast, it’s almost impossible to truly see or hear what’s around you.

From Full Speed to Stillness

Recently, life has gone from sixty to zero.

This season has become a lesson in patience, in slowing down, and in surrender. Accepting help has not come easily. That delicate line between independence and dependence feels thinner than ever.Asking for help feels vulnerable. It stretches every part of who I think I am.

And yet…

Kindness has met me at every turn. Strangers hold doors as I navigate on crutches. Friends show up with meals. Messages, check-ins, and small gestures appear daily, each one meaningful. Being on the receiving end of so much generosity has filled me with gratitude. More than that, it has renewed my belief in humanity.

When we slow down enough, goodness becomes impossible to miss.

When You Can’t Speak, You Listen

One of the greatest lessons during this time has been learning to listen. Not just to my body, but to everything happening around me.

Last week, I collapsed and ended up in the ER. I’m fine now, so no need to worry. Still, the experience left a lasting imprint. As paramedics loaded me into the red truck, everything became blurry. Awareness faded in and out. By the time we reached the emergency room, I couldn’t open my eyes or speak but I could hear everything.

What I heard is something I cannot stop thinking about.

The Woman Behind the Curtain

Inside the ER, doctors and nurses moved quickly around me. Their voices blended into a steady rhythm of urgency and care. Beyond the curtain next to me, another story quietly unfolded.

The patient beside me was an elderly woman. From her voice alone, I could sense her grace, her precise words  and her calm tone. The doctor explained that she needed surgery immediately. Then came a simple question: “Who can we call?”

Silence followed.

After a moment, she said she needed time to think. Gently, she explained that her concern wasn’t who to call. Instead, she worried about who would take care of her cat. My heart broke.

As the doctor and nurse reviewed forms, I could hear her discomfort. Pain slipped through her voice as she responded. A single thought kept repeating in my mind: Who is helping her? Wanting to speak, to advocate, to do something….I couldn’t. Tears streamed down my face as I listened.

A Life of Order, A Moment of Uncertainty

Soon, a social worker arrived. Questions began about the cat….its age, food, medications, and care instructions. Each answer came with remarkable clarity and detail. The woman described exactly where everything was and how it all worked.

Impressed, the social worker commented on her organization. With quiet pride, the woman replied,
“Of course there is a system for everything. I would like you to know, young lady, that I was a librarian for over forty years. Everything has a system.”

In that moment, I could see her clearly. Her life, her order, her independence and her dignity. Still, one question would not leave me…

Who would take her home after surgery?
Was there anyone to check in on her ?
Who would care for her?

The Questions That Stay With Us

That moment has stayed with me. It returns in quiet spaces and unexpected pauses. Beneath it all lies a deeper question:

How does someone end up alone?

Human beings aren’t meant to live in isolation. We are wired for connection, built for community, and designed to belong. But over time, however, connections fade. People move. Life shifts. Loss enters. Gradually, sometimes without notice, the circle grows smaller. Eventually, it can become just one person… and a beloved cat… facing a moment no one should face alone.

The Power of Asking and Receiving

Here is what I keep coming back to and what is dropping out of the funnel. The power of asking for help… and the power of connection. These two forces are deeply intertwined.

During this season, asking for help has stretched me in ways I never expected. What I’ve discovered is that asking doesn’t weaken us but rather it creates space for others to step in with love. Offering help matters just as much. Noticing someone. Reaching out. Showing up before the need is spoken.

Because not everyone can ask.

What We Can Do

So what do we do with this awareness? We reach out, we check in and  we build connection before we need it.  Then we step into someone else’s world when they do. Notice the neighbor you haven’t seen in a while. Call the friend who has gone quiet. Offer to pick up groceries, share a meal, or simply sit and listen.

Connection begins with small choices. Every act of kindness, no matter how simple, carries weight. Sometimes, those small acts are the difference between someone feeling invisible… and someone feeling seen.

A Final Thought

I don’t know what happened to the woman behind the curtain. Whether someone showed up for her. If her cat was cared for. Or whether she had someone waiting on the other side of surgery. What I do know is this:

She changed me.

That moment reminded me that life isn’t about constant motion or endless productivity. True meaning often reveals itself when we pause long enough to notice others. Maybe my husband is right…” I’ve been thinking” can be dangerous.

Because once awareness begins, it doesn’t stop. Once you truly see… you cannot unsee. And what becomes clear is this: We need each other. Always.

In the end, the smallest act of kindness may simply be making sure someone knows they are not alone.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

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March Madness 2026

March Madness means different things to different people. For some, it’s brackets, buzzer beaters, and the annual belief that this is finally the year their alma mater goes all the way. For others, it’s an Irish-infused celebration of green everything and wondering if corned beef is actually delicious or we’ve just convinced ourselves it is.

In our house? March is a full-contact sport of a different kind.

For 31 years, March has meant three sons, three birthdays, three cakes and enough candles to trigger the smoke alarm. It means springtime peeking around the corner, daffodils doing their thing, and the sacred family ritual of our March Madness  celebration. It’s a month of joy, fun, and often spring skiing because nothing says “let’s celebrate life” like strapping skis to your feet and launching yourself down a frozen mountain.

Speaking of launching oneself down a mountain.

Last week, my husband and I were lucky enough to spend three magical days skiing in one of our favorite places. A dear friend generously loaned us her home, and for a few blissful days, we skied and skied and skied. Blue skies. Crisp air. That satisfying crunch of snow under your skis. It was the kind of weekend that makes you feel 25 again.

Until it wasn’t.

You know how the last run of the day is always “just one more”? The victory lap. The grand finale. The triumphant glide into après-ski glory? Yes. That run.

I was following my husband who, as usual, was far ahead of me when I noticed that the center of the trail was filling with little ones zig-zagging their way down the mountain. It was icy and crowded. So, I confidently decided to move to the left side of the run into the shadier part of the slope.

It seemed like a brilliant plan…..Until I skied off a three-foot drop I didn’t see because of the shade and that charming phenomenon known as flat light. One moment I was upright and composed. The next, I was airborne……unintentionally.

To say I missed my landing would be generous.

There was a brief, cinematic pause in midair where I had time to think, “This is the end.”  Then came the yard sale. Skis here. Poles there. Dignity somewhere further down the mountain. Enter Todd. A kind young stranger who skied over and said, “Wow. I can’t believe you’re okay. That was incredible.”

Incredible. That’s one word for it.

It turns out, I was not, in fact, okay. I tore my calf muscle and did some soft tissue damage in what I will now refer to as my Non-Olympic Landing of 2026. The good news? It could have been so much worse. No surgery, no head injury and no dramatic helicopter rescue. Yes, there was ski patrol and a snowmobile but thankfully no toboggan.

The bad news? I can’t walk or drive for about a month. My curent transportation consist of my crutches, and a very humbling scooter. I’m one week in and still in total denial. Surely tomorrow I will spring up like a gazelle? This scooter can’t belong to me? How is it possible that I am now the woman who now calculates how far it is from the couch to the refrigerator?

And yet…here we are.

March Madness has taken on a whole new meaning.

It has literally forced me to slow down. I am not a slow-down kind of girl but more like a “just one more run,” “just one more meeting,” “just one more project” kind of girl. But when you can’t physically get from point A to point B without wheels, crutches, or assistance, you start to listen a little more carefully.

God is whispering (or possibly shouting), “Pause.” And as much as I don’t love the method, I’m starting to appreciate the message.

Because here’s the beautiful twist in this tale of ice and ego: this forced slowing down has given me space. Space to think and to reflect. And space to pour my heart into something that fills me with joy….our 100th episode and Season 10 premiere of the Charity Matters Podcast.

Can you believe it? One hundred episodes. Ten seasons. Hundreds of modern-day heroes who have opened up to share their stories of courage, compassion, and service.

My calf may be in a brace, but my dimples are working overtime. Our team is putting the finishing touches on conversations that are inspiring, grounding, and deeply hopeful. And I cannot wait to share them with you.

Our first guest this season is one of the most compassionate, kind men I have ever met. His work for children and families is beyond beautiful. It is the kind of story that reminds you that while the world may sometimes feel like it has gone mad, there are extraordinary humans quietly stitching it back together.

And perhaps that is the real March Madness.

Not the brackets, not the birthdays and not even the three-foot drop I didn’t see coming. The real madness is how much goodness is out there how strangers like Todd who stop to help. How founders give their lives to serve others and even how an unexpected fall can become an invitation to grow.

So however you celebrate the madness this March…..whether it’s basketball, birthdays, green cupcakes, or cautiously navigating icy slopes. I hope you celebrate the helpers, that you cheer for the modern-day heroes. And I hope you let their stories steady you.

If you happen to find yourself unexpectedly airborne this season, figuratively or otherwise…….may you land in grace, surrounded by kindness, and maybe with a good story to tell.

Just preferably without the crutches.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

YOUR REFERRAL IS THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT,  IF YOU ARE SO MOVED OR INSPIRED, WE WOULD LOVE YOU TO SHARE AND INSPIRE ANOTHER. If you enjoyed today’s episode, please connect with us:

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Ways to make a difference

The Science of Kindness

For as long as I can remember, I have believed that kindness changes everything. I didn’t need a study to tell me that showing up for someone matters but it turns out, science agrees.

Over the past few years, researchers across psychology, medicine, neuroscience, and public health have been quietly confirming something many of us who live lives of service already know in our hearts: giving doesn’t just help the person on the receiving end. It heals the giver too.

At a time when loneliness has been declared a global public health crisis, when anxiety and burnout feel like constant companions, and when the world often seems more divided than connected, kindness is emerging not just as a moral choice but as a biological and emotional lifeline. This is the science of kindness. And it is powerful.

Loneliness Is Not a Feeling It’s a Health Risk

In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General called loneliness an epidemic. By 2024 and 2025, researchers around the world were publishing data that made one thing heartbreakingly clear: loneliness isn’t just sad it’s dangerous.

A major 2024 scientific review published in Nature Reviews Psychology found that social isolation and loneliness are associated with increased risk of depression, cardiovascular disease, cognitive decline, and early mortality. The authors concluded that social connection is as critical to health as sleep, exercise, and nutrition. Let that sink in. Connection is not a “nice to have.” It is a biological need.

In 2025, the World Health Organization reinforced this conclusion, stating that strong social connection improves both mental and physical health outcomes, while chronic loneliness increases the risk of illness and premature death. So where does kindness fit into all of this? Right at the center.

Volunteering: One of the Most Effective Antidotes to Loneliness

One of the most compelling studies I’ve read recently came out in 2025. It was a randomized controlled trial (the gold standard of research) examining the effects of volunteering on loneliness. The findings were remarkable.

Researchers found that older adults who already felt lonely experienced significant reductions in loneliness when they volunteered, and perhaps even more importantly that these benefits were sustained over time when volunteering continued. This wasn’t about grand gestures or massive commitments. It was about showing up, consistently, for others.

The takeaway? Helping gives people a place to belong again. And belonging heals.

Why Helping Others Makes Us Feel Better (Even When Life Is Hard)

One of the most beautiful things about kindness is that it works even when we are struggling ourselves.

A 2025 paper published in Current Directions in Psychological Science reviewed decades of research on prosocial behavior, things like volunteering, donating, mentoring, and helping strangers. The authors concluded that acts of kindness reliably reduce loneliness and increase well-being across age groups and cultures. Why?

Because kindness restores three things we often lose during difficult seasons of life:

  1. Connection  “I am not alone.”

  2. Meaning  “What I do matters.”

  3. Agency  “I can still make a difference.”

When grief, loss, illness, or burnout strip away our sense of control, helping someone else even in a small way and then returns it. This is why service so often becomes a turning point after trauma. It reminds us that even when we are hurting, we still have something to give.

And that realization is deeply healing.

Kindness and the Body: What’s Happening Under the Hood

Here’s where things get especially fascinating. Kindness doesn’t just change how we feel. It changes what’s happening inside our bodies.

A 2024 review examining the brain, and the endocrine and immune system (published in Frontiers in Neuroscience) showed that practices associated with compassion, meaning, and stress reduction can influence inflammatory pathways, pain perception, and immune response. In plain English? Lower stress and greater emotional regulation lead to healthier bodies.

Another 2024 clinical study focusing on mindfulness and inflammation found measurable reductions in inflammatory biomarkers such as C-reactive protein (CRP) among participants. While the study focused on meditation, researchers consistently note that meaning-driven, connection-based behaviors, like service, often produce similar stress-buffering effects.

This helps explain what so many nonprofit founders have told me over the years: “Helping others saved me.” It wasn’t just emotional. It was physiological.

The “Helper Effect” Is Real and It’s Scalable

Sometimes people dismiss kindness as soft or sentimental. But the data says otherwise. A 2025 mixed-methods evaluation of a community health program found that youth volunteers meaningfully improved health screening outcomes for older adults. The impact wasn’t theoretical, it was measurable.

This is what researchers call the “helper effect.” When service is structured thoughtfully, it benefits: the recipient, the helpers and the broader community. Everyone wins. And here’s the most important part: the helper effect doesn’t require perfection, wealth, or expertise. It requires presence.

Why Small Acts Matter More Than We Think

One of my favorite findings across this body of research is this: consistency matters more than intensity.

The volunteering study showed that sustained, modest engagement produced longer-lasting benefits than short bursts of activity. This aligns beautifully with something nonprofit founders say all the time: “Small actions, done consistently, change everything.” Science backs that up.

A smile. A phone call. A few hours a month. A handwritten note. These are not insignificant gestures, they are biological signals of connection. And connection is medicine.

Designing Kindness That Heals (For Individuals and Organizations)

So what do we do with all of this? Whether you’re an individual wondering how to feel better, or a nonprofit leader designing programs, the research points to a few powerful principles:

1. Make it social

Service that includes human connection is far more impactful than transactional giving.

2. Keep it doable

Small, repeatable acts are more sustainable and more healing than overwhelming commitments.

3. Show the impact

When people can see how they helped, they’re more likely to keep going. Meaning fuels momentum.

4. Serve with others

Community amplifies kindness. We heal faster together.

Why This Matters Now More Than Ever

We are living in a time of extraordinary need and extraordinary opportunity. Loneliness is rising. Burnout is real. And yet, kindness remains one of the most accessible tools we have to combat both. The science is finally catching up to what many of us have lived: service is not just something we do for others. It is something that restores us.

Kindness reconnects us to ourselves, to one another, and to hope. And perhaps that’s why it has always mattered so much. Because every time we love, we give. And every time we give, something inside us heals too.

 

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

YOUR REFERRAL IS THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT,  IF YOU ARE SO MOVED OR INSPIRED, WE WOULD LOVE YOU TO SHARE AND INSPIRE ANOTHER. If you enjoyed today’s episode, please connect with us:

Copyright © 2026 Charity Matters. This article may not be reproduced without explicit written permission; if you are not reading this in your newsreader, the site you are viewing is illegally infringing our copyright. We would be grateful if you contact us.

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Heart Disease

February is all about heart

January gets all the attention. New calendars. Fresh planners. Big resolutions written in bold ink. We step into the New Year fueled by hope, energy, and the belief that this will be the year everything changes.

And then February arrives quietly.

The decorations come down, the confetti is swept away, and real life settles back in. The gym crowds thin. The lists get tucked into drawers. And yet, this is exactly when the real work begins.

February is Heart Month. And not just in the medical or nonprofit sense, though that matters deeply. February is the month that invites us to pause, look inward, and ask a far more important question than What do I want to do this year?

It asks: Who do I want to be?

February is the month of love. Valentine’s Day reminds us of romance, connection, and affection but the deepest kind of love is not always wrapped in red paper and ribbon. Sometimes love looks like honesty. Often it looks like courage. More than that love looks like choosing to change patterns that no longer serve us.

This is the month to take stock.

By now, we have enough distance from January to tell the truth. Which goals still feel aligned? What goals were fueled by pressure instead of purpose? Which dreams are whispering instead of shouting and refuse to go away?

February doesn’t demand grand gestures. It invites quiet commitment.

In the nonprofit world, February is also Heart Month, a reminder of why so many of us do this work in the first place. We don’t show up to change the world because it’s easy. We show up because something in our heart tells us we must. Because injustice, suffering, or loss has touched us personally. Because love compels action.

And that’s the connection February offers us all.

Real change for good rarely happens in loud moments. It happens in the quiet spaces where intention turns into action. Where reflection turns into resolve. Where love becomes something we do, not just something we feel.

February is not about starting over. It’s about recommitting.

It’s about asking:

  • What habits am I willing to protect?

  • Are there boundaries  I need to strengthen?

  • Where have I been rushing past what really matters?

This is the month to check your heart…..not just your pulse, but your purpose.

Are you living in alignment with what you believe matters most?
Do your days reflecting your values?
Are you loving others and yourself in ways that are sustainable?

Winter still surrounds us in February. The pace is slower. The evenings are quieter. Nature itself seems to be resting and preparing. There is wisdom in that.

We don’t always need to do more.
Sometimes we need to become more intentional about how we do what we do.

February gives us permission to stop chasing shiny resolutions and instead nurture lasting change. Small, steady, heart-centered steps. The kind that don’t burn out by March but grow roots that last all year.

In a world that glorifies urgency and noise, February reminds us that transformation often begins softly…ireflection, in love and in choice.

This is the month to lean into compassion.
To forgive yourself for what didn’t stick in January.
Time to celebrate what did.
Then adjust, not abandon your goals.

Because love is patient.
Change is incremental.
And the heart knows the way forward if we’re willing to listen.

So as February unfolds, I invite you to treat it as a gift. A pause. A checkpoint. A heart check.

Let this be the month you choose intention over intensity.
Connection over perfection.
Purpose over pressure.

Because when change is led by the heart, it doesn’t fade with the seasons.

It becomes who we are.

And that is how we truly change for good.

CHARITY MATTERS.

 

YOUR REFERRAL IS THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT,  IF YOU ARE SO MOVED OR INSPIRED, WE WOULD LOVE YOU TO SHARE AND INSPIRE ANOTHER. If you enjoyed today’s episode, please connect with us:

Copyright © 2026 Charity Matters. This article may not be reproduced without explicit written permission; if you are not reading this in your newsreader, the site you are viewing is illegally infringing our copyright. We would be grateful if you contact us.

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