In the end, only three things matter:
how much you loved,
how gently you lived,
and how gracefully you let go of things
not meant for you.
~ The Buddha ~
Meet Mason Wartman.
Mason left his job on Wall Street to start up his pizza business in Philly. Formerly on Wall Street, Wartman, 27, saw how successful $1 pizza shops are in Manhattan, then decided to move back home to Philadelphia and start up one on his own.
His Rosa’s Fresh Pizza – named for his mother – opened in December 2013.
Little did Wartman know what it would develop into just three months later.
In March 2014, a customer asked if he could buy a slice for someone in need. It wasn’t long before Wartman got Post-It notes and drew a smiley face on them, to symbolize a free slice.
Mason places these pay it forward ‘post-its’ on the wall.
Now, some 8,000 slices later, whenever someone hungry comes in – they can just grab a post it off the wall to pay for their meal. The post-its share inspiring messages of motivation or gratitude, such as “you can do it” and “you are beautiful.”
Mason’s restaurant feeds around 300 homeless people every week.
One man wrote, “God bless you. Because of you I ate off this plate, the only thing I ate all day.”
Mason treats every customer the same, no matter if he or she is on the receiving or giving end of the pizza slice.
Rosa’s Fresh Pizza owner Mason appeared on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” on Tuesday. Always down to help out a good cause, Ellen presented Wartman with a $10,000 check from Shutterfly.
So, go ahead, get your $1 slice and help out the community while you’re there.
Source: Kindness Blog
Wakan Tanka, Great Spirit
teach me how to trust
my inner knowing,
the senses of my body,
the blessings of my spirit.
Teach me to trust these things
so that I may enter my Sacred Space
and love beyond my fear,
and thus Walk in Balance
with the passing of each glorious Sun.
~ Lakota Prayer ~
There’s a Star inside of me;
She shines there in my heart
and waits to be recognized.
Darkness tries to scare her off,
ego attempts to ignore her,
busyness pushes her around.
But this wonderful shining Star
keeps twinkling, all aglow.
She waits to lead me
to an unknown meadow
where the truth of who I am
will be revealed to me.
Shining Star, faithful Star,
when will I follow you?
When will I come to the meadow
where the truth will set me free?
~ Joyce Rupp ~
I don’t believe in much.
Fate, destiny, miracles: I think these concepts are all just ways we humans try to (unnecessarily) explain the things we can’t understand.
Rarely do I take something to be a “sign” or a “message,” but occasionally, something beautiful happens that makes me question my jaded philosophy.
This story is one of those magical moments.
Expecting parents Ed and Dee Parsons had been feeling overwhelmed by the violence plaguing the world when they learned of the pregnancy.
The two Brits were a bit apprehensive — even regretful — that they’d be “bringing [the] child into the world at such a horrible time,” Dee explained.
At the 20-week-mark of their pregnancy, the two visited a doctor near their Surrey home.
What they saw was incredible: The baby, in the womb, had his or her fingers held up in a “v”-shape, the global sign for “peace.”
The surprised couple took it as an indicator of good luck.
Dee, 35, said,
“Its nice to have such an iconic image of peace when there’s so much unrest all around us. It was very reassuring.
All of our friends said they thought it was such a positive, happy symbol.”
The couple is thinking of naming the baby Winston if it’s a boy, after Winston Churchill, the pioneer of the now-iconic peace sign.
“But for now, we’re calling it peace-baby.
Regardless of whether the gesture was a force of miracle or a simple coincidence, I can’t help but feel it means something.”
We wish the Parsons family the best of luck, happiness and, of course, peace.
Gillian Fuller in WORLD
I just want to talk with them again.
Mom and Dad. Just one more time to sit over a cup of coffee and catch up.
Mom died 26 years ago, Dad died 2 years ago, but sometimes the desire to talk with them tears my heart into pieces. Such a little thing – to talk together – is such a big thing.
If given the chance, what would I do?
First I’d tell them I loved them, how much I missed them, how much I wanted to thank them. And I’d stand wrapped in their arms until the weight of the world drifted away and all I could feel was their love. Protected, where no one or no thing could touch me without their permission. Yet when I picture the hug in the recesses of my 60-year old memory, I am still a little girl in a grown up world.
I just want to talk with them again.
To tell them about Alex’s wedding a week ago. How lovely it was, intimate, with only 30 people. The groom was handsome, the bride beautiful. It rained, but it rained on their first date and when Alex proposed, so rain seems to be a blessing of theirs. And how I didn’t cry until I saw the empty chair in the front row draped in white with their picture on it, honoring Mimi and Poppy who weren’t there. At least not physically…
To share pictures of their three grandsons, who are now all married and successfully giving back to society. To see their five great-grandchildren who are all healthy and bright and strong.
To describe yet another health scare last month, when the ER docs thought I had a second mini-stroke when I couldn’t remember whether or not Alex had gotten married yet. My brain was a blank slate, and of all the things that have ever happened with my health, this is the only one that scared me. And it reminded me that even though I have gone kicking and screaming into this forced retirement of sorts, perhaps I am not meant to be working full time. Perhaps my life, as it is, is enough.
To tell them about my blogging adventure, where 1,100 people have actually chosen to get an e-mail every time I post something. Where my love of writing, and desire to provide encouragement and inspiration meet in a ministry all its own. Where they can read about people and places and things that have touched me and helped me to grow in compassion and love.
To describe what it felt like to volunteer for the Red Cross as a mental health provider at the viewing and funeral for a Pennsylvania State Trooper who was ambushed outside his barracks. To honor him and his wife and two little boys by being present for those who mourned. To serve the thousands of State Troopers who came from as far away as Alaska, California, Texas, Minnesota, Iowa, North and South Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Ohio, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, just to name a few. To describe what it felt like to see the best of humanity come together following the actions of the worst of humanity, and to know that the light will always overtake the darkness.
I just want to talk with them again.
But how long would I need for 26 years of updates for Mom, and 2 years of events for Dad? And if I honestly believe that our loved ones watch over us after they die – and I do – then I don’t really need to talk to them, to update them on their family, since they already know all that I would tell them.
Maybe I just want to hear their voices one more time, hold their hands in mine, feel their arms around me. To be swallowed up by their love, their protection, their wisdom. To know that regardless of what happens, everything will be alright.
Everything will be alright.
I just want to talk with Mom and Dad again.
Can you do that for me – please?