A couple of days ago I was reading a pocket version of Kahlil Gibran's old classic, The Prophet. I picked it up a few months ago in the used-book section of a thrift store -- where I've been finding lots of great treasures for a long time.
If you are familiar with Gibran, you know he's good. I really liked his chapter on 'The Teacher,' which you can link to here.
But that's not why I'm writing this.
Whenever I read Gibran, I think of a good young lady friend I had in college days, who gave me my first copy of The Prophet -- that copy is now long since lent out to somebody, I think; or maybe I just misplaced it. In my recollection it was not a birthday or Christmas present, nor did it signify anything romantic: she just thought I would like it. And I surely did. If and when you read this, Jennifer -- thank you very much.
A couple of years later, same college, another young lady, this time in a college youth group, played a record for us which had a beautiful song that she liked. She had just gotten the album that week, and it was a gift from a friend of hers (and mine) who had moved to a distant state. Once again, it was for no special occasion -- which made it very special.
It hit me -- I finally was beginning to get it. Not birthday, not Christmas, not even romance. Just real friends thinking about real friends. Thank you, Steve, for that wonderful thoughtfulness. I have never forgotten it, and I learned a lot.
If you would like to hear that song, you can link to it right now.
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Comments always welcome.