An elderly Carpenter was ready to retire.  He told  his Employer-Contractor of his plans to leave the house  building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife  enjoying
his extended family.  He would miss the  paycheck, but he needed to retire.
They could get  by.

The Contractor was  sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could  build  just one more house as a personal favor. The Carpenter
said yes,  but in time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials.
It was an unfortunate way to end his  career.

When the  Carpenter finished his work and the builder came to inspect the  house, the Contractor handed the front-door key to the Carpenter.
"This is your house," he said, "my gift to  you."

What a  shock!  What a shame!  If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so  differently. Now he had to
live in the home he had built none to  well.

So it is  with us.  We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting  rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best.
At  important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and  find that we are now living in the house we have built.  If  we had
realized, we would have done it  differently.

Think of  yourself as the Carpenter.  Think about your house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely.  It
is the only life you will ever build.  Even if  you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be  lived graciously and with
dignity.  The plaque on the wall  says, "Life is a
do-it-yourself project."

Who could  say it more clearly?  Your life today is the result of your attitudes and choices in the past.  Your life tomorrow will  be the
result of your attitudes and choices you make today.

    When my son was a young teenager, he and his friend set out on a
    bus across town to purchase skateboard axles. They each had $20.
    When they arrived downtown, they discovered they needed more
    money to cover bus fare and sales tax. They were short $3.75.

    A branch of our bank was nearby, so they decided to go in and take
    out a loan. The teller told them that was not possible, but that they
    could get a cash advance on their parents' credit card. So they
    called home, but got no answer. They tried the teller again to see if
    anything more could be done. She referred them to the desk of the
    vice president. When he asked why the bank should give them a
    loan, they answered, "Because we're Boy Scouts and good
    students, and very trustworthy." He said that since they had no
    collateral, they would have to write out and sign an IOU. They did,
    and he in turn gave them the money they needed to complete their
    mission.

    We found out later that this wonderful man lent the boys his own
    money. (My husband called him the next day asking for the same
    terms on a home loan!) In talking with the man, we learned that he
    had made many such loans, including a large one to a Navy wife
    whose allotment was delayed. He said he's been repaid almost 100
    percent of the time, and that the opportunity to help others in this
    way was one of the most rewarding parts of his job.

    My son and his friend hopped on the bus the very next morning.
    They paid off their loan and received their IOU signed by the vice
    president. It was banking at its best.

    A number of years ago (1983-1987), I had the opportunity to play the character of Ronald McDonald for the McDonald’s Corporation. My marketplace covered most of Arizona and a
    portion of Southern California.

    One of our standard events was "Ronald Day." One day each month, we visited as many of the community hospitals as possible,
    bringing a little happiness into a place where no one ever looks forward to going. I was very proud to be able to make a difference
    for children and adults who were experiencing some "down time."
    The warmth and gratification I would receive stayed with me for weeks. I loved the project, McDonald’s loved the project, the kids
    and adults loved it and so did the nursing and hospital staffs.

    There were two restrictions placed on me during a visit. First I could not go anywhere in the hospital without McDonald’s personnel (my handlers) as well as hospital personnel. That way, if
    I were to walk into a room and frighten a child, there was someone there to address the issue immediately. And second, I could not
    physically touch anyone within the hospital. They did not want me transferring germs from one patient to another. I understood why they had this "don’t touch" rule, but I didn’t like it. I believe that
    touching is the most honest form of ommunication we will ever know. Printed and spoken words can lie; it is impossible to lie with a warm hug.

    Breaking either of these rules, I was told, meant I could lose my job.

    Toward the end of my fourth year of "Ronald Days," as I was heading down a hallway after a long day in grease paint and on my way home, I heard a little voice. "Ronald, Ronald."

    I stopped. The soft little voice was coming through a half-opened door. I pushed the door open and saw a young boy, about five years
    old, lying in his dad’s arms, hooked up to more medical equipment than I had ever seen. Mom was on the other side, along with Grandma, Grandpa and a nurse tending to the equipment.

    I knew by the feeling in the room that the situation was grave. I asked the little boy his name - he told me it was Billy - and I did a few simple magic tricks for him. As I stepped back to say
    good-bye, I asked Billy if there was anything else I could do for him.

    "Ronald, would you hold me?"

    Such a simple request. But what ran through my mind was that if I touched him, I could lose my job. So I told Billy I could not do that
    right now, but I suggested that he and I color a picture. Upon completing a wonderful piece of art that we were both very proud of, Billy again asked me to hold him. By this time my heart was
    screaming "yes!" But my mind was screaming louder. "No! You are going to lose your job!"

    This second time that Billy asked me, I had to ponder why I could not grant the simple request of a little boy who probably would not be going home. I asked myself why was I being logically and
    emotionally torn apart by someone I had never seen before and probably would never see again.

    "Hold me." It was such a simple request, and yet...

    I searched for any reasonable response that would allow me to leave. I could not come up with a single one. It took me a moment to realize that in this situation, losing my job may not be the disaster I feared.

    Was losing my job the worst thing in the world?

    Did I have enough self-belief that if I did lost my job, I would be able to pick up and start again? The answer was a loud, bold, affirming "yes!" I could pick up and start again.

    So what was the risk?

    Just that if I lost my job, it probably would not be long before I would lost first my car, then my home...and to be honest with you, I
    really liked those things. But I realized that at the end of my life, the car would have no value and neither would the house. The only things that had steadfast value were experiences. Once I reminded
    myself that the real reason I was there was to bring a little happiness to an unhappy environment, I realized that I really faced no risk at all.

    I sent Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa out of the room, and my two McDonald’s escorts out to the van. The nurse tending the medical equipment stayed, but Billy asked her to stand and face the
    corner. Then I picked up this little wonder of a human being. He was so frail and so scared. We laughed and cried for 45 minutes, and talked about the things that worried him.

    Billy was afraid that his little brother might get lost coming home from kindergarten next year, without Billy to show him the way. He worried that his dog wouldn’t get another bone because Billy had
    hidden the bones in the house before going back to the hospital, and now he couldn’t remember where he put them.

    These are problems to a little boy who knows he is not going home.

    On my way out of the room, with tear-streaked makeup running down my neck, I gave Mom and Dad my real name and phone number (another automatic dismissal for a Ronald McDonald, but I
    figured that I was gone and had nothing to lose), and said if there was anything the McDonald’s Corporation or I could do, to give me a call and consider it done. Less than 48 hours later, I received
    a phone call from Billy’s mom. She informed me that Billy had passed away. She and her husband simply wanted to thank me for making a difference in their little boy’s life.

    Billy’s mom told me that shortly after I left the room, Billy looked at her and said, "Momma, I don’t care anymore if I see Santa this year because I was held by Ronald McDonald."

    Sometimes we must do what is right for the moment, regardless of the perceived risk. Only experiences have value, and the one biggest reason people limit their experiences is because of the risk
    involved.

    For the record, McDonald’s did find out about Billy and me, but given the circumstances, permitted me to retain my job. I continued as Ronald for another year before leaving the corporation to share
the story of Billy and how important it is to take risks.