Tag: life

He Came to China as a Teacher. He Stayed to Give Abandoned Children a Home

linda changLeave a comment

Tim Baker with one of the newly arrived orphans at the “children’s village” in Langfang, China.
Nancy Fraser

One American, One Yuan, and a Village Built on Compassion

Sometimes, a story comes along that quietly restores our faith in humanity.

The story of Tim Baker, an American who devoted much of his life to caring for abandoned and disabled children in China, is one of those stories.

He first came to China as a teacher.

But in 1991, while volunteering at a children’s welfare institution, he encountered children who had been abandoned because of illness or disability. He and his wife, Pam, eventually adopted several Chinese children themselves.

They could have stopped there.

Instead, they chose to do more.

In 1995, Tim left his teaching position and founded the Philip Hayden Foundation in memory of his friend Philip Hayden. What began as a small effort gradually grew into a much larger mission to provide medical care, a home, and hope for children who had nowhere else to go.

A Piece of Land for One Yuan

As more children came into their care, Tim and Pam dreamed of building a permanent home where the children could grow up with dignity, safety, and a sense of family.

In 2002, the local government in Dawang Guzhuang, Tianjin, offered land for the project at the symbolic price of one yuan per mu. Reports describe the land as roughly 30–33 mu. Tim was reportedly so surprised that he asked more than once whether they really meant one yuan.

That land eventually became Shepherd’s Field Children’s Village, or “牧羊地儿童村.”

The name itself is beautiful.

Before the children’s village was built, the land had been used by local villagers as a place to graze sheep.

A former pasture would become a home for children who had been abandoned.

And the story did not stop with the land.

People began to help.

Companies donated materials. Professionals offered their skills. Others provided equipment, construction support, and financial assistance. What one family had started slowly became a community of compassion.

From https://chinasource.org/articles/wendy-blazes-a-trail/
Photo from:http://cms.yalejy.com/mydtopic/index.html?video=06

Perhaps the most touching part of Tim’s story is not the buildings or the numbers.

It is the children.

Tim once described how children often arrived with the sadness of abandonment written on their faces. But after receiving care and affection, something began to change.

Their eyes began to shine.

That simple image says so much.

Sometimes a child does not need someone to change the whole world.

They need someone to stay.

Someone to hold them.

Someone to feed them.

Someone to take them to the doctor.

Someone to tell them, through actions rather than words:

“You matter. You are not forgotten.”

In Buddhism, compassion—慈悲 (cí bēi)—is much more than feeling sorry for someone who is suffering.

Compassion begins when we recognize another being’s suffering and allow that suffering to touch our heart.

But true compassion does not stop with feeling.

It moves us toward action.

We ask:

“What can I do to help?”

This is why compassion is so closely connected with loving-kindness, wisdom, and action in Buddhist practice.

We may not be able to remove all suffering from the world. But we can lessen suffering where we are.

We can offer food to someone who is hungry.

Comfort someone who is lonely.

Care for a sick person.

Protect an animal.

Forgive instead of causing more hurt.

Or simply remain beside someone who is going through a difficult time.

Compassion does not always require extraordinary ability.

Sometimes it requires only that we do not turn away.

Tim was American.

The children were Chinese.

Their languages, cultures, and backgrounds were different.

But when a child is suffering, these differences become very small.

A hungry child does not ask where you were born.

A frightened child does not ask what language you speak.

A child simply needs love.

That is why stories like this are so important.

Our world often reminds us of everything that separates people.

But compassion reminds us of something deeper:

We are human before we are anything else.

What makes this story even more beautiful is that Tim and Pam did not do everything alone.

Their compassion inspired other people to participate.

One person donated.

Another volunteered.

Someone else offered professional skills.

Another opened a door.

Little by little, many small acts of kindness became something much larger.

This is how goodness spreads.

One person lights a candle, and another person uses that light to light another.

We may not be able to build a children’s village.

We may not be able to care for thousands of children.

But we can still participate in this chain of kindness.

We can help a neighbor.

Visit someone who is lonely.

Donate what we can.

Volunteer our time.

Care for an abandoned animal.

Speak gently when anger would be easier.

Notice someone who needs help instead of walking past.

These acts may seem small.

But we never know how far kindness will travel.

When I read stories like Tim Baker’s, I am reminded that there is still enormous goodness in this world.

There are people who quietly give without asking for recognition.

We do not have to change the whole world to make the world a better place.

We can begin with one person.

One child.

One animal.

One neighbor.

One act of kindness.

And perhaps that small light will reach someone else—and inspire them to pass it on.

Love does not become smaller when we give it away.

It becomes larger.

Perhaps this is what true compassion looks like—not asking, “What can I gain?” but quietly asking, “What can I do?”

May the kindness we receive become the kindness we give.

May compassion cross every border.

And may each of us, in our own small way, become a light for someone else.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/20/he-came-to-china-as-a-teacher-he-stayed-to-give-abandoned-children-a-home/

Source: https://chinasource.org/articles/wendy-blazes-a-trail/, https://www.npr.org/2003/09/11/1427329/a-village-for-chinese-orphans

There Is No Generation Gap—Am I the North Wind or the Sun?

linda changLeave a comment

I Chose to Be the Sun—and My Relationship With My Father Changed

There is a saying that has stayed with me:

“If you have never experienced what others have gone through, do not be quick to judge their faults. If you have never endured their suffering, do not be quick to tell them how they should behave. If you had suffered what I have suffered, you might not have done any better than I did.”

It sounds like such a simple truth. Yet for many years, I failed to truly understand it.

Growing up, my father was strict and authoritative. My relationship with my mother was completely different—we were close, comfortable, and deeply connected.

As I grew older, conflicts between my parents became more frequent. I instinctively took my mother’s side and rarely tried to understand my father’s perspective. Over time, my judgments about him became deeply rooted.

Even when I became seriously ill and my father cared for me tirelessly, without complaint, I still struggled to let go of my resentment. I continued to hold on to painful memories of the arguments between my parents.

I was looking at my father through the lens of the past.

After my mother passed away, my father was overwhelmed with grief. Yet he tried to remain strong for me, knowing that talking about my mother might make me sad.

Suddenly, there were only the two of us.

When we went for walks together, my father often talked about things that had happened many years ago. Instead of recognizing the loneliness behind his words, I became impatient. I corrected him, contradicted him, and sometimes lost my temper.

Eventually, he quietly said something that touched me deeply:

“If you don’t like talking to me, at least don’t lose your temper with me.”

His words made me stop and look at myself.

One day, I suddenly saw my own behavior clearly.

I realized that I had been holding on to the painful history of my parents’ marriage and using it to justify my inability to understand my father.

But how could I possibly know all the causes and conditions behind their relationship? How could I know everything my father had experienced, feared, endured, or carried silently in his heart?

I began asking myself a different question:

Instead of waiting for someone else to change, can I change myself first?

I decided that I could.

I wanted to become a more patient and understanding daughter. I wanted to listen instead of judge, to let go instead of cling to the past, and to practice filial love through my everyday actions.

I remembered Aesop’s fable The North Wind and the Sun. The North Wind tried to force a traveler to remove his coat, but the Sun simply warmed him, and eventually the traveler took it off himself.

I decided that I wanted to be the sun.

Little by little, something changed.

When I was away from home, I began calling my father at the same time each day just to check on him. When I was with him, I made a conscious effort to sit down, listen, and talk rather than hurry away.

I did not change him.

I changed myself.

And as I changed, our relationship changed too.

The coldness between us gradually softened. The two people who had once struggled to communicate began sharing a much more peaceful and harmonious life.

Looking back, I realize that sometimes the distance between two people is not created by a lack of love. Sometimes it is created by old judgments, unresolved attachments, and our unwillingness to see beyond our own version of the past.

This transformation came through sincerely learning and practicing Buddhism, and through receiving guidance from the Dharma discourses of Namo H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III.

I came to understand more deeply that Buddha Dharma is not separate from ordinary life. It is practiced in the way we speak to our parents, how we respond when someone frustrates us, and whether we can recognize our own faults before pointing out the faults of others.

We often wish that other people would become more patient, more understanding, or more compassionate.

But perhaps the first question should be:

Have I become the person I am asking others to be?

Every person carries a story we may never fully know. Before judging someone, perhaps we should remember that we have not walked in their shoes.

There may be painful knots in our relationships that seem impossible to untie. But sometimes the first knot begins to loosen when we stop asking, “Why doesn’t this person change?”

And instead ask:

“What can I change in myself?”

Sometimes, one small change in ourselves can bring warmth into an entire relationship.

And sometimes, becoming the sun is enough.

Link: https://myhappylifestyle.net/2026/09/08/there-is-no-generation-gap-am-i-the-north-wind-or-the-sun/

#DorjeChangBuddhaIII #Spirituality #Buddha #Buddhism

What Are You Training Your Mind to Become?

linda changLeave a comment
Person running on treadmill inside gym with brain activation and flow diagram

A Buddhist Lesson from a Horse That Forgot How to Run

There is a fascinating story in the Da Zhuangyan Lun Jing (Sutra of Great Adornment).

A king once raised many excellent horses, originally prepared for battle. Because neighboring countries knew he possessed such strong horses, they were afraid to attack.

Horses powering a wooden grain mill in a spring mountain village

As the years passed without war, however, the horses were given to ordinary people for daily work. They were used to turn grinding mills. Day after day, year after year, the horses walked in circles around the mill.

Then one day, an enemy invaded.

The king quickly called the horses back and prepared them for battle. But when they reached the battlefield, something unexpected happened. Instead of charging forward, the horses continued walking in circles—the same movement they had practiced for years.

Even when the soldiers tried to drive them forward, the horses found it difficult to change.

The Da Zhuangyan Lun Jing uses this story to illustrate an important truth: what we repeatedly practice becomes our habit, and what becomes our habit can shape how we respond when it matters most.

The Circle We Walk Every Day

The most meaningful part of this story is that the horses did not suddenly learn to walk in circles on the battlefield.

They had practiced that circle for years.

Our minds can be like that too.

What do we do first when we wake up?

For many of us, we reach for our phones.

We check one message, then another. We watch one short video, then automatically swipe to the next. We see someone else’s life and begin comparing ourselves. We read a comment we dislike and immediately become irritated.

Each individual moment may seem insignificant.

But repeated thousands of times, these moments become habits.

And habits do more than organize our daily lives. They train our minds.

So perhaps an important question is not only:

“What did I do wrong today?”

but also:

“What am I teaching my mind to become?”

If we constantly train ourselves to seek the next notification, the next video, the next piece of stimulation, it should not surprise us when we later sit down to meditate, pray, or recite the Buddha’s name and find that our minds cannot remain still.

We may wonder, “Why is my mind so scattered?”

But the scattering did not begin when we sat down.

We simply became quiet enough to notice it.

We Are Always Practicing Something

This is where the Buddhist teaching of 熏习, xunxi—habitual conditioning or repeated imprinting becomes meaningful.

In Buddhist teachings, repeated actions of body, speech, and mind leave tendencies that influence what arises again in the future. In Yogācāra thought, the relationship between “seeds” and “manifestations” describes how repeated mental and behavioral patterns can strengthen similar tendencies.

If we repeatedly become angry, anger becomes an easier path to follow.

If we repeatedly compare ourselves with others, dissatisfaction and jealousy can become easier to generate.

If we constantly seek stimulation, restlessness can gradually become our normal state.

Person meditating cross-legged beside a river with magical energy swirls around

The same principle, however, can work in a wholesome direction.

If we repeatedly practice patience, patience becomes more familiar.

If we repeatedly practice gratitude, gratitude becomes easier to access.

If we repeatedly return our attention to the present moment, returning becomes easier.

If we repeatedly cultivate compassion, compassion can gradually become a more natural response.

This gives us a hopeful understanding of spiritual practice.

Every day, we are training the mind in one direction or another.

Practice is not simply about waiting until a difficult situation appears and then trying desperately to control ourselves.

It is about working with the mind before the battlefield arrives.

When someone says something unpleasant to us, can we pause before responding?

When anger arises, can we notice it before turning it into harsh words?

When we have a few empty minutes, must we immediately reach for the phone?

When disturbing thoughts appear, can we recognize them without automatically following them?

These small moments may seem ordinary.

But they are where practice actually happens.

We do not need to wait for a major crisis to practice Buddhism.

The battlefield is often hidden inside ordinary life.

Habits Are Not a Life Sentence

There is another important lesson here.

If our habits have been formed through repetition, does that mean we are trapped by them?

No.

If habits could never change, there would be no such thing as cultivation.

Old habits may be strong, but they can gradually be transformed through right understanding, mindfulness, and repeated practice of wholesome actions.

Perhaps yesterday we immediately reacted when someone upset us.

Today, we pause for three seconds.

Perhaps yesterday every moment of boredom led us to our phones.

Today, we put the phone down and sit quietly for five minutes.

Perhaps yesterday an unpleasant thought appeared and carried us away.

Today, we notice it and gently return to the Buddha’s name, a prayer, our breath, or the present moment.

These may seem like very small victories.

But they matter.

Every time we do not follow an old habit, we walk that old road a little less. Every time we return to mindfulness, we make a new road a little stronger.

What Are You Practicing Today?

The story of the horses teaches us something that is easy to forget.

The horses did not become accustomed to walking in circles overnight.

They simply repeated the same movement until it became natural.

Our lives can work the same way.

The way we speak, the things we watch, the thoughts we repeatedly entertain, the emotions we feed, and the actions we practice every day are quietly shaping who we are becoming.

This does not mean we must live perfectly.

It means we should become more conscious of what we practice.

Perhaps tonight, before going to sleep, we can ask ourselves:

What did I practice today?

Did I practice impatience or patience?

Comparison or gratitude?

Fear or compassion?

Distraction or awareness?

Anger or forgiveness?

We may not be able to change our entire life in one day.

But we can change one response.

And then another.

The old road became familiar because it was walked again and again.

A new road can become familiar in exactly the same way.

Perhaps this is one of the quietest and most practical forms of Buddhist wisdom:

Every ordinary moment is a moment of cultivation.

What we repeatedly do today may become the direction our mind naturally takes tomorrow.

Link: https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/18/what-are-you-training-your-mind-to-become/

He Lost His Father at 8. What a 109-Year-Old Doctor Taught Us About Life

linda changLeave a comment
Charlie White was retired in 1997 when this photo was taken, but he still practiced medicine a bit, flying to Haiti on a medical mission. “It’s a doctor’s fundamental dedication to take care of people whether we get paid or not,” he told The Star at the time. Jeff Roberson The Kansas City Star


The remarkable story of Dr. Charlie White and the courage to keep moving forward

What does it take to live well—not simply to live a long life, but to remain hopeful, curious, and strong through difficult times?

Dr. Charlie White lived to be 109 years old. He experienced more than a century of enormous changes, but what fascinates me most about his life is not his age. It is how he faced adversity.

When Charlie was only eight years old, his father died suddenly in a tragic elevator accident. His father was just 42. Charlie’s mother was left a widow with five children and no job or obvious means of support. Charlie’s mother turned their home into a boardinghouse to make ends meet. She expected her children to help and gradually taught them to become independent and responsible for their own lives. Charlie later remembered that his mother had essentially put “the responsibility of life” on them. Because she believed they could manage, they learned to believe in themselves.

Something else important happened during those difficult years. Among the people who stayed in their home were medical missionaries. Meeting them helped inspire Charlie to become a doctor.

He did not allow the loss of his father to become the definition of his life.

Instead, he continued his education, entered medicine, and eventually built not one but two medical careers. He lived through the Great Depression, two world wars, enormous changes in medicine, personal losses, and many other challenges.

What strikes me most about Charlie’s story is that resilience did not mean that life stopped hurting. It meant that he continued to participate in life after the hurt.

He learned to adapt.

When medicine changed, he changed with it. When opportunities were lost, he looked for new ones. When he made mistakes, he did not seem to spend his life regretting them. He remained curious about what could come next. His biographer, David Von Drehle, described him not simply as a survivor, but as someone who learned how to thrive through change.

Sometimes we misunderstand resilience.

Being resilient does not mean that we never feel sad, afraid, or discouraged. It means that pain does not have to become the end of our story.

We may lose someone we love.

We may fail.

Our plans may suddenly change.

Someone may disappoint us.

Life may take us in a direction we never expected.

We cannot always choose the circumstances. But we can ask:

What can I do now?

That simple question can give us the strength to take the next step.

Adaptability Is a Form of Wisdom

Charlie lived through a world that changed almost beyond recognition.

Yet he continued to learn and adapt.

This is something we all need today.

The world changes quickly. Technology changes. Our circumstances change. Our bodies change. Relationships change. Sometimes even our dreams change.

Adaptability does not mean abandoning our values.

It means learning how to carry our values into new circumstances.

We can remain kind while adapting.

We can remain honest while adapting.

We can remain hopeful while adapting.

Charlie lived for 109 years, but longevity itself was not his greatest lesson.

A meaningful life is not measured only by the number of years we receive.

It is measured by how we use those years.

Can we continue learning?

Can we forgive?

Can we help others?

Can we remain curious?

Can we appreciate what we have?

Can we face uncertainty without giving up hope?

Charlie understood that life would never be perfect. Yet he continued to meet it with optimism and openness.

Perhaps that is why his story speaks to me.

When something painful happens, we can allow ourselves to grieve—but still move forward.

When circumstances change, we can adapt without losing ourselves.

Braided warrior with sword and lantern overlooking ruins beneath storm clouds; text: "None of us knows what the next chapter of life will bring. But we can choose how we meet it."

When we make mistakes, we can learn rather than remain trapped in regret.

When tomorrow is uncertain, we can still choose hope.

Dr. Charlie White could not choose what happened to him when he was eight years old.

But he could choose what he did with the life that followed.

And perhaps that is the deepest lesson of his 109 years:

We cannot always choose what happens to us.
But we can choose how we meet what happens.

Sometimes, that choice becomes the beginning of our greatest strength.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/16/he-lost-his-father-at-8-what-a-109-year-old-doctor-taught-us-about-life/

Source: https://www.kansascity.com/news/local/article275107916.html

Can a Cow Painted on a Wall Give Milk?

linda changLeave a comment
Indian monk milking a painted cow

Bodhisattva Candrakīrti: Milking a Cow in a Painting

Recently, I came across a video about Bodhisattva Candrakīrti, one of the great Buddhist masters of ancient India.

The video told a remarkable story: according to Buddhist tradition, Candrakīrti was able to obtain milk from a cow that existed only in a painting.

When I first heard this, I was amazed.

How could a cow painted on a wall or in a picture possibly give milk?

Curious, I looked into the story and discovered that it is more than a fascinating Buddhist legend. Behind it stands a great master in the history of Buddhism and, more importantly, a profound teaching about emptiness.

Candrakīrti lived in India around the sixth or seventh century. He was one of the most important masters of the Madhyamaka, or Middle Way, school of Buddhist philosophy, and an important commentator on the teachings of Nagarjuna.

His best-known work, Madhyamakāvatāra (Introduction to the Middle Way), became an important text for the study of Madhyamaka philosophy.

Candrakīrti deeply explored a central Buddhist teaching:

All things arise in dependence upon causes and conditions. Nothing exists with an independent, permanent, unchanging essence.

This is one of the meanings of emptiness.

According to a story preserved in Buddhist tradition, Candrakīrti once lived and practiced at a monastery. Because some people did not understand his way of practicing, they misunderstood him.

Later, he was given responsibility for providing milk for the monastery. It is said that Candrakīrti released the cows into the forest, allowing them to roam freely.

Yet somehow, milk continued to appear at the monastery.

People were puzzled.

If the cows were far away in the forest, where was the milk coming from?

Some people secretly followed Candrakīrti.

According to the traditional story, they saw him approach a painting of a cow—and somehow draw milk from the painted cow.

It is an extraordinary story.

But perhaps the most important question is not whether the event sounds miraculous.

It is what the story invites us to think about.

We normally think:

A real cow can give milk.

A painted cow cannot.

That seems obvious.

Yet the story of the painted cow quietly asks us:

What exactly do we mean when we say something is “real”?

This question goes to the heart of Candrakīrti’s teachings on emptiness.

Emptiness does not mean that nothing exists.

Rather, it means that things do not exist independently, permanently, or entirely on their own. Everything depends upon causes, conditions, relationships, and the way we designate and understand it.

For example, someone is called a “teacher” because there are students. Someone is called a “parent” because there is a child. These identities arise through relationships and conditions.

When we look more deeply, we begin to see that many things we regard as fixed and permanent are actually dependent upon countless conditions.

What I find most meaningful about this story is that it encourages us not to be too quick to conclude:

Person meditating with illustrated thoughts about present moment, past memories, future dreams, sensations, and emotions

“Things must always be this way.”

“That is absolutely impossible.”

“I already know the answer.”

Our understanding of the world is often shaped by our past experiences, habits, assumptions, and fixed ideas.

Buddhist practice encourages us to hold our views more lightly—to have less attachment, more observation; less prejudice, more humility.

When we loosen our attachment to the belief that “I must be right,” we may begin to see possibilities and truths that we could not see before.

So when I think about the story of Candrakīrti and the painted cow, I no longer see it simply as a miraculous tale.

To me, it feels more like a doorway.

A doorway inviting us to question our ideas about reality, to recognize our own attachments, and to explore the deeper wisdom of dependent origination and emptiness.

Perhaps the story was never meant simply to leave us amazed.

Perhaps it is inviting us to look more deeply.

Just when we think we have completely understood the world, there may still be much more for us to discover.

And perhaps that is one of the most beautiful lessons we can receive from the wisdom of Bodhisattva Candrakīrti.

Link: https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/09/bodhisattva-candrakirti-milking-a-cow-in-a-painting/

Source： https://www.fjdh.cn/wumin/2009/04/06452346128.html?utm_source=chatgpt.com， https://tricycle.org/magazine/truth-about-truth/?utm_source=chatgpt.com， https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E6%9C%88%E7%A7%B0/9958686

When I Came to Understand the Pain Deep Within My Mother’s Heart

linda changLeave a comment

Through participating in group study, respectfully and deeply listening to the Dharma discourses expounded by my Buddha Master, Namo H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III, and sharing what I had learned with others, I gradually came to understand and feel the pain deep within my mother’s heart.

For as long as I can remember, my parents were constantly arguing. During holidays and festivals in particular, our home would become filled with tension. After an argument, my mother would always wear a stern expression and remain silent, while my father would sigh repeatedly, not knowing what to do.

After encountering the Tathagata’s True Dharma taught by H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III, I wanted to resolve a question that had puzzled me for a long time: My mother had everything she needed in terms of food and clothing and was free from serious illness or misfortune, so why did she complain every day? She would either say that my father did not treat her well or feel that my younger brother and his wife did not treat her well. She would become so upset that she sometimes could not sleep all night.

My mother cared greatly about maintaining appearances, even when doing so caused her hardship. She especially doted on my younger brother, whom she treasured dearly. To ensure that he could hold his head high in front of his wife’s family, my mother used almost all of her savings to buy them a home and a garage.

Whenever there was an important occasion or even a smaller matter involving my sister-in-law’s family, my mother always handled everything generously and properly. She would rather live frugally herself than allow my brother to lose face.

Yet despite all she had done, my brother seldom contacted her. Although they lived in the same city, he rarely checked in on her, much less came to see her. I could feel how deeply my mother missed her son. She would often ask me, “I wonder what your brother has been so busy with lately?”

To tell the truth, seeing my mother like this made my heart ache, and I also felt deeply concerned about my inability to help her. How I wished she could learn the true Dharma of the Tathagata with me! After all, it was through learning the true Dharma of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III and developing right understanding and right views that I myself had been able to free myself from the suffering caused by my divorce.

Having personally experienced the benefits of learning Buddhism and cultivating myself, I tried to persuade my mother not to dwell on the things that troubled her. I explained to her that these circumstances were the result of causes, conditions, and karmic forces planted in the past. But she did not agree with what I told her.

To avoid upsetting my mother, I tried to take care of nearly all the household chores myself so that she would have to do as little as possible for my single-parent household. Yet strangely, the more responsibilities I took upon myself, the more upset she seemed to become. No matter what I did, I could not seem to make her happy.

Back then, I lived very cautiously around her, afraid that something I said or did might cause her to become upset and silently resentful. I also tried communicating with her, but she would often remain silent and keep everything bottled up inside.

Through respectfully studying Expounding the Absolute Truth Through the Heart Sutra, I brought forth right mindfulness and finally came to understand how I should correctly practice the Four Immeasurables of loving-kindness, compassion, empathetic joy, and equanimity. I first needed to begin with equanimity and selfless giving—to be willing to devote my time to considering the needs of my family. Caring for them was not merely about making sure they had enough food, warm clothing, and money to spend. I also needed to learn to recognize and understand the suffering within their hearts.

I began to sincerely spend time with my mother, and gradually I discovered that the ice within her heart was beginning to melt. Instead of telling her, “Don’t be angry anymore” or “Don’t hold on to resentment,” I began placing the responsibility upon myself: I needed to understand the pain within my mother’s heart, listen to what her heart was trying to tell me, help heal her emotional wounds, and help her establish right understanding and right views.

When my mother complained, I became willing to set aside my time and sit quietly beside her, listening attentively. I no longer used the principle of “cause and effect” to argue with her until she had nothing left to say.

When she felt physically tired, I would take the time to massage the acupressure points on her feet and ask her whether the pressure was too light or too strong. When she felt bored, I would willingly spend time with her and chat about everyday family matters instead of lecturing her about principles and doctrines.

The more I tried to understand the pain in my mother’s heart, the more she began saying things like, “Don’t waste your time on me. I don’t need you to keep me company. Go take care of the children. Once you’ve taken care of everything for them, go do whatever you need to do.”

What surprised and delighted me even more was that my mother eventually began reminding me herself, “It’s almost time for your Buddhist group study. Don’t forget to join the meeting. I’ll help you look after the children.”

I had finally gained my mother’s support. And it happened simply because I had learned to recognize the pain within her heart and was willing to devote my time to sincerely being there for her.

This is exactly what the H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III teaches in the Dharma discourses: we must put our cultivation into actual practice and cultivate ourselves with respect to the three karmas of body, speech, and mind. We must be sincere in our words and actions and in the way we interact with and treat others. Only by putting genuine effort into our conduct in everyday life can we truly touch the hearts of others.

Contributed by: Ji Cheng / Kui Xing

Link: https://myhappylifestyle.net/2026/09/06/dorjechangbuddhaiii-when-i-came-to-understand-the-pain-deep-within-my-mothers-heart/

Don’t Give Up Your Sky: Embracing Growth When Others Don’t Understand

linda changLeave a comment

“The higher we soar, the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche

There is a unique kind of solitude in life. It isn’t about being alone in a room; it’s the quiet distance that opens up when you start to grow, change, and chase your dreams—only to realize that fewer people truly understand where you are heading.

1. Everyone Views the World from Their Own Height

In early life, fitting in is effortless. We like what others like, go where others go, and rarely question what a “correct” life looks like.

But the moment you start asking, “What do I truly want?” your world shifts. You stop blindly following the crowd. You learn new skills, explore unfamiliar paths, and build your own value system.

Nietzsche used flight as a metaphor for perspective:

  • From the ground, looking up shows one view of the sky.
  • From the clouds, looking down reveals a vast, entirely different landscape.

When you push past your former boundaries, your reality transforms. Difficulties that once terrified you become minor milestones. Dreams that felt impossible turn into daily life. The world didn’t change overnight—you did.

2. Growth Means Saying Goodbye to Old Layers

Real growth isn’t about fitting someone else’s template; it’s about discovering who you genuinely are. As you step into your purpose, people around you might feel uneasy. They might ask:

  • “Why are you doing this?”
  • “Wasn’t life fine before?”
  • “Why make things so hard on yourself?”

These questions often stem from care or anxiety, but mostly from a lack of shared context. They haven’t walked your path, so they cannot see the horizon you see. Not being understood doesn’t mean you are on the wrong track.

3. Don’t Give Up Your Sky Just Because Others Can’t See It

One of the greatest tragedies is abandoning a personal dream to keep others comfortable.

  • People forgo learning because someone said, “Isn’t it too late for that?”
  • People abandon ventures because someone warned, “That’s too risky.”
  • People stay stuck because they fear being judged.

Others can offer opinions, but they cannot live your life or carry your regrets. When faced with doubt, the essential question isn’t “Will they understand?” but rather: “If I don’t try now, will I regret it years from today?”

4. Flying High Is Not About Being “Better” Than Anyone

Rising higher isn’t a competition, nor is it proof that you are superior. If your self-worth depends on outshining others, true peace will always remain out of reach.

Genuine maturity arrives when you no longer rely on external validation. You know why you work hard. You know who you want to become. You accept that some will support you and others won’t—and you continue walking forward with a peaceful mind. That is real freedom.

As your priorities evolve, your inner circle may shrink. Friendships change, conversations drift, and quiet moments of reading or reflection become preferred over noise.

This isn’t a flaw; it’s a seasonal shift. Some people are meant to share a specific chapter—a childhood, a hard period, or a shared project. Cherish those who walk beside you, and offer quiet blessings to those who drift away.

5. True Height Reflects a Wider Heart

A truly elevated mind never looks down on those still on the ground. Everyone moves at their own pace and lives by their own context.

Consider a tree: it does not mock the grass below simply because it reaches toward the sun. It merely focuses on growing, absorbing light, and enduring storms. True elevation isn’t about stepping over others—it’s about expanding your own capacity for empathy and humility.

If you are quietly working to improve yourself, pursuing an unconventional dream, or taking a path few around you recognize: give yourself patience.

  • Absence of applause does not mean your effort is meaningless.
  • Lack of visibility from others does not mean your destination isn’t real.

At the same time, stay grounded. Conviction is not stubbornness. Listen gracefully to feedback, adapt when reality requires it, and refine your direction as you learn.

Life is a long flight. Sometimes we fly low, close to the familiar. Other times, we climb into clearer, wider skies. As you ascend, the crowd may thin out, but your world expands.

You don’t need to fly higher than anyone else.

You only need to fly a little further than the person you were yesterday.

When you finally reach the sky you’ve been reaching for, remember: what matters most isn’t how small you look from below, but the vast, beautiful world you can finally see.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/08/21/dont-give-up-your-sky-embracing-growth-when-others-dont-understand/

How to Master Change and Grief: A 109-Year-Old’s Blueprint for Life

linda changLeave a comment
Charlie White, photographed in 2008 at age 103.Doug Dalgleish

Real-Life Lessons from The Book of Charlie

Have you ever wondered what it takes to navigate over a century of life with grace, joy, and unfailing strength?

In his remarkable book, The Book of Charlie: Wisdom from the Remarkable American Life of a 109-Year-Old Doctor, journalist David Von Drehle shares the story of his neighbor across the street, Dr. Charlie White. Born in 1905, Charlie lived through 109 years of rapid global transformation—from horse-drawn buggies to smartphones, through two world wars, the Great Depression, and personal heartbreak.

Yet, what makes Charlie’s story truly unforgettable isn’t just that he lived so long, but how he lived. His life was filled with dramatic, almost movie-like moments that show us what true grit looks like.

Here are timeless lessons from Charlie’s life, grounded in the incredible true stories that shaped him:

1. Resilience Starts with Taking Ownership

When Charlie was just eight years old, a sudden tragedy shattered his childhood: his father died unexpectedly in a freak nine-story elevator accident, leaving his mother with five children to raise.

Pixel-art character breaking through a stone wall with sunrise and landscape beyond

Instead of being crushed by grief, young Charlie learned to be resourceful. Shortly after, when he found himself stuck at an ill-fated summer camp run by a questionable director, eight-year-old Charlie didn’t wait to be saved—he darted away from a train and walked the final miles home by himself. By sixteen, he was driving across rutted dirt roads and hopping freight trains across the country.

The Lesson: Charlie learned early on that while we can’t choose what happens to us, we are always in charge of our response. Resilience begins when we stop waiting for circumstances to change and choose to take the wheel ourselves.

2. Adaptability Means Swimming with the Current

Charlie’s early adulthood unfolded during the roaring 1920s and the turbulent 1930s. To fund his medical education during the Great Depression, Charlie taught himself to play saxophone by listening to the radio, eventually joining a Jazz Age band and performing across bandstands.

Later, as a young doctor riding ambulances through Depression-era gangster wars, he faced life-or-death situations daily—even once pumping his own blood directly into a wounded patient on the fly.

The Lesson: Charlie didn’t fight the shifts of his era; he rode them. Whether adapting to new technologies, career demands, or sudden crises, survival isn’t about resisting change—it’s about staying flexible without losing your core values.

3. Optimism is Courage in Action

As medicine rapidly evolved throughout the 20th century, Charlie became a pioneering anesthesiologist, even improvising early techniques for open-heart surgeries when formal procedures didn’t yet exist. His adventurous spirit took him from Midwest operating rooms to cruising the Amazon River as a guest of Peru’s president.

Despite encountering immense suffering and loss throughout his medical career and personal life, Charlie never grew cynical. He believed that optimism isn’t a passive mood, but a active decision to look for hope, purpose, and beauty in every day.

The Lesson: “Why cling to pain? There is nothing you can do about the wrongs of yesterday.” True optimism is having the courage to forgive the past and show up wholeheartedly for the present.

Across his 109 years, Charlie’s constant anchor was his deep commitment to serving others. Whether delivering babies in rural homes, treating patients in high-stakes operating rooms, or simply sitting on his porch in Kansas sharing stories with a neighbor, Charlie made people feel seen and valued.

Even in his 100s, living independently across the street from Von Drehle, Charlie remained curious about the people around him rather than focused on his own age or limitations.

Looking back at Dr. Charlie White’s journey reminds us that human beings are remarkably durable. By the time Charlie finished high school, he was already tested by adversity and seasoned by experience, yet he carried a lighthearted, joyful spirit all the way to his 109th birthday.

Whenever life feels overwhelming, remember Charlie’s simple formula: do the right thing, embrace change with curiosity, and keep moving forward step by ste.

Link：https://peacelilysite.com/2026/08/13/how-to-master-change-and-grief-a-109-year-olds-blueprint-for-life/

💖【A Light in the Dark】How One Doctor’s Lifelong Kindness Sparked a Community Miracle

linda changLeave a comment

In a world that often feels fast-paced and transaction-driven, do you still believe in the power of selfless love and the magic of paying it forward?

Today, I want to share the deeply moving story of an extraordinary hero: Dr. Michael Zollicoffer—affectionately known as “Dr. Z” to his community in Baltimore, Maryland.

For nearly 40 years, Dr. Z’s clinic doors have been wide open to everyone. Whether patients had full insurance, a few dollars in their pocket, or no money at all, Dr. Z treated them with the same unwavering care, dignity, and compassion. To go the extra mile, he even handed out his personal cell phone number to his patients, encouraging them to call anytime, day or night. To Dr. Z, those who walked into his office weren’t just medical charts—they were neighbors, friends, and family.

However, in late 2024, the doctor who dedicated his whole life to saving others faced the toughest battle of his own.

At age 66, Dr. Z received a devastating diagnosis: he was battling two distinct cancers simultaneously—kidney cancer and colorectal cancer.

To make matters worse, right as he was preparing for treatments estimated at over $150,000, administrative issues with Medicare caused a gap in his insurance coverage. Suddenly, the doctor who spent decades treating others for free found himself staring down overwhelming medical bills without safety net protection.

When his community and high school friends found out, they didn’t hesitate. They immediately launched a fundraiser to help save the man who had spent a lifetime saving them.

What happened next was nothing short of breathtaking:

  • Over 3,400 everyday people pitched in. Many donors weren’t wealthy themselves, yet they gave what they could out of sheer gratitude for the man who was always there for them.
  • Together, they raised over $280,000 for his medical expenses!
  • The U.S. House of Representatives formally honored his decades of service, officially entering his story into the Congressional Record.

Love truly has the power to heal.

Thanks to the outpouring of financial support and medical care, Dr. Z’s tumors have shrunk by half! With his insurance resolved and his spirit as resilient as ever, Dr. Z has returned to doing what he loves most: he continues to see patients at his Baltimore clinic every single week.

Dr. Z’s story is a beautiful reminder: every seed of kindness you plant into the world has a way of blooming back to comfort you when you need it most.

We might not all be doctors, but we all have the power to light up someone’s world. Whether it’s checking in on a neighbor, offering a helping hand, or simply sharing a smile, small acts of care ripple outward in ways we can never fully predict.

💬 “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

May Dr. Z’s story inspire us all to look out for one another. If this story warmed your heart, share it with a friend today and let’s keep spreading the positive energy! 🌱✨

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/08/10/%f0%9f%92%96%e3%80%90a-light-in-the-dark%e3%80%91how-one-doctors-lifelong-kindness-sparked-a-community-miracle/

The Day a Tiny Dove Saved Our Lives: Why Every Act of Kindness Returns to Us

linda changLeave a comment

Have you ever wondered if the tiny, seemingly insignificant kind choices we make in our daily lives actually matter? I used to think of the saying “Do not look down upon a tiny good deed, thinking it is of no use” as just a pleasant piece of ancient moral advice.

That was until a rainy afternoon in May, when a single act of compassion became the only reason my husband and I survived a catastrophic accident.

It was a drizzly May afternoon. My husband and I were driving to the countryside to deliver fresh cherries to my mother. The rain swept gently across the windshield as swallows dipped and glided low over the road. Watching them, I quietly reminded myself to drive slowly—I didn’t want to hurt any of these precious little creatures.

Suddenly, a grey spotted dove appeared right in the middle of the road.

Usually, wild animals will instinctively scatter or fly away when they sense an approaching vehicle. But this dove was different. Even as the shadow of our car drew close, it continued to stroll leisurely along the asphalt, completely unbothered and showing no intention of dodging.

Instead of honking or rushing, I gently pressed the brakes. We sat in silence, waiting patiently as the little bird took its sweet time, ambling step by step toward the roadside. Watching its cute, bobbing silhouette, my husband and I looked at each other and smiled. We shared the same unspoken belief: all living beings are equal, animals are our companions on this Earth, and we must never harm a vulnerable life.

We had no idea that those brief seconds we spent waiting for the dove would save us from absolute disaster.

Shortly after the dove cleared the road, we began driving up a sloping hill. Out of nowhere, a massive, ten-meter-long cargo truck appeared from the opposite direction.

Because of the slick, rain-soaked road, the truck driver hit the brakes too hard. In an instant, the heavy vehicle lost control. The massive trailer began to fishtail violently, swinging outward like an unbroken stallion. The giant iron rear of the truck swept directly into our lane, accompanied by a shower of flying debris and rain. It was a terrifying sight.

Our car is a tiny Wuling Mini EV—lightweight, compact, and fragile. To our left was a steep mountain wall; to our right, a sheer cliff. If that heavy, high-speed truck bed made contact with us, our tiny car would have been instantly crushed and sent hurtling over the edge of the cliff.

I gripped the steering wheel as my mind went completely blank. Beside me, my husband froze in terror. We watched the massive steel wall of the truck sweeping toward us, completely helpless as the cold fear of death enveloped us.

Right at that split second—at the absolute boundary between life and death—something miraculous happened.

The violently fishtailing truck suddenly seemed to correct itself. With a massive lurch, it snapped back into its own lane. Carrying its remaining momentum, the giant vehicle brushed past our car with mere inches to spare, stabilized, and quietly rolled away into the rainy mist.

The heart-stopping crisis had arrived without warning, and it vanished just as miraculously.

For a long time, my husband and I sat frozen in the car. Neither of us could utter a single word. Our hearts hammered violently against our ribs. My palms were drenched in cold sweat, and my legs trembled so hard I couldn’t even press the gas pedal. After what felt like an eternity, we finally turned to look at each other. In our panicked, wide-eyed stares, we both realized just how close we had come to dying.

As the adrenaline began to fade, a profound realization washed over me.

If we hadn’t listened to our hearts and paused for that tiny dove, our car would have traveled just a few dozen meters further up the road. We would have been positioned exactly at the fatal bend at the exact millisecond the truck lost control. There would have been absolutely no way to survive.

That slow, stubborn little dove, in its own unique way, had held us back just long enough to shield us from a catastrophic tragedy.

A glowing girl in a blue dress protecting a small village under a magical dome during a storm

An ancient proverb says:

“If a person loves kindness, though fortune may not have arrived yet, disaster is already far away.”

Experiencing this brush with death made me truly understand the depth of those words. Every kind thought we harbor and every gentle deed we perform plants a seed. We may not see them grow immediately, but they accumulate.

The quiet kindness we put out into the world acts like a small, steady lantern in the dark. When we least expect it—when we face unforeseen dangers or find ourselves standing on the edge of an abyss—that accumulated goodwill quietly steps in to protect us, shielding us from the disasters we never saw coming.

All blessings begin with a kind heart. To live with compassion is to carry the greatest shield of all.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/07/17/the-day-a-tiny-dove-saved-our-lives-why-every-act-of-kindness-returns-to-us/

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