What is the true measure of a human being? Is it wealth, power, intellect, fame or is it something so subtle that it might go unnoticed? We all go through life hoping that we will somehow leave a legacy to the world but for most of us doing so matters more in the small moments than those that may appear to be big. The parent waking up in the middle of the night to check on the feverish child is doing something quite remarkable but we may never hear of it. The neighbor stopping to check on the lonely the old couple that hasn’t been out of their home for a few days seems more like someone just doing what is right rather than being heroic. The most remarkable actions of the people around us often feel routine, just carrying out responsible behavior. We don’t always get excited by those everyday occurrences that we may or may not even witness and yet we all seem to know when someone is quietly extraordinary. 

I have known people like that for all of my life. Nobody made a big deal about their goodness because it seemed to be just who they were and yet when I think of them I realize how consistently wonderful they were. The first person who comes to my mind is Mr. Barry, the father of a dear friend from my childhood. He was as quiet and unassuming as anyone might be. He dutifully headed off to work in his Buick each morning without fanfare and came home at night to enjoy dinner with his family and maybe a bit of time watching television with his wife after their children were asleep. One might even think that Mr. Barry never really achieved much other than doing what he was expected to do but somehow he was far more special than that. 

Mr. Barry had a way of making people feel comfortable about themselves. He made us all believe that he really liked us and wanted all the best for us. He loved his family without reservation and his joy in being with them lit up his face with a kind of innocent pride. When I read books at school about saints I somehow visualized them as being like Mr. Barry, kind and generous and without judgement. When I one day told his children about my estimation that he had been a living saint they smiled and assured me that I was quite right.

My mother lived on the edge of poverty sometimes going in and out of the depression and mania of her mental illness but no matter where her mind was at any time she bore an unselfish love for life and the people in her world. My mother-in-law once insisted that my mother was the greatest human she had ever met and I had to concur with her thinking. There was indeed something immeasurable about my mother’s grit but importantly about her embrace of the people around her. In spite of her many troubles she never felt sorry for herself. Instead her focus was always outward in efforts to make even the most downtrodden understand how wonderful they were. 

It’s rather amazing how we sometimes point our young people’s attention to what we see as grand achievements. Too often our assessments are superficial rather than meaningful. We neglect to speak of them about the extraordinary joy that comes from being around a very caring person. Not all the medals and stocks and bonds and titles are nearly as important as how a person treats others quietly and without fanfare day after day. 

We know who they are and they are many. They are the people who encourage and guide us when we are confused. They are the people who like us no matter how different our beliefs might be from theirs. They are the ones who show up to clean a stranger’s home that has been damaged by a flood, asking for nothing but hoping that their goodness will bring a smile. They are teachers who take the time to let us know that we are special, the supervisor who guides us without rancor when we mess things up. 

We seem to live in a moment when we adore false heroes. We think that a billionaire might be more wise than we are. We see anger and bullying as a sign of power. We look at so called beautiful people with hair extensions and surgeries and fillers changing their appearance and wonder if we look ugly with the normal aging of our bodies. We surely can see that none of these things matter as much as the kindness of a Mr. Barry or the generosity of a poor widow. 

A few days ago I spoke of a man who was once my boss and mentor. He made an effort to stay in touch with me long after he had retired. He would remember me at Christmas time with a card or a phone call. He came to my own retirement party when that time came. He did such things for everyone, not just me. When he died people spoke of him with a kind of reverence. Each person had a story of how wonderful he had made him or her feel. It took time for him to do those things and he did so with great joy. How was he not a man of immeasurable merit? 

We would do well to celebrate the true heroes in our world and deny our admiration to those whom we can see are only doing things for the betterment of themselves. We should teach our children what true greatness is and urge them to become people whose life stories are so much bigger that it may seem at first. These kind of people are all around us. Why wait until they die to speak of their glory. Let them know the marks they have made on the world even as they will no doubt humbly argue that all they were doing was what needed to be done.