She pauses thoughtfully. "It is also very affirming to return to that place because it is a place that has enormous meaning for me. Sometimes it is as if I get to be with my son again, sometimes in those moments when there is that kind of grief in the room."

The thirty-seven years that I have been a physician have shown me that any of the stuff of our lives--our joys, our failures, our loves, our losses, even our sickness--can become the stuff of service. I have seen people use anything to bless life. There is such a simple greatness in us all that nothing need be wasted.

The power to repair the world is already in you. When someone blesses you, it reminds you a little--untying the knots of belief and fear and self-doubt that have separated you from your own goodness. Freeing you to bless and receive blessings from everything around you.

One afternoon when he was very sick, my grandfather spoke to me of death and told me that he was dying. "What does this mean, Grandpa?" I asked, worried and anxious. "I will be going somewhere else, my Neshume-le. Closer to God." I was struck dumb. "Will I be able to visit you there?" I said, filled with distress. "No," he told me, "but I will watch over you and I will bless those who bless you." Almost fifty-five years have passed, and my life has been blessed by a great many people since then. Each of you has my grandfather's blessing.

From My Grandfather's Blessings : Stories of Strength, Refuge and Belonging, by Rachel Naomi Remen. © April 10, 2000 , Rachel Naomi Remen used by permission.