Tim is a very unusual person, I feel close to him. We have more in common than one might think.

He was in an awful accident some years ago, and it eventually resulted in the recent loss of his right leg below the knee. He has had the most difficult time dealing with pain and surgery and infections and recovery.

He is often in pain, in fact, but never complains. He channels his frustration and discomfort into painting, drawing, and reading books. He has spent much time in nursing homes and rehab centers.

I have come to see him as a fellow creative, and I think he sees me and also Maria in the same way.  He is an avid reader. He has read most of my books, bought them on his own. He loves to talk about writing.

Every month I buy him a gift certificate to the Battenkill Book Store. He devours every book. I also supply him with pencils, crayons and drawing pads. He is always creating something, he writes poetry and fiction.

When he can, he motors to the book store in his motorized wheelchair. When he can’t make it, Connie Brooks brings the books to him. There is nothing like community.

Tim is struggling to learn to use his new leg, it is a slow and challenging process.

Last week, I was talking to him while he was sitting out on the porch, he didn’t  have his prosthesis and I asked him if he was standing on his new leg. I said I hadn’t seen  him walk on it. I wondered why.

He said he wasn’t standing up on it right now, and I said I hadn’t seen him on it much, and I asked him why.  It took several tries to get him to talk about it, he was unusually shy and uncomfortable. We talk easily and often.

I knew how it important it is for new amputees to get up and move around and use their artificial limbs.

I asked him if something was bothering him, he wasn’t his usual cheerful self,  and it turned out that something was bothering him.

He said that whenever he stood up, his pants slipped down. He hadn’t tried to stand up in a long time, and he was embarrassed to have his pants slip down. So he didn’t want to stand up.

I asked him if I could purchase him some x-large black sweatpants with elastic waists – I am becoming expert at shopping for special needs clothing – and he said sure, that would be great. The pants came yesterday and I dropped them off with an aide, Tim was out.

Today when I arrived at the Mansion for my meditation class, he was waiting for me in his wheelchair. He thanked me for his gift certificate to the book store, and I asked him if he was standing up now.

He was different, beaming, smiling. He was wearing his new pants.

He said yes, the pants were wonderful, and he had started to stand up more in  his room.

“I can stand up now,” he said, “and maybe next time, I can walk to the book store.”

I asked him if I could write about this, and he said yes, he wanted that.

This was so meaningful to me.

It is really the small things that often matter the most.

Wayne asked me for a new reclining chair,  his broke. Helen came up to me in the hallway and begged me for another pair of sweatpants, the blue ones she loved so much disappeared somehow, she fears they were thrown out by mistake. Ruth wants two erasers so she can write poems.

But there is little to compare to hearing about Tim’s pants. The aides told me that Tim was thrilled to get these pants, they are comfortable, warm and snug. They hope he will be walking soon. The pants cost $10.49 apiece, and I got him two pairs.

To help somebody stand up and walk for $20 is really what all this is about. And to get Wayne, who has no money, a power recliner. And to replace the pants that Helen loves so much, and that were so comfortable for her.

Those are little things that are big things. And some big things. Today, I bought Wayne a power recliner chair for $400. It will make all the difference to him to have such a chair in his room. The one he had broke down and had to be thrown away.

I am committed to assembling a dignified and meaning Commitment Ceremony for Ruth and Wayne. To make it special and memorable for them. A small thing, a big thing.

Three sources guide much of my spiritual life. The writings of Thomas Merton, the teachings of the mystics of the Kabbalah, and the true values of  the real Jesus Christ.  Helping the vulnerable and voiceless is a sacred thing for me, as it was for them.

Living as a spiritual person, say all three – this is my goal –  means living in joy.

In the absence of joy, even great acts of sharing and kindness are diminished. When a positive act is offered with a joyless heart, says the Kabbalah, it’s as if a blanket was thrown over a light.

The Mansion is a joyous and sacred work for me.

I felt great joy seeing the light and promise in Tim’s eyes today. I can’t say if he will walk again, or how soon, or how far. But I know he can stand up and walk with pride and dignity and that was done for $22.

I am also beginning to fund raise to pay for a refugee student class trip to the FDR home in Hyde Park, N.Y. Their teacher, Kathy Saso who teaches ESL (English As A Second Language), has been wanting to take her class there for some time, but the school doesn’t have the money. I said I would try to raise it for her.

My goal is to fill the small holes in the lives of the residents, to commit small acts of kindness. To take real action in the real world to make individual lives better. This does not require hatred or argument.

The Army Of Good has supported every single act of good there, including Tim’s pants. I thank you.

I don’t look for big and dramatic things, I look for small things, I call them the threads of life.

Thanks for supporting this work. Spring is a busy time for the Mansion residents, many needs surface after the winter. And there is the Commitment Ceremony. If you wish to contribute, you can donate via Paypal, [email protected], or by check, Jon Katz, The Mansion Fund, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y. 12816. And thanks.