Last week we placed new journals in the East House guest rooms—hoping that family members would share their reflections. To our delight, we received immediate feedback from the eight-year-old occupant of room 225 (which was decorated in a nautical theme by our friends at the engineering firm, Harper Houf Peterson Righellis).

Here’s what the boy wrote—unabridged and unedited:

This is my note about this room… It’s great! Me and my family pretended like we were on a ship. I also love the library. I went and picked up The Jungle Book and am about to reed it. I can only list one compliant the beds are to hard other than that this room is awsome.

PS. Love how the whole theme is ships.

Written by Kane

need to go to bed.

Dr. Hal Westby, for whom I worked 30 years ago at the University of Portland, was fond of differentiating between “the truth,” “the whole truth,” and “nothing but the truth.” Kane earnestly offered “nothing but.”

Thanks for the feedback, young man. I’m sorry about the bed—but I think you’ll appreciate the firmness in a few years. In the meantime, I’m glad you liked the room—and the rest of the House.

I’ll pass your appreciation on to everyone who helped make your stay so comfortable. If circumstances necessitate a return stay, I’m sure you’ll enjoy any of our 23 other rooms, which have all been adopted and decorated with similar care.

Should you visit again, please come by and introduce yourself! I’m in the office with the big glass window—right next to your old room. I’d love to hear how The Jungle Book turns out.

Tom Soma, Executive Director

Thirteen-year-old Tyler, from Grants Pass, Oregon, has been here nearly four months—not knowing when he’d be able to return home. His 22-month-old brother is being treated for lingering complications resulting from severe burns.

Throughout his stay, Tyler spent part of each weekday in the classroom at Randall Children’s Hospital. In addition to helping him remain up-to-date on school assignments, the classroom afforded Tyler at least some engagement with other teenagers—though, as he admitted, “there aren’t many other kids my age.”

He wasn’t complaining. To his credit, Tyler maintains a “game face,” which endeared him to staff members, volunteers, and many of the other guests.

In one of his StoryPeople© creations, Brian Andreas paints a character “Deciding everything is falling into place perfectly—as long as you don’t get too picky about what you mean by place. Or perfectly.”

That’s Tyler. He makes the best of his circumstances. Because he’s not too picky about “place” and “perfectly,” things really can fall into place.

Tyler finally gets to leave tomorrow. I’ll miss him. But I’m sure his positive disposition will serve him well in the future. It certainly has moved me.

Tom Soma, Executive Director

The Ronald McDonald House is on the move!

I recently signed two historic documents that open the door to an exciting future. The first, a “Memorandum of Understanding” between RMHC and OHSU, outlines the operational details of a new “West House Waterfront” to be managed by RMHC at the Marriott Residence Inn, beginning July 1. The second, a “Purchase and Sale Agreement,” governs the sale of our existing West House to a developer in the early fall.

These two documents bring to fruition more than a decade of effort—culminating with the Board’s prudent yet courageous decision last year to close the West House in mid-2013. The new course attests to both the hard work we’ve done in the past and the high hopes we have for the future.

As was reported in the news, the West House Waterfront will increase our capacity by more than 30%, enabling us to serve 25 families daily (up from 17 at the existing facility). Guests will have access to several wonderful amenities, including a pool, sauna, and fitness center. What we give up in proximity, we gain in the quality and quantity of guest rooms. Volunteers who spent so much time cleaning in the past will be far more intimately engaged with guests. In short, we’ll continue doing what’s “best for the guest” in every way possible.

The West House Waterfront is likely a preview of the future—in which a permanent new Ronald McDonald House is part of a larger, multi-use facility owned by OHSU. I welcome and applaud OHSU’s commitment and creativity. And I’m excited by the involvement of the Marriott—an organization with a commitment to hospitality that matches ours. This pioneering collaboration is unique within the RMHC system—so the eyes of the world will be on us!

One of our core values is to learn and grow, with respect for the past and hope for the future. As we venture forth, we do so not only with hope, but enthusiasm for the future—and not only with respect, but deep gratitude for the past.

We’re grateful for our founders, who made the West House possible so many years ago. We’re grateful for those who’ve supported the guests so generously over the years—staff members, board members, donors, and especially our hundreds of volunteers. Finally, we’re grateful for the guest themselves—whose courageous journeys are a continued source of inspiration.

Into the future we go. Hold on—it should be quite a ride!

Tom Soma, Executive Director

It’s hard to escape the grisly images that will forever define this year’s Boston Marathon and its week-long aftermath. For me—and I’m sure millions of others—the sights and sounds near the finish line on April 15, 2013 immediately evoked September 11, 2001. While there were far fewer casualties this time, the feelings of shock and violation are no less confounding.

How does one respond to these horrific acts?

Obviously, justice is a necessary function in civil society. But the creation of a safer, more peaceful world—in which such senseless tragedies are remnants of the past—calls for higher virtues.

It’s not easy to meet violence with compassion, hatred with kindness, or agony with hope. Yet the immediate response of countless heroes who assisted the injured—and the subsequent hospitality extended by hundreds who offered food, shelter, and other comfort to complete strangers—attests to our innate capacity for such nobility.

As I attempt to answer the proverbial question, “What can I do?” I find great solace and hope in our work at RMHC.  Clarissa Pinkola Estes eloquently captures our mission in her “Letter to a Young Activist in Troubled Times.”

“Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once,” she writes, “but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing.”

We’re drawn to the Ronald McDonald Houses—and each other—because our hearts open immediately and generously to the unfortunate circumstances of our guests. We welcome them with open arms, regardless of their race, creed, gender, financial means, or any other quality by which they might unfairly be judged as “different.” And we assist them as best we’re able—one soul to another, stretching out to mend that which is within reach.

These are the higher virtues that will someday transform the world—if we persevere.

Early on April 15—several hours before the bombings—I lost a wonderful friend and colleague. Unlike the Boston victims, Linda Morris (President and CEO of Atlanta Ronald McDonald House Charities) died peacefully, of complications from breast cancer, with family and friends by her side.

I believe that the most meaningful tribute—to Linda and to all the Boston victims—is simply to carry on. To celebrate our shared service. To extend continued goodwill. To appreciate those who inspire and share this noble cause. And to savor every living breath.

That’s how I intend to respond. It’s the only way I know how to build a better world.

Tom Soma, Executive Director

Vasili and Tom

Last week began and ended with a conspicuous use of the word, “double”—both times in response to a simple question, and each generating a heartening smile.

Monday’s question, to Vasili, our housekeeper and handyman: “How are you doing?”

He grinned broadly, raised both thumbs, and, in a thick Ukrainian accent, answered, “Double good!”

Friday’s question, to Bella, a girl from Roseburg who spent her first three years awaiting the kidney transplant that saved her life: “How old are you now?”

Her earnest answer: “Almost 10! In October I’ll be double digits!”

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Vasili characterize himself as “double good.” In six years, I’ve never heard him complain. Whether vacuuming a hallway, cleaning a bathroom, or installing a fluorescent bulb, he wears a constant smile.

As for Bella—the fact that she’s almost “double digits” is astonishing. There were times we didn’t think she’d make it to one—or two—or three. Her family never took a day for granted. We got to know them well then—and we continue to enjoy their quarterly returns for Bella’s check-ups.

I also asked Bella whether she had a boyfriend yet—to which she adamantly replied, “No. Not until I’m 20 or 30!” I include this for posterity’s sake; I’m sure she and her parents will revisit that assertion long before another decade passes.

For now, I celebrate both Vasili’s double good nature and Bella’s upcoming double digit birthday. If I had four thumbs, they’d all be up!

Tom Soma, Executive Director

From the archive, a much-younger Bella with Tom

Lovely upright pianos grace the living rooms of both Houses. Gifts from Portland’s Classic Pianos, the shiny black Yamahas are appreciated by parents and children alike—though, as would be expected, the caliber of our “guest performers” varies widely.

Periodically, captivating tunes draw curious staff members into the lobby. That was the case last week, when, after listening surreptitiously for a few minutes, I entered the living room clapping.

The ovation caught Trish by surprise.  A resident of Ashland, Oregon, she’s been here nearly a month. Her 13-year-old son is being treated for a spinal cord tumor. A younger daughter is with her as well.

As she turned to acknowledge my applause, she said, almost apologetically, “It’s a nice release.”

“We enjoy it, too,” I assured her.

The impromptu concert was a fitting prelude to some equally impressive “notes” from guests—which took much different form. Upon their departure, all families are invited to complete an evaluation. While the annual survey is intended to help improve our efforts, the 2012 results overwhelmingly endorse what we’re already doing.

All but one of the respondents (99.7%) rated the friendliness of staff and volunteers as good or very good (93% deemed it very good). Likewise, 99% also characterized their overall experience as good or very good.

If the numbers aren’t impressive enough, “listen” to these three comments—which mirror hundreds of others:

The people here are always helpful.

We wouldn’t know what to do if this organization didn’t help us.

I’m amazed at how cozy and comfortable and resourceful this is. You go all out to provide a safe and homelike place while families go through hard times and stress—and that is priceless. You took a ton of weight off our plates and we can’t thank you enough.

With increasingly aggressive calls for non-profit accountability (often voiced by self-appointed “watchdogs” applying flawed “standards”), there is no better indication of RMHC’s effectiveness than the assessments of those we serve.

“Kind words,” wrote the 19th century hymnist, Frederick William Faber, “are the music of the world.” Certainly, such impressive appraisals—like the spontaneous recitals of talented guests—are music to our ears.

To our staff, volunteers, and generous supporters, I would add one final word: Bravo!

Tom Soma, Executive Director

“As you think, you travel; and as you love, you attract. You are today where your thoughts have brought you; you will be tomorrow where your thoughts take you… You will become as small as your controlling desire, as great as your dominant aspiration.”

James Allen wrote that more than a century ago. The British philosopher and poet, who died in 1912, would later be considered a pioneer of the “self-help” movement. I was reminded of his claim during a recent exchange with Annie Sakaguchi, a long-time board member and past chair, whose service to RMHC spans more than two decades.

In late 2012, Annie and her husband, Steve, sold the last of their four McDonald’s restaurants. One of their early retirement decisions was to become monthly donors.

“We have to budget more carefully now,” Annie explained light-heartedly. “In order to contribute at the level we want, we need to give a little each month. That’s the only way we can afford it!”

We both laughed; I admitted to the same approach, even though I’m still working.

“Life is good and we’re very blessed,” Annie concluded.

I often hear similar remarks from others who readily share their good fortune with those we serve. Ours is a growing community of good-hearted people whose dominant aspiration is hospitality, and whose loving thoughts and deeds continue to attract others. That makes the Ronald McDonald House a beacon for everyone who works, visits, stays, or volunteers here.

I’m with Annie. It’s hard not to be grateful.

Tom Soma, Executive Director

On a recent flight to Minneapolis, I had an unusually friendly seatmate. With black-rimmed glasses and a gray pony tail poking out from a brown fedora, he looked like a grandfatherly child of the 60s—which he was, actually.

“Skip” confessed to having “done some damage” back in the day—abuse that later resulted in liver failure. He had a transplant 10 years ago—but the new liver soon began to fail. “Cancer,” the doctors eventually concluded—and gave him two weeks to live. He stopped taking his anti-rejection medication, entered a hospice, and prepared for the inevitable. That was eight years ago.

“What happened?” I asked. “How do the doctors explain it?”

“They can’t explain it,” he replied, calmly. “What I figure,” he added, “is that God still has something for me to do here.”

Skip’s story reminded of a 15-year-old boy from Eugene, who I met in 1999. He had been struck by a bolt of lightning estimated at 15,000 volts. Nobody expected him to live. Yet, six days after the incident, I shook his hand as he and his mother left the Ronald McDonald House.

The doctors couldn’t account for that either.

I’ve witnessed other circumstances that defy explanation. Wade Chosvig was born with spina bifida; doctors told his parents he would never walk or talk—and would likely require round-the-clock care for the rest of his life. Contrary to the prognosis, he was walking and talking before he turned two. Now 13, he’s a strapping middle-schooler who enjoys fishing and golf.

Humbly yet persuasively, Skip evidenced the possibility that a force more powerful than medicine is at work in the world—a prospect similarly personified by both Wade Chosvig and the teenage boy struck by lightning. Science can’t explain it. Nor can I. But I can’t deny what I’ve seen and touched.

There are two ways to live your life, Albert Einstein observed. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.

I choose the latter.

Tom Soma, Executive Director

On Friday I began my 15th year as Executive Director. I never envisioned such a lengthy stay! Yet looking back, it’s hard to believe how the years have flown.

I must say, while my title hasn’t changed, the role is considerably different than what it was 14 years ago—or even 14 months ago. We live in fluid times. Adaptation is critical, both individually and organizationally. That imperative is reflected in one of our core values: “We learn and grow, with respect for the past and hope for the future.”

Those unfamiliar with our work periodically ask, “Does it ever get to you? Do you have to de-sensitize yourself to it all?”

No and no. While matters of life and death are more readily evident here, that balance heightens rather than numbs our sensitivity. And our awareness of the grace inherent in each moment is furthered by the fact that every high and low is intimately shared with supportive colleagues, volunteers, and many caring others.

Last week, I received a lovely note from long-time volunteer Mickey Cocks (whose service exceeds mine by seven years). Reflecting on the “compassion, courage, and benevolence” that have characterized her 21-year tenure, she pointed out “how visible the goodness becomes as we journey through time.”

I appreciate Mickey’s perception of time’s blessing. If we open ourselves to goodness, its abundance becomes increasingly evident. That’s certainly been my experience. While I’m not likely to reach Mickey’s tenure, I’ll continue welcoming every expression of that goodness in the days, months, and years ahead—with abiding respect for the past, enduring hope for the future, and heartfelt gratitude for the all the wonderful people who make each day so rewarding.

Tom Soma, Executive Director