Earlier this year Rodney Smith Jr. made headlines when he drove eight hours from his home in Huntsville. Alabama, to cut the lawn for an elderly soldier in North Carolina who couldn't find anyone to help him with his yard work.

That wasn't the first time the twenty-nine-year-old Bermuda native had gained such attention. To do his good deeds, Rodney often finds leads for those in need through social media.

Back to one August afternoon in 2015, Rodney Smith Jr. was driving home. That's when Rodney saw an elderly man struggling to mow his lawn. He would take a couple of shaky steps, using the handle to stabilize himself, pause, then slowly push the mower again. Rodney decided to help. Mr. Brown thanked him greatly, and Rodney went home feeling satisfied.

Sitting at his computer to do his homework, Rodney couldn't get Mr. Brown out of his mind. There must be many Mr. Browns out there. He went online and posted that he would mow lawns for free for senior citizens. Messages flooded in.

One day a cancer-battling woman said she wasn't having a good day. Rodney decided to do more than mowing lawns. After he finished mowing, he knocked on her door. "You're going to win this fight, Madam", he said. Then he asked folks to pray for her on social media.

Word of Rodney's mission spread. A grandmother in Ohio said he'd encouraged her 12-year-old grandson to mow lawns. He got a letter from a seven-year-old boy in Kansas. "Mr. Rodney, I would like to be a part of your program, and I'll make you proud," he wrote.

That gave Rodney an idea. In 2017, he decided to establish a programme Raising Men Lawn Care Service to make a national movement for young people. The kids learn the joy of giving back.

Yard work seems like a small, simple thing, but taking care of the lawn means a lot to the people they do it for. "When we mow their yards for free, they can use the money for healthcare and food etc. It means more than you would think," Rodney said.

Five years ago, I left my job to work on a ship. After working as a junior doctor, I was willing to take the risk.1 for adventure, I boarded a ship in Singapore with 2, 000 passengers and crew. To my2 , the hospital was well equipped, with an X﹣ray machine and a blood analyzer.

As a doctor, I was3 for the 600 crew. Far from4 seasickness and sunburn, I had to deal with other diseases. The ship's medical centre was5 a floating emergency room, and we didn't have a team of specialists on hand for a second6 . With long and unpredictable hours, it required mental7 .

Many of the passengers were elderly. Heart attacks don't8 geography and emergency evacuations （疏散）were difficult to arrange. I recall one such patient, who was taken off the ship halfway through the Panama Canal. After a9 ride in an old ambulance, I was relieved that the patient10 long enough to arrive at the hospital in Panama City.11 , there were several unexpected benefits to the job. I regularly12 the passenger facilities. On rare days off, I13 as a tour guide on trips ashore.

Now, I understand being a ship doctor is not a job﹣it's a way of14 . One year at sea became two. I lost my career ambitions,15 I redefined happiness in my life.

In spite of the fact that I had stayed with my sister for 14 years. I knew one thing—I would not want to be like her. In high school, she was a journalist and it was 1 she talked about. No matter how many times I said it, I 2 myself in "Intro to Journalism" freshman year,3 . Why? That was because my mother wanted me to be a journalist, 

Though it was the4 thing I wanted to do, I got to realize the point of being a journalist. It was 5 writing a report. It was also communicating with people by telling stories. After a short term, I began to see what happened around me 6 —I saw things as7 , which I wanted to share with people who wants to 8 .

In the second semester, I joined the newspaper staff and 9 nearly every position on staff, from designing different columns to taking photographs. I wrote stories, opinions, and almost any other thing for every 10 of the paper.

I loved everything around me, but I found my gift in visual journalism. I had a/an 11 for design and I was12 ready to put in. When I was writing each story, I promised to tell in its entirety. There is possibility that some 13 of a story can't be presented in a paragraph form. That is 14 I came in. I worked to improve the 15 of our magazine every day. But my work is not 16 to this. I also worked to add the web and multimedia 17 the publication. I loved producing content for the newspaper. 18 , I found myself creating less and less through my junior year. Then 1 was thinking up ideas and helping others to do the 19 to make their work happen.

Now, I'm proud to say that I have fully made 20 of what it means to be a good storyteller.

When I lived in Boston, I taught English as a second language to adult students from around the world. On the last day, they threw a nice party. I was amazed they had learned enough English {#blank#}1{#/blank#} （arganize） such an event altogether. At the end of the party, they proudly handed me a gift box. After the box {#blank#}2{#/blank#} （open）, I gently lifted a beautiful coat from it. "We went shopping for a new coat!" they all shouted {#blank#}3{#/blank#} wonderfully perfect English.

More than 50 years ago, my dad planted {#blank#}1{#/blank#} evergreen tree.He watered it and cared for it.A few {#blank#}2{#/blank#}(year) later, when it grew to about 3 feet tall, he placed its first set of Christmas lights on it.Thus our tradition began.Every Christmas ever since, this tree has lit up our neighborhood corner.

Dad passed away in November 1991.With all the emotions of his {#blank#}3{#/blank#}(pass),Thanksgiving came and went.When the topic of the tree {#blank#}4{#/blank#}(bring) up, Mom said,"Not this year."But my brother, sister and I said,"Dad would want it to be done,"so the following weekend,we {#blank#}5{#/blank#}(decorate) the tree together {#blank#}6{#/blank#} memory of him.

The tree now stands about 40 feet tall, and we have to use a beautiful cherry lift.{#blank#}7{#/blank#}(put) the top lights on.We turn the lights on the evening after Thanksgiving,{#blank#}8{#/blank#} send out light each night until New Year's Day.People drive by slowly, taking pictures or simply {#blank#}9{#/blank#} (enjoy) its beauty.Then in spring we pack the lights {#blank#}10{#/blank#}(safe) away for the next year.

The year was 1937. I was seven years old. And I was with my father and mother, at a Chinese restaurant in Boro Park, Brooklyn. That was the first Chinese restaurant I ever ate at. I was always given food from the adults' orders.

I'm not sure when it was, but the time did come when I had my first order — Won-Ton soup, egg rolls and spare ribs. That made me excited. My father seemed to know the Chinese waiter, a young guy; his name was Jimmy. I remember being surprised that a Chinese man could have an American name.

Some months later, my father took me to a restaurant in Manhattan's Chinatown called The Rathskeller on Mott Street. This was my first time in Chinatown and I was very impressed by how different it was from Boro Park. We went there a few times. I just couldn't have enough of the food there.

In 1951, I was sent to work in the Hospital Treasurer's Office at Letterman Army Hospital. A colleague had an uncle who was a waiter at The Far East Cafe on Grant Avenue in the heart of San Francisco's Chinatown. Once a week, a group from the office would go there for lunch and my colleague's uncle would take good care of us. My favorite dish was Tomato Beef Chow Mein.

It wasn't until about 23 years later, in 1974, that I had my next serious relationship with the cuisine (菜肴) of China. I was lucky to take some cooking lessons provided by a famous Chinese restaurant's chef. Then my life entered a new phase (阶段). I didn't know it then, but some time later, it became clear to me that Chinese food would follow me through the days of my life.