"To the Hawai`i of Old, The Spirit of Aloha was a concept REAL and vital to the existence of her people. Aloha was the spiritual essence of life. Aloha was a philosophy, a way of living, a code in life. The Aloha Chant defines and expresses the characteristics and traits of that Spirit. These words were not composed by, but conveyed, to Pilahi Pakî, a makua (parent/elder) with a purpose and responsibility ...a kuleana. That kuleana was to carry and pass on the message of Aloha..."

The Aloha Chant captured my full attention, and evoked a warm reminiscence:

The sounds emanating from the kitchen were decidedly different that morning. Maybe it was the voice of a stranger that awakened me. Or, perhaps the harsh clinking of silverware against fine china. Or, it might have been my parents speaking in "good" English. Or, perhaps their hearty laughter, uncharacteristic so early in the morning.

Whatever it was, it was enough to rouse me from deep sleep.

Curiosity overcame the inertia of my eyelids, and I crept into the dark hallway and squinted into the kitchen's harsh fluorescent glare. There was a stranger at the kitchen table! With his back to me, he was eating bacon and eggs -- with a fork! And off my parents' wedding china, so exquisitely special that that this was the first time that I had ever seen those purple-flowered plates out of the far reaches of the uppermost kitchen cabinets!

Noiselessly, I crawled on all fours down the hall to the living room. In the middle of the floor was an empty, rumpled bed, fashioned with Mom's best (guest) sheets, stiffly starched and ironed, between silk-covered futons.

Shy as little country girls are wont to be, I chose to forego meeting the stranger, but the novel, billowy bed was too much to resist. I slipped between the sheet-lined depths of the futon bed, luxuriating in its smooth, stiff coolness before sleep came sweetly.

When I awakened to the brightness of the morning sunlight streaming through the living room's broad windows, the stranger was gone.

Over supper that day, Dad explained the unusual events of the morning. The night before, as he drove home from a Young Farmers' meeting at a beach pavilion in Kalapana, he had spotted a lone figure's silhouette among the coconut trees at Kaimû, the most beautiful and famous black sand beach in Hawai`i:

He backed up his jeep, hailed the figure toward him. It turned out to be a mainland tourist who had wandered too far, missing the bus back to Hilo.

Dad, ever the teaser, asked him, "Eh, where you planning to sleep tonight?"

"I guess right here on the beach," the stranger replied, sheepishly.

"I don't t'ink so," said Dad, motioning him into the jeep. With that simple invitation, the stranger hopped in. Dad brought him home, just a few miles up that windy road, lined by pristine rainforests.

So that was how that stranger became our impromptu overnight houseguest.

And so it was that morning that their houseguest was recounting the panic felt when he realized that the bus had taken off for Hilo without him. He had resigned himself to spending a chilly, hungry night under the coconut trees on the beach, arranging coconut fronds into a "bed". Dad had pulled over to rescue him from his predicament, just as he was futilely attempting to extract some supper from fallen coconuts: "Just how are you s'posed to crack one of those @#$! things open?!"

So it was the laughter that had awakened me. Mom's and Dad's hearty laughter!

With no small influence from these words of wisdom:

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for by doing that,
some have entertained angels unawares,"

I have fancied that stranger to be an angel-in-disguise, who alighted but briefly, so by their own examples of spontaneous, "go for broke" hospitality, a father and mother taught their child an abiding life lesson about The Aloha Spirit:

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A year ago, almost to the day, my brother, Dad and I took a drive down to Kalapana. I shared my reminiscence of that morning, but Dad seemed to have completely forgotten it.

As I recalled more and more details, Dad riffled through the memories of a lifetime, then his face lit up. Nodding slowly, he said, "Yeah, yeah, I remember da guy...he was going (to) sleep on da beach." He closed his eyes and smiled, savoring the recalling of that distant, innocent time.

I shared with him how that morning had made all the difference in the world for me. Because of his kindness to a perfect stranger, I realized, at an early age, how easy it is to take a moment out of a busy life to show Aloha with a word, a smile, a note, a card, a treat, an ice cream cone… an invitation.

That morning, I saw first-hand how a day was made brighter for a stranger to whom Aloha was given, for my parents, who laughingly shared their Aloha with him, and for a little girl in a dark hallway, who was lucky enough to witness the light of The Aloha Spirit.

Those seconds created a lifelong habit of sharing The Aloha Spirit, even if it is just a humble act, for someone else every day. After all, no action big or small, is insignificant when we allow The Aloha Spirit to move us to be unexpectedly kind toward those around us.

My father's recent passing, as well as his two sisters' (my aunties) and my favorite uncle's, all within the year, has thrust me into fledgling "kupuna-ship" (eldership). Over the past year, what is important in life has stood out in bold relief:

In the end, what is most important is that we have loved, have been loved ...and that we have invited The Aloha Spirit to dwell within.