Years ago I came across a poem entitled "The Man in the Glass" by Dale Wimbrow. I looked it up on the Internet and discovered a website maintained by his children: http://www.theguyintheglass.com. It contains the original version written in 1934 and published in The American Magazine as "The Guy in the Glass." Here is that version containing timeless truths about integrity.

When you get what you want in your struggle for self,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that guy has to say.
For it isn’t your Father or Mother or Wife
Who judgment upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.
He’s the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear up to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.
You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum
And think you’re a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.

Judging from the devoted words of his children, Mr. Wimbrow never cheated the guy in his glass.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Mothers. What class of people has been more glorified or vilified?

On the one hand, there’s the idealized image of selfless, wise, patient, and loving maternal perfection celebrated in greeting cards, songs, and “I Love Mom” tattoos.

On the other are the darker stereotypes of the controlling, never-satisfied, self-absorbed mother responsible for the insecurities and hang-ups of her children; the wicked stepmother of fairy tales; and the interfering mother-in-law depicted by stand-up comedians.

Hardly anyone’s mother fits any of these images. Real moms come in an infinite variety of packages, including an array of virtues and faults. What’s more, our attitudes toward our mothers are so often distorted by the memories we choose to emphasize that it’s hard to know the objective reality – if there is one. Thus, some approach Mother’s Day with love and gratitude while others find themselves fighting or indulging feelings of resentment.

I’m on the gratitude side. My mom died in her early forties of breast cancer shortly after giving birth to her sixth child. I wish I’d had her longer, but my memories are good ones.

Now Mother’s Day is about the greatest mother I’ve ever known, my wife Anne. Although I appreciate mothers who’ve made other choices, I marvel that this beautiful, smart, and funny graduate of an Ivy League college chose to shelve her personal ambitions in devotion to the most difficult, important, frustrating, exhausting, and fulfilling job in the world – being a mom to our four little girls.

So for me, no greeting-card tribute is too corny for the mother I will honor and thank this Sunday: my friend, companion, and lover, Anne.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Ben's first duty as a new pastor was to conduct a funeral service for Albert. Since he didn't know the deceased, Ben paused from his sermon to invite members of the congregation to say a few kind words about Albert.

No one budged.

"Many of you knew Albert for years," Ben politely nudged them. "Surely someone can say something nice."

After an uncomfortably long pause, a voice from the back of the room finally said, "Well, his brother was worse."

If you died tomorrow, what would people say about you? Would it make you proud of the way you lived and the choices you made?

There's an old saying: "If you want to know how to live your life, think about what you'd like people to say about you after you die – and live backwards."

Thinking about the legacy we want to leave can help us keep our priorities straight. When the end is near, it's not likely any of us will say, "I wish I'd spent more time at the office." Unfortunately, many of us only begin to realize the value of the time we have after we've frittered much of it away in shallow ruts going nowhere important.

It's hard to think now what will matter later. But doing so can dramatically improve our chances of living a full and meaningful life with few regrets.

Knowing how we want to be remembered allows us to make a strategic plan for our life. How much wiser would our choices be if we had the wisdom and discipline to regularly ask ourselves whether all the things we do and say are taking us where we want to be at the end?

We write our own eulogy by the choices we make every day.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Greg and Marge have two children, and they’re unhappy with their neighborhood schools. Greg’s sister suggests they use her address as theirs so they can send their kids to a better school in her neighborhood. What should they do?

Good people face this situation all the time. It makes the "end-justifies-the-means" argument seem awfully attractive. There is no shortage of rationalizations. "Everyone does it." "The system's unfair." "We’ve got to do what’s best for our kids."

The fact is, lying to get kids into a better school may help their academic education, but it will play havoc with their moral education. And that can’t be a good thing for kids.

First of all, everyone doesn’t cheat. Second, this scam doesn’t involve just one lie; it requires living a lie. Every time the kids are asked where they live, they must lie. They'll either grow accustomed to lying in a way that most assuredly will erode their integrity, or they'll live in constant fear of being caught. Either way, they lose.

If the system of restricting residents to local schools is unfair, lying makes it worse. Yes, doing so can help the liar's family, but so can stealing. All dog-eat-dog strategies benefit some at the expense of others. That’s why they’re unethical.

Look, I don’t want to minimize the hard choices parents have to make. But it would be a mistake to underestimate the consequences of taking the low road.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Trustworthiness is essential to good relationships, and honesty is essential to trustworthiness. But being honest isn't simply telling the truth. It's also being sincere and forthright. Thus, it's just as dishonest to deceive someone by half-truths or silence as it is to lie.

But when does honesty require us to volunteer information that could be damaging or hurtful?

Should you say something when a good friend at work has begun to dress or act in a way that's damaging his or her credibility and generating ridicule? What if you find out a friend's husband (who is also your friend) is having an affair? Do you tell your brother bad things about a woman he's involved with?

These types of situations are extremely volatile, and it's easy to rationalize silence. It's a lot easier on you and, besides, telling hard truths, however well intended, can seriously damage relationships. Yet silence could also be viewed as a betrayal of trust when it's later discovered that you knew important information and withheld it.

When the ethical principles of honesty, respect, and caring are in conflict, there's no single right answer. If you're faced with such a situation, consider these four critical factors: motive, tact, tone, and timing.

1. Be sure and pure about your motive. Your intentions must be honorable, and you must have the well-being of your friend at heart. It's not about you.
2. Choose your words very carefully.
3. Avoid self-righteousness or accusations.
4. Choose a time and place that lends itself to a frank interchange.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.