There's no doubt about it: Trust is an asset to any relationship and distrust an enormous liability. But thinking of trust in terms of its practical value can demean and distort its true significance as an endorsement of our character and as a sign of our worthiness.

I get my clearest vote of trust when I stop to appreciate the ways my young daughters – the oldest is 12 – trust their daddy. Knowing that they have unquestioned confidence that I will always do the right thing is a source of pleasure and pride.

It is also a source of duty. The trust of our children is a gift we must never take for granted. Trust is fragile. Children trust us completely, until we prove ourselves unworthy. It's a heavy responsibility to protect our kids from our own moral frailties, but I think I'm a better person because I treasure their trust so much. The glow of their faith in me lights the way and helps me to see traps and hazards that could embarrass them or damage their image of me – and frankly I can't think of any gain worth that price.

In the play All My Sons by Arthur Miller, the father adores his son and the son idolizes his father, until he decides that the father did some shabby things in the past. As the son's esteem is slipping away, the father says in a desperate plea, "Son, I'm no worse than anyone else."

The son, with teary eyes, replies, "I know, Dad. But I thought you were better."

There are other reasons to be ethical, but for those of us with children, there's none stronger than the honor of earning their admiration.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Mark Gibson, a former gymnastics coach who worked with many elite athletes, tells a wonderful story about a 15-year-old girl whose work ethic and attitude brought out the best in everyone. Cindy wasn't a great gymnast, but when she was in the gym everyone complained less, worked harder, and, not surprisingly, achieved more.

Cindy was such a powerful motivator because she was blind. When it was her turn to do the vault, her mom would run alongside her telling her how close she was to the vault. When her mom said, "Vault!" Cindy would reach out and jump, trusting her mother and herself.

Cindy loved the sport and kept improving because she and her mom refused to be defeated by her disability.

Mark called her the most important member of the team, not because of her athletic ability, but because of her heart and because she demonstrated a standard of fortitude and courage that inspired others to get more out of themselves. Everyone who watched her strive to be the best she could be realized how much more they could be.

This is leadership – leadership by example – and we see this sort of leadership not only in sports but in families and in the workplace. Often the most important members of the team are not the smartest, most skilled, or most powerful. Their power is in their attitude and their ability to energize and encourage others with their optimism, enthusiasm, and determination.

People who know how to get the best out of themselves get the best out of others.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

I received an e-mail with a story worth sharing. Only the names have been changed to preserve privacy.

Doug is the proud and loving father of Emma, a high school junior who takes a leadership class responsible for putting on dances and other student events. All student body officers must take the class, but a number of other kids like Emma who just like to participate are also enrolled. Well, Emma is a little different and she’s becoming more aware of those differences. Recently, she began to tell her father through tears, "I don't like having Down's Syndrome."

Doug comforted and encouraged his daughter the best he could, but he admits he always wonders how her classmates really perceive her. Do they just tolerate or patronize her, or do they see the richness of her character and appreciate her sense of humor and the beauty of her heart?

These concerns came into play when he visited Emma at a school event where she was working at a table with the student body president, a handsome kid named Chris. Later, Emma announced that Chris had invited her to the homecoming dance. Doug was doubtful and afraid that she might be embarrassed or hurt if she misunderstood. So he checked with the leadership teacher, who discreetly confirmed it was true. This extraordinary young man asked Emma to accompany him to dinner and the dance.

Doug was moved to tears and confessed he was ashamed he doubted this could happen. He wrote of his joy seeing his daughter prepare for one of the greatest days in her life. And he marveled at the kindness and self-confidence of the young man who was able to see and care about the inner Emma.

Doug was rightfully proud of Emma, but how good would you feel to be Chris's parents?

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

While I was on a radio call-in show talking about cheating, a listener I'll call Stan mocked my concern. He cheated to get into college, he said. He cheated in college to get a job. And now he occasionally cheats on his job to get ahead. In fact, he concluded, cheating is such an important life skill that parents ought to teach their kids how to cheat.

Evidence is mounting that lots of people share Stan's amoral pragmatism. Because they define success and happiness in terms of getting what they want when they want it, ethics seems irrational. After all, in a world where cheaters so often prosper, why should anyone give up the benefits of dishonesty?

Well, for one thing, the Stans of the world have no idea the price they're paying for the little they're getting. A life without principles is demeaning and self-defeating. The Stans of the world are cheated as often as they cheat others. What's more, they cheat themselves. As they scrape and struggle to fill their lives, they give up their chance to lead fulfilling lives.

The happiest people I know are those who find purpose and meaning pursuing a grander vision of a good life measured in terms of worthiness, not net worth. Virtue is not a tactic; it's a life philosophy.

We paint the self-portrait that we call our character by our values and actions. We can choose to paint that portrait in the pale watercolors of shallow successes and short-lived pleasures or in the deep, rich oils of honor, spirituality, peace of mind, and self-respect.

The enduring impact of our choices is not what we get, but what we become.

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Marta was a hard-working single mother. When her minister sermonized about "living a life that matters," she worried that working to raise her kids and going to church wasn't enough. So, on the bus to work she made a list of other jobs she could do and volunteer work she could try.

Sylvia, an elderly woman, saw the worry on Marta's face and asked what was wrong. Marta explained her problem. Sylvia said, "Oh my, did your minister say you weren't doing enough?"

"No," Marta said, "But I don't know how to live 'a life that matters.'"

"You don't have to change jobs or do more volunteer work," Sylvia consoled her. "It's enough that you're a good mother. But if you want to do more, think about what you can do while doing what you already do. It's not about what you do, but how you do it."

"You don't understand," Marta said. "I sell hamburgers. How do I make that significant?"

"How many people do you deal with every day?" Sylvia asked.

"Two to three hundred."

"Well, what if you set out to cheer, encourage, teach, or inspire as many of those people as you could? A compliment, a bit of advice, a cheerful hello or a warm smile can start a chain reaction that lights up lives like an endless string of Christmas bulbs."

"But that's just being nice," Marta protested.

"Right," said Sylvia, "Niceness can change lives."

Marta looked at the old woman. "What do you do?"

"I was a housekeeper until I retired," Sylvia said. "Now I just ride the bus talking to people."

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

Two dear friends were inflicted with the soul-searing, heart-rending pain of death. One lost her lifelong companion and soul mate, a gentle man who lived a good life of 70 years. The other had to say goodbye to her innocent newborn son, the victim of a neurological anomaly.

I've tried to process these personal tragedies in the context of notorious homicides including the killing of Ed Thomas, a beloved teacher-coach in Iowa who was shot by a mentally ill former player and the conscienceless murder of Byrd and Melanie Billings, a Florida couple revered for caring for and loving 19 children including a dozen with special needs.

How can we explain the deaths of the good and the innocent?

In his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Harold Kushner, whose young son died of a rare disease, shares his struggle to understand undeserved suffering and to keep his faith. He found no comfortable answers, thoughtfully discussing and ultimately rejecting classic answers given by religionists: God has a hidden purpose that we cannot and need not understand, suffering is a test or a lesson, or death leads our loved ones to a better place.

Rabbi Kushner writes that he finally found peace of mind when he gave up the idea that everything happens for a reason or that God causes or purposefully allows everything to happen. It's futile and foolish to expect the consequences of natural forces and human nature to conform to our notions of fairness. "God doesn’t send us the problem," he says. "He gives us the strength to cope with the problem."

If we want to move beyond our grief and find continuing meaning in our lives, we shouldn’t ask, "Why did this happen?" but "What am I going to do with the life I have now?"

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.

* If this topic interests you, I hope you’ll read the book. I found it full of profound insights and thought-provoking assertions:

Regarding why some believe God is the cause of our suffering and that He wants us to suffer: "There may be another approach. Maybe God does not cause our suffering. Maybe it happens for some reason other than the will of God."

Regarding why nature is morally blind, without values, following its own laws and not caring who or what gets in the way: "God is not morally blind. I could not worship Him if I thought He was. God stands for justice, for fairness, for compassion. For me, the earthquake is not an act of God. The act of God is the courage of people to rebuild their lives after the earthquake and the rush of others to help them in whatever way they can."

Regarding why good people or innocent children aren’t spared: "Laws of nature do not make exceptions for nice people. A bullet has no conscience; neither does a malignant tumor or an automobile gone out of control. That is why good people get sick and get hurt as much as anyone."

Regarding why emotional and physical pains exist: "Pain is the price we pay for being alive. When we understand that, our question will change from, 'Why do we have to be in pain?' to 'What do we do with our pain so it becomes meaningful and not just pointless empty suffering?' We may not ever understand why we suffer or be able to control the forces that cause our suffering, but we can have a lot to say about what the suffering does to us and what we become because of it. Pain makes some people bitter and envious. It makes others sensitive and compassionate. It is the result, not the cause, of pain that makes some experiences meaningful and others empty and destructive."

Regarding why bad things happen to good people: "Being human leaves us free to hurt each other, and God can't stop us without taking away the freedom that makes us human. God can only look down in pity and compassion at how little we have learned."

Regarding why God can’t or won’t at least stop man’s most barbaric acts: "Where was God in Auschwitz? It was not God who caused it. The Holocaust was at least as much of an offense to God's moral order as it is to mine, or how can I respect God as a source of moral guidance? I have to believe the tears and prayers of the victims aroused God's compassion, but having given man freedom to choose, including the freedom to choose to hurt his neighbor, there was nothing God could do to prevent it."