The Good Nearby

by Nancy Moser

  Sarah clicked the notebook closed. “There sure are a ton of them.”

  “I’ve lost track. Would you count them, please?”

  Sarah nodded and started counting the pages.

  Meanwhile Gennifer checked on the plaque they’d had made to hang in the ER waiting room of the hospital:

  In honor of

  Margery Lamborn (1979–2006)

  a woman set apart.

  Endings became new beginnings.

  We are the proof;

  Margery is the cause.

  She was the good nearby.

  That is our inspiration—and our aspiration.

  Gennifer still couldn’t believe that she’d received one of Margery’s kidneys. There was no way she could express her gratitude. For how did one say thank you for a miracle?

  She polished a smudged fingerprint on the brass with the corner of her sweater. No one had asked her to do this for Margery. And seeking out and compiling a list of those who had benefited from her organs and tissues had been difficult. But letting them know who was behind their benefit had become a crusade.

  When the letters started coming in, Gennifer had compiled them in a notebook. And at her own expense, she’d had a shelf created that would sit beneath the plaque and hold the notebook containing the letters. She hoped that maybe, while people were waiting to get news of their loved ones in the ER, they would take a moment to read about a woman who ended up helping . . .

  “Ninety-six people,” Sarah said. “There are ninety-six letters.”

  Gennifer nodded with satisfaction. “Ninety-six. That’s a very good number.”

  A life of self is death.

  The death of self is life.

  ANONYMOUS

  Discussion Questions

  1. Grammy is a bright light in little Gigi’s dark world. Have you ever known such a person? How can you be such a person to someone else?

  2. Gigi’s parents take her to a doctor, wanting him to explain away her uniqueness. Is there a danger in this? What would you have done if you’d had such a child?

  3. Gennifer keeps her illness a secret. Do you know of anyone who’s kept a big secret? What were the results? Can the keeping of such secrets ever turn out well?

  4. Talia is overwhelmed with work, home, and family responsibilities—a common situation. What practical advice could you give someone in this situation?

  5. Poor Margery. One crisis after another. If you could get her in front of you for some one-on-one time, what would you say to her?

  6. Angie has a stable life. Yet in what way is she not truly alive? What do you think is the balance between accepting what is and looking for what could be?

  7. Most of the characters are caught up in playing a part. Go through them one by one and pinpoint the part they’re playing: Margery, Gennifer, Angie, Talia, and Gladys.

  8. Gladys has always been on her own. No husband, no kids. How has this independence become a roadblock to her faith?

  9. Talia unexpectedly witnesses her mother’s talent as a volunteer worker and gains new respect for her. Who in your life has surprised you with hidden talents? Isn’t it about time you let them know how special they are?

  10. In spite of extreme hardship, little Gigi has a good attitude about life. What is it about some people that enables them to rise above adversity, while others succumb to it? Which type of person are you?

  11. Gladys goes above and beyond her position as employer to help Margery. Describe a time when you went out of your way to help someone—even reluctantly. And/or describe when someone went out of his or her way to help you.

  12. Has there been a song, a verse, a color, an item in your life that has repeatedly offered you comfort? How can you see God’s hand in this?

  13. Do you know anyone who has donated organs or benefited from an organ transplant? Have you signed up to be an organ donor? Why or why not? (Do it today—information is in the back of this book.)

  14. A challenge: Look around at the people in your life—the ones you see often, the ones nearby. See the good in them. Let them see the good in you. Be the good nearby in someone’s life. Today. Tomorrow. From now on.

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Readers:

  Whose life counts? Whose life doesn’t?

  That was the question that spurred The Good Nearby.

  How many people do we see every day, but not see? not notice? And yet their lives may have more impact on the world than our own. Not because of the big things they do, but because of the good things they do, and the good people they are.

  Sometimes I look at the celebrity magazines and marvel at how much interest movie stars generate. There are actually pages that showcase celebrities being ordinary people—buying groceries or pumping gas. It’s absurd. Without much effort you and I could name dozens of “stars” who have been thrust into our consciousness by a media-ruled world.

  But what about the lady at the bus stop who makes a point of asking about our kids? Or the jolly elderly man in the drive-through window of the burger joint who makes us forget the line was long? Or the stock boy who helps us find our favorite brand of kitty litter at the grocery store and even asks the name of our cat? How do they spend their time? What do they care about? What do they worry about? What is God’s plan for their lives?

  What is God’s plan for yours?

  We have a tendency to think life doesn’t count for much unless we do something big and flashy. (It’s the American way!) Yet the stooped grandmother who gives a child encouragement and a hug, the neighbor who—unasked—collects our newspapers while we’re on vacation (because we forgot to stop delivery), the gardener who spreads mulch around the tulips in the park that make us smile and think hopeful thoughts of spring and new beginnings . . . these people do good every day. Little bits of good that add up to changed attitudes and changed lives. If we notice. If we allow ourselves to really see them and acknowledge their sparks of specialness.

  These people are the good nearby. They are good and do good. We need to open our eyes—our eyes that usually skim past them—and recognize the blessings they offer. We need to accept those blessings, appreciate them, and give away some blessings of our own.

  We need to see the good nearby . . . and be the good nearby.

  That is my challenge to you.

  So go. Change the world. One little bit of good at a time.

  Nancy Moser

  Afterword

  You have something priceless to give . . .

  On any given day, there are over 91,000 people in the United States waiting for an organ—91,000 people whose life can be saved or radically improved by the gift of life. (For a real-time waiting list go to http://www.optn.org.)

  Have you signed up to be an organ donor?

  It’s not difficult. While donated organs and tissue are shared at the national level, the laws that govern donation vary from state to state. Therefore, it is important for you to know what simple steps you can follow to ensure that your decision to be a donor is carried out. Visit www.donatelife.net for more information about organ donation and how to be an organ-and-tissue donor in your state.

  Once you have decided and documented your decision to become a donor, the most important step is telling your family. Most people support donation, but few have told family members of their decision to donate. Talking about donation is talking about the opportunity to give another person a second chance at life.

  Give the gift of life

  For more information about organ transplantation contact the United Network of Organ Donation at www.unos.org.

  About the Author

  NANCY MOSER is the best-selling author of three books of inspirational humor and fourteen novels, including The Seat Beside Me, the Mustard Seed series, and the Christy Award–winning Time Lottery. She also coauthored the Sister Circle series with Campus Crusade cofounder Vonette Bright. Nancy is a motivational speaker, and information about her Said So Sister Seminar can be found at www.nancymoser
.com and www.sistercircles.com. Nancy and her husband, Mark, have three children and live in the Midwest.

  Scripture Verses in The Good Nearby

  Chapter / Topic / Verse

  Prologue / Troubles / Ecclesiastes 8:6

  Chapter 1 / Purpose / Ephesians 4:16

  Chapter 1 / Purpose / Jeremiah 1:5

  Chapter 2 / Problems / Psalm 25:17

  Chapter 3 / Glory / 1 Thessalonians 2:12

  Chapter 4 / Trials / Romans 5:3-4

  Chapter 5 / Invitation / Matthew 19:14

  Chapter 6 / Evil / Proverbs 3:7-8

  Chapter 7 / Hope / Revelation 21:4

  Chapter 8 / God’s ways / Ecclesiastes 11:5

  Chapter 9 / Comfort / Matthew 5:4

  Chapter 10 / Truth / Proverbs 12:19

  Chapter 10 / Lost / Luke 15:32

  Chapter 10 / Seek / 1 Chronicles 28:9

  Chapter 11 / Mercy / Psalm 25:16

  Chapter 12 / Judgment / Ecclesiastes 3:17

  Chapter 12 / Kindness / Proverbs 16:24

  Chapter 12 / Rest / Matthew 11:28

  Chapter 13 / Love / 1 Thessalonians 4:9

  Chapter 14 / Seeking / 2 Chronicles 15:2

  Chapter 14 / Purpose / Psalm 138:8

  Chapter 15 / Troubles / Psalm 34:19

  Chapter 16 / Troubles / Job 5:7-9

  Chapter 16 / Worry / Matthew 6:34

  Chapter 17 / Prudence / Proverbs 22:3

  Chapter 18 / Hope / Hebrews 10:23-24

  Chapter 18 / Covet / Exodus 20:17 (KJV)

  Chapter 12 / Salvation / Ephesians 2:9

  Chapter 19 / Discernment / Job 33:14

  Chapter 20 / Truth / 2 Corinthians 3:16-17

  Chapter 20 / Sight / John 9:25

  Chapter 20 / Worth / Matthew 10:29-31

  Chapter 20 / Purpose / Jeremiah 1:5

  Chapter 21 / Comfort / Psalm 23:4

  Chapter 22 / God’s ways / Romans 11:33

  Chapter 22 / Prayer / James 5:16

  Chapter 22 / Rest / Matthew 11:28

  Chapter 23 / God’s family / Ephesians 1:4-5

  Chapter 24 / Rebirth / 1 Corinthians 15:36, 38

  Solemnly Swear

  On her first day of jury duty Deidre Kelly soaked in every word of the lawyer’s opening statements, knowing her husband Sig would want a play-by-play that evening. She was glad the judge had said they could take notes. She had trouble remembering three items to get at the store without writing them down, much less days and days of testimony.

  The defendant—Patti McCoy—was a bitty thing who could have benefited from some beauty parlor expertise. There was natural beauty there, but with her minimal makeup, washed-out lips, and hair pulled back in a low ponytail, she blended into the background. Her position as a maid at the Country Comfort Resort and Spa was not a stretch. She was someone Deidre would have nodded at while passing in the hall, an invisible motel employee like she’d met a hundred times before. There, but not there. Although Patti had not spoken aloud as yet—would she be allowed to testify?—Deidre imagined her voice would be soft. “You’ll have to speak up, Ms. McCoy. . . .”

  Yes, indeed. The girl would have to speak up if she was going to get acquitted of this murder charge.

  With a start Deidre realized Patti couldn’t be acquitted. She had to be convicted.

  Deidre’s life depended on it.

  Crossroads

  Eighty-one-year-old Madeline stormed into the middle of Weaver’s main intersection, positioned herself directly beneath its only traffic light, spread her arms wide, and screamed, “I will not allow it!” Just to make sure every atom and chromosome of every person within range heard her proclamation, she turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and did it again. “Do you hear me? I will not allow it!”

  The light guiding the traffic traveling along Emma Street turned green, but there was no need for Madeline McHenry Weaver to move out of the way. The light could show its colors from now until Elvis returned and she would not have to move—for safety’s sake anyway. Yet the truth was, she couldn’t stand out here all day. If the heat of their Indian summer hot spell didn’t get to her, her arthritis would. Annoying thing, getting old.

  “You done yet?”

  Web Stoddard sat at the corner, on a bench that skirted the town’s only park, with one arm draped over its back, his overall-clad legs crossed. The shoelace on his right work boot was untied and teased the sidewalk. He slowly shooed a fly away as if he didn’t have anything better to do.

  Which he didn’t.

  Which brought Madeline back to the problem at hand.

  She waved her arms expansively, ignoring the light turning red. “No, I’m not done yet. And I won’t be done until people start listening to me.”

  His right ankle danced a figure eight. “No people to hear, Maddy. It’s too late.”

  She stomped a foot. “It’s not too late! It can’t be.”

  Web nodded to the Weaver Mercantile opposite the bench. “Want to go sit at the soda fountain? I have a key.”

  “You have a key to every empty business in town. Don’t abuse the privilege.”

  He nodded slowly, then grinned. “Want to go neck in the back of the hardware store?”

  She crunched up her nose. “It smells like varnish and nails in there.”

  “Not a bad smell.”

  “You’re obsessed with necking.”

  “When was the last time I mentioned it?”

  She hated to be put on the spot. “But you think about it a lot.”

  “Last I heard, thinking tweren’t a bad thing. And don’t act like I’m pressuring you. The last time we kissed was 1942.”

  She looked past him toward the gazebo that sat in the middle of the town square. Even from here she could see that the floor was covered with the first sprinkling of gold, rust, and red leaves. Dead leaves. Blowing away, just like the town. Yet that’s where she and Web had exchanged their last kiss. “October twenty-second, 1942.”

  He smiled. “You remembered.”

  “You were abandoning me, going off to war.”

  “You were supposed to wait for me.”

  Ouch.

  She took two steps toward the bank that she and her husband Augustus had owned. Yet proximity or distance from Web wouldn’t make the past right itself. But how dare he bring it up at a time like this? She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “Gracious day. What a look. What did I do?” Web said.

  “Here I am worrying about Weaver and you . . .” She let her head wag like a disappointed mother.

  He sat up straight and his loose lace became sandwiched between shoe and sidewalk. “You need to let the town go, Maddy.”

  She shook her head.

  He patted the bench. “Come over here.”

  She crossed her arms, hugging herself. She didn’t want to be scolded, or worse yet, placated. “I will not let Weaver die on me.”

  His voice softened. “It already has.”

  Her arms let loose, taking in the expanse of the main street. “The town’s going to turn one hundred next year. We can’t let it expire at ninety-nine. It’s . . . it’s sacrilegious.”

  He squinted his left eye.

  “Scandalous?”

  “You’re overreacting, plus taking it way too personal.”

  “It is personal. I’m a Weaver.” As soon as she said the words she wished she could take them back. Her becoming a Weaver was directly related to her not waiting for Web’s safe return from World War II.

  He was charitable and let it slide. “Nothing lasts forever. Not even a family line,” he said.

  Ah. Sure. Rub it in. If only she and Augustus had had children . . .

  “It’s just you and me, kid,” Web said, doing a pitiful Humphrey Bogart imitation.

  But he spoke the truth. They were the only lifers left in town . . . which made her remember, there used to be another. “I can’t believe the Sidcowskys left. We went to high school with Marabel.”

  “You can’t b
lame them for moving to Wichita to be closer to their grandchildren.”

  Madeline strode to the curb in front of Sidcowsky’s Hardware and kicked it. The scuff in her shoe and pain in her toe were worth it. “They’re traitors, the lot of them. Abandoning their lifeblood, their hometown that needs them. They are selfish beings, thinking nothing of the greater good, only thinking—”

  “The Sidcowskys are good people, but they, like others, came to a crossroads and had to make a choice. The Sidcoswkys held on way beyond when others left.”

  Madeline would concede the point—privately. She did a lot of conceding in private. Although she hadn’t let others see her panic, that was the emotion holding her in a stranglehold this past year. What had Queen Elizabeth called her horrible year when Windsor Castle burned and she endured the scandal and divorce of her wayward children? Annus horribilus. So it was.

  Actually the demise of Weaver had not come about in a single year’s time. The disease that had eaten away at its foundation had come slowly, like a cancer cell dividing and eating up the good, only making itself known when it was too late. Townspeople finding jobs elsewhere. People moving out, no one moving in. People getting greedy or panicking when business slowed. Closing up shop. Forgetting in their quest for more money, more success, and more happiness, all that Weaver stood for: family, tradition, safety, security, continuity.

  Where was that continuity now? Where was the loyalty? It wasn’t strictly a Weaver problem. People did not stay employed with one company their entire lives anymore. They didn’t even stay in one neighborhood, but hopped houses and even spouses as if all were interchangeable and acceptable on the frantic road to happiness. The truth was, Weaver’s demise had killed her husband. The doctor may have said it was his heart, but Madeline knew frustration and despair were the real—

  “This town isn’t the only town going through hard times, Maddy. People need to eat.”

  She pointed at the Sunshine Café on the opposite corner. “People could’ve eaten right there, until those quitters, the Andersons, moved out.”