That’s the moment I knew with certainty that I must pay attention. I knew I must push away thoughts of deadlines, laundry, bills, calories, worries, and regrets. I needed to be fully aware. I felt God’s divine presence tapping me on the shoulder saying, “This outing has the potential to be something quite special if you choose to be all there.”
After spending some time looking at fish and being fascinated by the machine that magically inscribed the word BANJO on a shiny, metallic tag, we headed to Avery’s favorite fast-food restaurant. While I stood in line and ordered, Avery chose a cozy booth in the back of the restaurant. Within minutes, the server slid our tray of food across the counter toward me. As I reached for the tray, a young man wearing a pristine shirt adorned with the restaurant logo stepped up beside me. With a solemn expression he asked, “May I carry it?”
The man’s tone was unfriendly and lacked emotion, but his eyes said otherwise. I could have very well carried that tray myself, but I felt the need to oblige, just as I would a child offering me a flower or a handmade card. I could tell the man wanted to assist and I should accept.
The slender young man with curly brown hair stiffly carried our food to the table. Along the way, I asked him how his day was going. His mechanical use of pat phrases reminded me of some of the students I taught in special education. I pointed to the table where Avery sat, and he set the tray down in front of her. I smiled and thanked him. The man did not smile back; he simply nodded and strode off to see if other customers needed assistance.
“Is he special, Mama?” my daughter asked curiously while opening her ketchup. She’d heard so many stories about my former students with behavioral and learning difficulties over the years that she could refer to them by name.
“Yes, he is,” I acknowledged, feeling a bit surprised that she’d picked up on his uniqueness that quickly. “His job is to carry trays, put trash in trash cans, refill drinks, and things like that,” I explained.
As Avery dug her spoon into the thick Oreo milkshake, she smiled brightly, “I am glad he has that job. Out of all the jobs in a restaurant, I think the helper job is the perfect job for him,” she said confidently.
A few minutes later the young man came back and asked if I needed a refill on my drink. I told him I would love a refill and what I was drinking.
“Remove the lid,” he said robotically.
With short, quick strides he returned with a cup that was filled to the brim. Because it had no lid, the soda spilled when he set the cup down. A look of distress filled his eyes and his face became flushed. I grabbed my napkin before the liquid could drip onto my lap.
I was just about to say it was okay, but Avery spoke first. And her response was far better than what I was planning to say.
“That happens to me,” Avery said, looking straight into the young man’s face with a reassuring smile. She did not say the usual, “It’s okay,” or “Don’t worry about it.” She said, “That happens to me.” Who knew such love, compassion, understanding, and human kindness could be contained in four simple words?
The waiter looked down shyly, and I detected a slight sigh of relief. When he left, Avery repeated her initial thoughts about the man. “I am glad he has that job. He’s good at his job.” Apparently a little spilled soda didn’t make him any less of a good helper in her eyes.
A few minutes later, I carried our tray to the trash receptacle. Because Avery spent most of her time drinking the milkshake, her full glass of ice water had gone untouched. Much to my dismay, the paper cup tipped and hit the floor with a thud. As ice cubes and water spread across the floor, my eyes searched for our helpful friend. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found. Instead, a waitress came from behind the counter to survey the damage. She did not try to hide her displeasure.
“I’m very sorry,” I said sincerely. “Luckily, it’s just water,” I added.
With a disapproving shake of her head, the waitress turned on her heel, most likely to fetch a mop. There I stood in the middle of what was now a pretty good-sized puddle. I suddenly felt very small and slightly embarrassed. I was back in middle school, all eyes on the one who clumsily dropped her tray on the cafeteria floor.
The side door that led to the drive-through line suddenly burst open and there appeared the young man. Oddly, he didn’t even glance at the spill. Instead he looked directly into my eyes and said, “It’s all good.”
Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure his restaurant training didn’t include that line. Oh no, that line came straight from the heart.
“It’s all good.”
I looked down at my shoes, now dripping with moisture. The water had made its way around chair legs and into tile cracks. But when I looked at the way the liquid spread across the floor with absolutely no boundaries, a beautiful thought came to mind:
Compassion spreads.
Compassion is contagious.
Just a few minutes before my H2O disaster, a little girl with uncombed hair and a milkshake mustache had offered kindness to a young man working hard at his job. When he’d made a mistake, she stepped into the mess with him by letting him know she makes mistakes too. Little did I know he would offer it back to me when I was in need of a little kindness and understanding.
“We are all just waiting for someone to notice — notice our pain, notice our scars, notice our fear, notice our joy, notice our triumphs, notice our courage. And the one who notices is a rare and beautiful gift.” I’d written those words by observing the way Avery goes through life. But in that moment I knew there was even more to that theory.
The one who notices and responds with empathy can create a ripple effect. Because compassion spreads . . . compassion is contagious.
For a brief moment, I felt sad. I knew how important it was to respond with empathy, but in my daily life I often forgot the power of compassion. Among the busyness and the hurry, honest mistakes became bigger deals than they actually were. Among the daily distractions and pressures, small blunders were treated like major catastrophes. How easy it was to sigh with exasperation as if my whole day was ruined by one tiny mistake that might inconvenience my life for a whole two minutes. How easy it was to forget that I made mistakes too.
As Avery and I walked hand in hand through the restaurant parking lot, I knew why God wanted me to pay attention that day. It was so I could write the following words and try my hardest to live them each and every day I am blessed to be alive.
Let us notice each other’s pain and ambivalence.
Even if we are different.
Even if we don’t wear the same clothes.
Even if we don’t have the same job or the same IQ.
Because in our hearts, we are more alike than we are different.
Let us acknowledge each other’s slipups and failures with compassion and grace.
Even if it does cause a mess.
Even if it takes a moment of our time.
Even if it’s the last thing we feel like doing.
Because in our eyes, we are all just looking for someone to stand beside us in our mess.
Let us respond with patience to the mistakes of our children.
Even if we’ve never made such a mistake.
Even if we saw it coming.
Even if we are at our wit’s end.
Because in our memory banks, we can all remember standing in the school cafeteria with the eyes of judgment on us.
Let us notice when someone is struggling to get it right, fit in, or please.
Even if it’s not perfect.
Even if his hands shake.
Even if someone else does it far better.
Because in our souls, we are all hungry for acceptance.
Each day when I wake up, I strive to take a page from Avery’s book. I look in the mirror and say, “I will spend minimal time on my hair and put more energy into my smile. And all mistakes will be met with, ‘That happens to me too.’ ”
Call me crazy, but I truly believe that those three aspirations have
the potential to make life go from good to great — or at least cure what ails you in heart, mind, body, and soul.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today when someone messes up, I will not keep track. Today when someone spills, I will not let out an exasperated sigh. Today I will meet blunders with “Everybody makes mistakes” or “That happens to me.” Today I will take a page from the book of kindness and compassion. Today I will be the Giver of Second Chances, the Giver of Hugs, the Giver of Grace not just for those in my path but also for myself. And something tells me that my day will be better because of it.
CHANGE SOMEONE’S STORY BY OPENING YOUR ARMS
I carry little notebooks with me when I take walks because that’s when my best writing ideas come to life. They usually start with just a few words. Sometimes those words become a poem. Sometimes that poem becomes a story. And every once in a while, those words take on an entire life of their own. That’s exactly what happened while walking my favorite loop where cars are sparse and silence is abundant. What began with the words the world needs took me to a place unimagined and brought me back a changed person. Here is where it all started:
THE WORLD NEEDS
The world needs more patience.
Let it begin on the floor of my home as my child struggles to tie her own shoes before school.
The world needs more kindness.
Let it begin at my kitchen counter as I bite my tongue over spilled cereal and offer a helping hand.
The world needs more hope.
Let it begin on a piece of crisp, white stationery as I write words of encouragement for a hurting soul.
The world needs more peace.
Let it begin in my heart as I decide to pick my battles and say, “I am sorry,” as often as I can.
The world needs more human connection.
Let it begin with my hands as I choose to hold on to my loved ones instead of my devices.
The world needs more compassion.
Let it begin with my feet as I walk in someone else’s shoes instead of doling out judgment and contempt.
The world needs more patience, kindness, hope, peace, human connection, and compassion. Yes, it does. And the world is not too big, and these commodities are not too scarce.
It begins in our hearts, hands, words, and actions.
It begins with the people closest to us.
It begins with you and me.
It begins today.
As the poem reveals, I am a big believer in small, daily gestures of love. I believe such actions hold the power to transform our relationships, but also the world. So each day I try to make a difference by opening my arms to the ones closest to me. Most days, that is enough. Most days, that is more than enough. But then sometimes I am called to do more.
Sometimes I am asked to open my arms to those outside my inner circle. My first reaction is usually resistance, and that resistance can be very strong. Thoughts of time, cost, and inconvenience keep my arms tucked tightly around me. But I’ve learned something important on this Hands Free journey: when I feel most resistant to opening my arms is when I should open them the widest. So when my friend walked up to the church podium to talk about a mission God had placed on her heart, I secretly wished I hadn’t come to church that day. My friend, who doesn’t care for the spotlight or public recognition, was bravely holding a microphone telling the congregation about the calling she felt to redecorate the dark and gloomy rooms of a local women’s shelter. She explained that each of the one hundred rooms housed two mothers and their children who were trying to rebuild their lives after a traumatic life experience. My friend described how a little paint, some soft rugs, new towels, colorful bedding, and a bedside lamp could lift the women’s spirits and make them feel worthy.
As this loving woman invited the congregation to adopt a room, I felt that familiar pang of resistance. I began calculating time, cost, effort, and availability. Just as I’d practically convinced myself I would pass on this opportunity, Natalie scooted up against me. Cupping my ear with her hand, she whispered enthusiastically, “Let’s do it, Mom!”
Before I responded, I happened to look down at my arms. They were folded tightly around my body. I slowly opened them to pull my child close. The answer was clear. “Yes, Natalie,” I agreed. “Let’s do it.” Then I said a prayer of gratitude, knowing my heart was about to be filled in unimaginable ways.
Natalie and I spent an afternoon shopping for items for the room makeover. I stuck to the practical things like a shower curtain and a trash can, but Natalie was drawn to items of comfort like candy, bags of coffee, soft blankets, and coconut-scented shampoo. I watched her arms fill with things that make a home a home.
On the day of the redecoration, we were joined by Natalie’s and Avery’s two best friends, Catherine and Meredith. I was amazed that there was no load too heavy . . . no dirt stain too stubborn . . . no bathroom bug too intimidating for these four kids. For six hours they cleaned, organized, and rearranged with vigor. At one point the children were folding baby clothes for the twins who lived in the room when a resident of the facility approached them. “You like helping people, don’t you? I can tell,” she said matter-of-factly.
After the resident walked away, I watched the children and thought about this unconventional compliment coming from someone who clearly had a different perspective about what actions were praiseworthy in society. She was definitely on to something, I thought. As I went back to scrubbing dirt off the linoleum floor, I expanded on her line of thinking:
What if emphasis was placed not on the price of our home, but on the openness of our hands? What if the warmth of our smile was noticed over the whiteness of our teeth? What if we acted on the callings of our hearts rather than mainstream media’s materialistic urgings? What if our wealth was not measured by how much we possessed, but how much we gave?
Well, if the time my family and friends spent at the women’s shelter was any indication, this would mean less competition, more compassion . . . less greed, more gratitude . . . less putting each other down, more holding each other up.
I wanted to be a part of this perspective shift in the world. It would start at home. I vowed to remember the powerful impact of outstretched arms despite my initial thoughts that almost discouraged me from helping. But just in case I needed one more confirmation, I received an email message from a mother of one of Natalie’s classmates to seal my vow.
Please tell Natalie thank you for me. I was tucking my child in bed and she was telling me about her day. She said they watched a movie in class and Natalie was the only one who let my daughter sit in her lap. She is our cuddly and nurturing child who feels safer when tucked in a lap, even at ten years old. She said that Natalie held her for the whole movie and that it was the best day because of that one thing.
If I didn’t know it before, I knew it then: the world needs more open arms.
The children
The mamas
The daddies
The babies
The aging
The dying
The lonely
The sick
The weak
And even the strong . . .
They all need more open arms.
And we have them. We have them. Sometimes that is all that we have. But it is enough.
It is more than enough. Let us begin wherever we are.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today I will look for those with warm smiles, helpful hands, and generous hearts. I will look for those who see hope where others see a hopeless cause. I will look for People Who Like to Help — those who replace fear, sorrow, and uncertainty with love, joy, and promise. They may never make the cover of a magazine, but they make the world a better place. Today I will tell them so, and I will act in kind. Instead of one set of open arms, there will be two. Instead of one positive spark, there will be two. Together, we can create an unstoppable light in a painfully dark world.
CHANGE SOMEONE’S ST
ORY BY TAKING THE FIRST STEP
I was licking the envelope when Natalie came into the kitchen. “Who’s the letter for?” she inquired. I told her it was for Miss Amanda, her former preschool teacher who had also been her babysitter when she was very young. Natalie didn’t remember Miss Amanda, but I sure did. In fact, I would never forget her. There I was in a brand-new city with a baby, a toddler, and a traveling husband. Amanda would come to our house a few hours a week and play with Natalie and Avery. I remember feeling quite homesick and alone, yet incredibly grateful for this trustworthy young woman with gentle hands and a hearty laugh who was able to give me a reprieve.
“Amanda helped me through a very hard time when you and your sister were small,” I explained. “And now, I want to help her. She and her husband are trying to raise money to bring home their baby from Uganda.”
“Can anyone help — or is it just for adults?” Natalie asked. When I told her anyone could donate, Natalie literally ran to get her wallet. She returned looking very sad. Much to her dismay, all that was left of her recent birthday money was one single dollar bill. Natalie didn’t hide her look of anguish. “A dollar isn’t much,” she concluded sadly.
I held my breath. This child was my giver — the one who thought nothing of giving painted rocks or shiny seashells as birthday gifts or offering her own favorite trinkets to beloved friends. I would be heartbroken if she put the dollar back in her wallet, embarrassed to give such a small amount. I hoped societal influences hadn’t already altered her uninhibited way of giving that had greatly impacted my own offerings.
“Do you think a dollar will make a difference?” Natalie asked skeptically.
I knew my answer had to be convincing. Just having turned double digits, Natalie was quite aware of what things cost — and I suspected she knew that adopting a baby was very costly. “Imagine if everyone Amanda knew gave one dollar,” I proposed. Natalie could do the math. Her eyebrows rose with interest. “Plus, considering what she’s going through, receiving a note of support from a child she used to babysit might mean even more to Amanda than money,” I added.
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