Kindness with a Shovel

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted – Aesop

We had a wonderful little snowfall here the other day. I looked outside and noted that we had received about a quarter inch or so. Just a dusting. That’s the way I like it.

The next day, of course, Mother Nature decided to share more of her bounty with us, and when I awoke we had more than half a foot of snow. Ugh.

Our Pacific Northwest weather, particularly in the Puget Sound region, tends to be far milder than the interior regions of either Washington or Montana, but we still receive our snows, and they generally come in the first couple months of the year rather than the last couple of months. That’s just the way it is.

I looked at the snow out our window and admired how still and quiet it lay upon the ground. There are few scenes more idyllic than those of new-fallen snow.

Sadly, life requires we destroy the idyllic by going out and plowing the driveway. That would be fine if I had a plow, of course, but I don’t. I have a trusty little snow shovel that has held up quite nicely for over a decade. It fits me perfectly and isn’t as heavy as some of the “I’m-sure-they-were-made-of-iron” snow shovels I’ve had to muscle around in my three-score-plus years trudging this “… earth, our island home” (Book of Common Prayer).

Unfortunately, we couldn’t wait for Mother Nature to come back and clean up her mess as we had places to go and things to do, so I got dressed, bundled up, and with trusty shovel in hand went to work clearing our driveway. Thankfully, it is mostly downhill from the house to the street, so it didn’t take but about thirty minutes to get it all cleared, and another thirty to get my pulse down out of the scary-high triple digits.

We took care of our errands after that, after which we came home and enjoyed a lazy afternoon of reading, writing, and whatever else we were of a mind to do.

A few hours later I heard the tell-tale sound of wheels spinning on ice and noticed our neighbor and another woman struggling to drive away from the curb along which our neighbor’s guest had parked. Although they weren’t parked along much of a grade, it was enough to prevent any forward movement.

I debated whether or not I should help them (a debate which lasted about 2.3 seconds) and decided to bundle up and do my bit for the good of the community. It seemed that somewhere in the deep dark recesses of my mind I had heard or read a story about someone helping a stranger, and a corresponding command to go and do likewise, so I did.

I put on my boots and coat, and with the added traction that said boots (and a body mass of about fourteen stone) would provide, helped them get turned around and moving down the road toward their ultimate destination.

It doesn’t take much to be kind or courteous, does it? We see someone in need, or someone struggling, and instead of turning a blind eye, we reach out offer a hand.

It just seems to takes far less energy to be kind. I know people who blow their cork at the slightest provocation, and I don’t understand it. Each is entitled to an opinion; each is entitled to their space on the chessboard of life, and while games of Capture the Flag have their time and place, I don’t see the thrill of making every other moment a scramble to the top, especially when it requires climbing on the backs of others to make that journey.

So I’m glad my drapes were open enough so I could see a neighbor in need. I’m glad I was able to get my boots and coat on to be of service and contribute my mass to something more productive than keeping my couch in place.

As Aesop famously said, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” I think Jesus would have enjoyed comparing notes with the Greek story-teller. That would have been an entertaining conversation to sit in on and listen to, eh?

Snow it went last week here in this, our valley.

A Civil Path

I like people with depth, I like people with emotion, I like people with a strong mind, an interesting mind, a twisted mind, and also that can make me smile. Abbey Lee Kershaw

We have embarked on a new year, and it is officially referred to as an election year. I cringe because much of the past three years in America has been so acrimonious as to fatigue even the stoutest of hearts.

I am pleased as punch that I am not a political analyst or pundit. I have the privilege of writing on matters of life and faith. There may not be a whole lot of depth or meat in what I have to say, but if the lions starve on the floor of the Coliseum, I’m not going to cry.

It seems strange that so many people say they yearn for peace and harmony while simultaneously hoisting their flags and rattling their sabers. Although modern light sabers are more given to humming than rattling, the effect is the same: dread.

Dread. One letter more than Dead. It’s not that far off, is it?

I was speaking to a friend of mine who happens to fall on a section of the political spectrum outside my own sphere of influence, but we get along fine. How?

To start with, we don’t call each other names. Labels are fine if they’re affixed to cupboards so one can find the plates or the drawers with the silverware, but they aren’t as helpful when dealing with people. For one thing, labels are often wrong.

The story is told of a woman who frequented a high-end clothing store. The store would open early or stay open late in order to cater to her whims. She would phone ahead, and the manager in the clothing department would pre-select items she was sure the woman would be interested in buying, and she would remove the proper labels and replace them with Size 2. No matter what the mirror told the customer, she was convinced she was a size 2, and had the labels to prove it!

No, people are far more complex than labels, so we honor one another by ignoring the labels we might be tempted to use, and actually talk to one another.

It is our church’s tradition (and calling) to “respect the dignity of every person.” I’m pretty sure that comes from the Bible, whether it is a direct quote or not. While Jesus may have argued with his enemies (and we do have enemies in life), his challenge to them was always to “be better than that.” Again, that’s not a direct quote, but I am sure it is an accurate reflection of what was in his heart at the time.

There are people whose decisions and actions clearly violate the tenets of their faith. Mine sure do. None of us is perfect, and while I would love to think myself rational and reasonable and one who mostly pleases God with the things I say or do, I know I fall short of that ideal, and I have no doubt there are folks who could find plenty of evidence to bear witness to my shortcomings.

So the second thing that enables civil discourse is having a sense of humility when offering our thoughts: I think I am right, but I could be wrong. Let’s talk about it. That’s called conversation. We talk.

If my friend and I debate, it is with minds open to hearing what the other has to say. Each of us has a story. Each has experiences that help to shape our perspectives, so we respect the dignity of the other by honest listening.

My hope as we move forward into 2020 is that we will each find ways to build one another up. Even when we are most distressed by what we see or hear on the news, know that it is barely a blip on eternity’s radar. If a butterfly flapping its wings in Beijing can cause the sun to shine in NYC in the place of rain, our little acts of civility can surely move the needle of grace far beyond what we might otherwise imagine.

That’s my hope and prayer for 2020 in this, our valley. Peace!

January 2nd = Science Fiction Day

I did not know that.

My first "novel" was a science fiction story that was about 6 chapters long, written back in the fourth grade. Each chapter was a paragraph in length, and it involved a trip to the moon. I read it to the class and they seemed very impressed. I never got the story back from the teacher. I had typewritten it on the family's manual typewriter (which meant, to me, that it was an official manuscript). Sadly, no copies exist.