Lonoke, Arkansas
It was July, and we were packed into our family's peach colored 1988 Caprice Classic. We were on the interstate that cuts clear across the state of Arkansas returning from a trip to see my dad's family in Kansas. It was a trip we couldn't really afford to make, but my grandmother was sick, very sick. Looking back I'm glad my parents made those visits happen. As a result I have many strong memories of my grandmother and a strong connection to my dad's family.
We must have been almost exactly at the mid-point of our trip home when the car died. It didn't sputter. There were no warnings. It just turned off like an unseen switch had been flipped. We were in the middle of nowhere. All I could see was miles of open highway before and ahead of us. Mom and we four kids stood by the car while dad ran down the hill. He said that he remembered seeing a house on the other side of the fence along the highway. "I just hope I don't get shot," he said as he jogged off. My mom's lips were a thin line as he jumped over the fence and went into the underbrush out of sight.
It was hot, really hot, sweltering. I can't emphasize this enough.
Finally dad returned. He'd been able to call a wrecker to come get us. I could tell my parents were more relaxed. When the tow truck appeared, he told my dad that only one person could ride in the truck with him and that we couldn't ride in the car as he towed it either. It was too dangerous. We'd have to find another way back to the closest town. He was nice enough to let my parents use the phone he had for his business to call a taxi.
I felt a little bit excited. I'd never ridden in a taxi before, and what piqued my curiosity even more is that I didn't realize taxis existed in the middle of nowhere. I'd certainly never read about such a thing. Taxis were the stuff of New York or Chicago, not the middle of Arkansas.
It was an experience. The cab driver brought along his girlfriend. Both of them were dressed in hospital scrubs, attire I'd never seen on anyone outside a medical facility. My mother gathered us to her sides in the back seat attempting to keep all four of use under the protection of her arms like a mother hen. We talked about this moment once and she said, "When that taxi pulled away, I was convinced we were never going to see your father again."
I can't remember precisely how, but we finally did end up in the town of Lonoke at the cheapest and only motel in town. My dad got there too, and my parents had a little meeting. Apparently the odds were stacked against us. We'd brought just enough money to get us back home, and it was gone now that the taxi and tow had been paid for. It was late on Saturday, and the garage didn't open on Sunday. In essence we were stranded in a strange place for more than one day with no money.
Mom made a suggestion. "Why don't we use some change to buy you a cup of coffee? We can get the kids some water and sit in the air conditioning for a minute." Did I mention that it was hot? She briefed us before we went in. It was explained to us that we didn't have any money and wouldn't be ordering anything. "Don't even ask," she said.
We went in. There was a huge steaming buffet sitting there. I remember how it smelled even now. We hadn't eaten all day. We sat at a table as far from the food as possible, and our waitress came out with a cup of coffee for dad and water for the rest of us.
We started talking about being hungry a little bit too loudly. I can only imagine how bad my parents felt about the situation. Here they were trying to make the best decisions they could for their family, and now all of us were in the proverbial crapper. It happens to us all at some point.
Our waitress came over. She and the other girls working the supper shift that evening had overheard us. They'd taken up a collection among themselves to buy us a meal. I can't remember her face, but I do remember her act of kindness. The cheapest thing on the menu was grilled cheese. It was $1.25, so that's what we all got. Let me say that it was one outstanding grilled cheese sandwich.
After we ate, our family meeting reconvened on the sidewalk outside the little restaurant attached to the motel. Dad had one maxed out credit card in his wallet. My parents decided to try to get a room with that card. Dad went inside alone. Amazingly it worked. We had a room.
I'm sure you can imagine what the room looked like. I believe it consisted of an ancient TV, an even older bed spread, and a velvet enhanced picture of The King, a.k.a. Elvis, on the wall above the bed. My brother was tiny, but for some reason he's become crazy about Elvis. I think he asked my mom if Elvis had ever stayed there. "No," she said wearily, "No." Everything was bolted down. My siblings went crazy running around the room and jumping on the bed. Evidently a good grilled cheese goes a long way toward restoring morale in certain situations.
My dad decided to walk over to the local garage to talk to the mechanic about our car. He was gone for a while. Mom shepherded us all into the bathroom for washcloth baths. She explained to us that we'd have to sleep in our sweaty clothes.
When dad got back, we found out about the next act of Lonoke's kindness. Somehow he'd worked things out with the mechanic. Not only had something financial been worked out, but the mechanic had also volunteered to come in on Sunday and fix the car. I guess dad's explanation of our situation touched his heart.
I don't even remember how or where I slept that night, but I did. The next morning we check out of our room and walked to a gas station where my parents bought us a Faygo to share and a package of sugar wafers --our brunch.
Just as promised around lunch time our car was fixed. The mechanic came through on that Sunday morning, and we made it home before bedtime.
I don't know who those ordinary people in Lonoke, Arkansas were, but they came through for my family when we found ourselves in the midst of a crisis. They didn't help us in order to get anything back; they would never see us again. They didn't help us because they knew us; we were complete strangers to them. They helped us because they wanted to -- because they had goodness in their hearts and because helping us was the right thing to do.
In case you haven't noticed it's election season. There's a lot of talking going on in the media and among friends about the direction our country needs to take. Since Mitt Romney's VP nominee announcement this weekend, the direction of that debate has focused more on the economy, particularly the destiny of government programs like food stamps, Medicaid, and Medicare. I respect this kind of debate, I plan to vote, and I do think that our government matters. However, I think sometimes we get distracted by all the discussion about what our government is or isn't going to do and forget about the things that we can do as individuals.
When my family broke down on the side of the road in a strange place, the government was not there for us; every day people were. Not one person in that small town did any one big thing that got us through. More than one person each did small things that added up.
Last night the debate about government programs raged on a news analysis show. Interestingly a Catholic nun appeared as a guest to talk about the issue. I got excited. "Okay, she's going to redirect this misguided discussion." I thought she'd point out that government can help but that helping people is personal and is something that really only committed individuals can do. You know -- looking past yourself and helping others one on one like Jesus did.
I was disappointed. She didn't say one thing about her faith. What she did say lacked focus; she didn't even make sense to me.
We live in a global community now. My fear is that all the overwhelming need out there will paralyze us. I know I've felt like giving up. I can't help but think, "There's so much need, and I'm just one person," and that's true.
Let me tell you what I think. God wants us to do whatever we can, big or small. Whatever it is; he just wants us to do it instead of sitting around talking and thinking about how big the problems are. This is not a new idea I thought up all by myself. Mother Teresa said that God told us to love one another not the whole world. Gandhi said that we needed to be the change we want to see in the world.
Here's what Jesus said about it:
I don't know what putting this idea into action will look like for you. That's the beautiful thing about it. No single mortal human being can do it all, but each of us can do one thing. Find that thing, and do it. You might be surprised how much God can multiply your simplest act into a blessing for you and other people.
We must have been almost exactly at the mid-point of our trip home when the car died. It didn't sputter. There were no warnings. It just turned off like an unseen switch had been flipped. We were in the middle of nowhere. All I could see was miles of open highway before and ahead of us. Mom and we four kids stood by the car while dad ran down the hill. He said that he remembered seeing a house on the other side of the fence along the highway. "I just hope I don't get shot," he said as he jogged off. My mom's lips were a thin line as he jumped over the fence and went into the underbrush out of sight.
It was hot, really hot, sweltering. I can't emphasize this enough.
Finally dad returned. He'd been able to call a wrecker to come get us. I could tell my parents were more relaxed. When the tow truck appeared, he told my dad that only one person could ride in the truck with him and that we couldn't ride in the car as he towed it either. It was too dangerous. We'd have to find another way back to the closest town. He was nice enough to let my parents use the phone he had for his business to call a taxi.
I felt a little bit excited. I'd never ridden in a taxi before, and what piqued my curiosity even more is that I didn't realize taxis existed in the middle of nowhere. I'd certainly never read about such a thing. Taxis were the stuff of New York or Chicago, not the middle of Arkansas.
It was an experience. The cab driver brought along his girlfriend. Both of them were dressed in hospital scrubs, attire I'd never seen on anyone outside a medical facility. My mother gathered us to her sides in the back seat attempting to keep all four of use under the protection of her arms like a mother hen. We talked about this moment once and she said, "When that taxi pulled away, I was convinced we were never going to see your father again."
I can't remember precisely how, but we finally did end up in the town of Lonoke at the cheapest and only motel in town. My dad got there too, and my parents had a little meeting. Apparently the odds were stacked against us. We'd brought just enough money to get us back home, and it was gone now that the taxi and tow had been paid for. It was late on Saturday, and the garage didn't open on Sunday. In essence we were stranded in a strange place for more than one day with no money.
Mom made a suggestion. "Why don't we use some change to buy you a cup of coffee? We can get the kids some water and sit in the air conditioning for a minute." Did I mention that it was hot? She briefed us before we went in. It was explained to us that we didn't have any money and wouldn't be ordering anything. "Don't even ask," she said.
We went in. There was a huge steaming buffet sitting there. I remember how it smelled even now. We hadn't eaten all day. We sat at a table as far from the food as possible, and our waitress came out with a cup of coffee for dad and water for the rest of us.
We started talking about being hungry a little bit too loudly. I can only imagine how bad my parents felt about the situation. Here they were trying to make the best decisions they could for their family, and now all of us were in the proverbial crapper. It happens to us all at some point.
Our waitress came over. She and the other girls working the supper shift that evening had overheard us. They'd taken up a collection among themselves to buy us a meal. I can't remember her face, but I do remember her act of kindness. The cheapest thing on the menu was grilled cheese. It was $1.25, so that's what we all got. Let me say that it was one outstanding grilled cheese sandwich.
After we ate, our family meeting reconvened on the sidewalk outside the little restaurant attached to the motel. Dad had one maxed out credit card in his wallet. My parents decided to try to get a room with that card. Dad went inside alone. Amazingly it worked. We had a room.
I'm sure you can imagine what the room looked like. I believe it consisted of an ancient TV, an even older bed spread, and a velvet enhanced picture of The King, a.k.a. Elvis, on the wall above the bed. My brother was tiny, but for some reason he's become crazy about Elvis. I think he asked my mom if Elvis had ever stayed there. "No," she said wearily, "No." Everything was bolted down. My siblings went crazy running around the room and jumping on the bed. Evidently a good grilled cheese goes a long way toward restoring morale in certain situations.
My dad decided to walk over to the local garage to talk to the mechanic about our car. He was gone for a while. Mom shepherded us all into the bathroom for washcloth baths. She explained to us that we'd have to sleep in our sweaty clothes.
When dad got back, we found out about the next act of Lonoke's kindness. Somehow he'd worked things out with the mechanic. Not only had something financial been worked out, but the mechanic had also volunteered to come in on Sunday and fix the car. I guess dad's explanation of our situation touched his heart.
I don't even remember how or where I slept that night, but I did. The next morning we check out of our room and walked to a gas station where my parents bought us a Faygo to share and a package of sugar wafers --our brunch.
Just as promised around lunch time our car was fixed. The mechanic came through on that Sunday morning, and we made it home before bedtime.
I don't know who those ordinary people in Lonoke, Arkansas were, but they came through for my family when we found ourselves in the midst of a crisis. They didn't help us in order to get anything back; they would never see us again. They didn't help us because they knew us; we were complete strangers to them. They helped us because they wanted to -- because they had goodness in their hearts and because helping us was the right thing to do.
In case you haven't noticed it's election season. There's a lot of talking going on in the media and among friends about the direction our country needs to take. Since Mitt Romney's VP nominee announcement this weekend, the direction of that debate has focused more on the economy, particularly the destiny of government programs like food stamps, Medicaid, and Medicare. I respect this kind of debate, I plan to vote, and I do think that our government matters. However, I think sometimes we get distracted by all the discussion about what our government is or isn't going to do and forget about the things that we can do as individuals.
When my family broke down on the side of the road in a strange place, the government was not there for us; every day people were. Not one person in that small town did any one big thing that got us through. More than one person each did small things that added up.
Last night the debate about government programs raged on a news analysis show. Interestingly a Catholic nun appeared as a guest to talk about the issue. I got excited. "Okay, she's going to redirect this misguided discussion." I thought she'd point out that government can help but that helping people is personal and is something that really only committed individuals can do. You know -- looking past yourself and helping others one on one like Jesus did.
I was disappointed. She didn't say one thing about her faith. What she did say lacked focus; she didn't even make sense to me.
We live in a global community now. My fear is that all the overwhelming need out there will paralyze us. I know I've felt like giving up. I can't help but think, "There's so much need, and I'm just one person," and that's true.
Let me tell you what I think. God wants us to do whatever we can, big or small. Whatever it is; he just wants us to do it instead of sitting around talking and thinking about how big the problems are. This is not a new idea I thought up all by myself. Mother Teresa said that God told us to love one another not the whole world. Gandhi said that we needed to be the change we want to see in the world.
Here's what Jesus said about it:
We are intimately linked in this harvest work. Anyone who accepts what you do, accepts me, the One who sent you. Anyone who accepts what I do accepts my Father, who sent me. Accepting a messenger of God is as good as being God's messenger. Accepting someone's help is as good as giving someone help. This is a large work I've called you into, but don't be overwhelmed by it. It's best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won't lose out on a thing. (Matt.10:40-42 The Message/ italics mine)I once had a friend who heard Mother Teresa speak. She admitted that afterwards she'd felt disappointed. She had been expecting this dramatic and dynamic speaker. Instead she got a soft spoken little nun saying simple, ordinary things. Mother Teresa changed the world by helping one person at a time. In doing that she inspired others to help. That's all. That's the only secret there is.
I don't know what putting this idea into action will look like for you. That's the beautiful thing about it. No single mortal human being can do it all, but each of us can do one thing. Find that thing, and do it. You might be surprised how much God can multiply your simplest act into a blessing for you and other people.
Image credit: http://romancatholicvocations.blogspot.com/2008/09/interview-with-mother-teresa.html
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