The Helpers

The Humble Helper

Sometimes it's the small things, like naturally assuming the responsibility of taking out the shopping bags to the car while everyone else goes from store to store. Or taking the bad seat so everyone else can sit together. Sometimes it's about eating last, and making sure everyone else has what they need before he takes care of himself. Or maybe it’s driving back and forth several miles to pick everyone up at the airport. Sometimes it's about being patient while a house full of girls get ready when you've been ready for hours. Sometimes it's about driving two hours just to be with your daughter.

Sometimes it's about assuming humility and never expecting recognition.

He's like that. I've never seen him any other way. 

The Kind Little Helper

She was always the first person to smile at you when you walked in. She was at least 80 and sometimes moved like she was older, but it never caused her big smile to leave her face. I was never sure, but it seemed that she lived alone with her cats, so she was quite literally an old cat lady — but better than that. Every Wednesday night, no matter how her health was, she was there, because she love being around those kids. They made her feel young for sure, but she also knew she could show them something meaningful in her kind little ways. She would ask the kids about school and their families and offer little bits of advice. She was present in their lives, and present with them. Every week she would sit in the same green recliner and hold a prayer box where all the kids could drop little requests into, and you could tell by the way she looked at you the next week that she had been prayin’. She had this sweet way when you talked with her of making it clear that nothing else in the world mattered as much as that moment with you did. Maybe that was what the teenagers all loved so much; in this world of distraction, how often does an adult look at them in the eyes, ask a question, and then wait patiently to hear the whole story? 

The Handy Helper

I met him when I was overseas. I was a little lonely and homesick, but one night I sat with him and his friends under the big sky, and we just talked. He taught me words in his language, helping me feel like I belonged more than I did. He told me about their traditions and we talked about our differences, but how we’re really all the same. Throughout the summer, I watched him work. In the gardens, at the base, on trips. Whatever needed to be done, he was always ready and eager to help. All summer, he was busy doing the things no one asked him to do. And if he was asked, you can bet he did every chore and task willingly and with a smile. He would do the heavy lifting with the others. He’d drive. He would lead songs and help with the little kids. He’d intercede of behalf of those of us who didn’t know what we were doing. He was a local who breached the sometimes awkward barrier of Americans in the developing world and made us feel like friends.

Photo used under creative commons license courtesy of Cory Doctorow - http://bit.ly/1CDsAbD