A Selfless Act of Friendship

One holiday weekend, a dear friend found herself stranded with a flat tire, facing a four-hour drive home the next day. Though Triple A had used her temporary donut spare, she felt uneasy about embarking on such a long journey with that small replacement. Sensing her predicament, I offered to repair the flat tire myself, drawing upon years of experience fixing flats on my vehicles.

Several hours later, her car was road-ready with the repaired tire mounted, ensuring a safe departure the following day. As an aging fellow, I took pride in still being able to lend a helping hand when needed. While my friend expressed profuse gratitude and offered payment, my true reward was the satisfaction of assisting someone dear in their time of need.

Weeks passed before I received an unexpected gift card from her, a gesture meant to convey a deep appreciation of my efforts. Though I graciously accepted and passed it along to my wife, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. Unintentionally, her gift had diminished the sense of fulfillment I derived from that selfless act of kindness.

                            The True Essence of Giving

This experience reminded me that most of us struggle to accept acts of kindness without attempting to repay the giver, inadvertently denying them the inherent satisfaction of their gesture. While expressing gratitude is essential, we must be mindful that the provider’s genuine desire is not payment, but the joy of helping others.

My intent in repairing her tire was twofold: to resolve her dilemma and to strengthen our friendship, letting her know how much I valued her presence in my life. If she were to read this, I hope she would understand that my aim was never to seek compensation but to ensure her safe journey home and solidify our bond.

As Marilynne Robinson eloquently stated, “There is so much to be grateful for, words are poor things.” Yet, sometimes, words are all we need to convey the profound impact of a simple act of kindness, one that transcends material exchange and resonates in the depths of human connection.

                                                 A Reunion Reverie

The annual pilgrimage back home, to my roots, fills my heart with delight. Garden High’s reunion, a homecoming of sorts, where all classes from its 60-year lifespan converge for “Garden Day” each June. It’s a weekend to bask in nostalgia, surrounded by family and friends, catching up on life’s journeys.

The schoolyard was filled with vendor tents, selling crafts, food and politics. I think there were, perhaps, 300 former students milling around, shaking hands and swapping stories about what has happened in their lives from graduation until now. Later, we filed into the gymnasium to listen to the Keen Mountain Boys and The Jackson Family sing gospel songs. Mountaineers have a tendency to be very religious 😊. It always makes me feel good to be in a group of people I have something in common with.

This year, we paid a visit to dear Aunt Helen at the nursing home, celebrating her incredible 100th birthday milestone. There’s something about being back in that familiar town that unleashes a flood of memories, warming my soul with cherished moments of yesteryear.

Sunday morning, we found ourselves in the pews of the United Methodist church where I grew up. But the service took an unexpected turn when the lay leader, Oakley, announced the minister had fallen ill and opened the floor for someone to deliver the sermon. A hush fell over the congregation as I felt a tug on my heartstrings.

You see, as a young boy in those coalfields of Virginia, I harbored dreams of one day standing at the pulpit, sharing the Word. In fact, just a few years prior, I had penned a piece titled “My Sermon for Christ,” contemplating what message I might impart if given the chance to preach before Him.

And there it was – the opportunity of a lifetime, to deliver a sermon in the very church that shaped my spiritual foundations. Yet, I found myself frozen, unable to raise my hand and volunteer. My wife’s gentle nudge offered encouragement, but my mind raced, thoughts scattered, paralyzed by the fear of humbling myself before those I hold so dear.

I couldn’t help but recall a conversation with our pastor at our church where we currently live from two years ago, where I had asked what he might say if Christ Himself was seated in the front pew. His response? “I don’t know. I would have to think about it.” Wise words, indeed, for such a momentous occasion.

Fragments of my imagined “Sermon for Christ” resurfaced – I would speak of how His wisdom has elevated humanity, inspiring us to be better versions of ourselves. I would express gratitude for His ultimate sacrifice to absolve our sins, and for the countless blessings bestowed upon us.

Alas, my indecision robbed me of seizing that once-in-a-lifetime moment. A dream I’ve harbored for so long, yet the opportunity may never present itself again. For while I may falter at public speaking, that should never be an excuse to shrink from challenges. After all, I’m dreadful at chess, yet that hasn’t stopped me from playing, has it?

Seneca’s words ring true: “It’s not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it.” And I stand guilty of that very offense on this day. May the next chance to step out of my comfort zone find me braver, seizing it with open arms rather than letting it slip through my fingers.

                                          Cherished Class Valedictorian

The journey homeward from our class reunion held one more cherished stop – a visit with our valedictorian Judy at her lovely abode on Claytor Lake near Dublin, Virginia. As the hours melted away, our conversations flowed endlessly, a tapestry woven with information and gratification.

When I inquired about obtaining a copy of her valedictory speech from our 1959 graduation, Judy’s warm smile hinted that the words may have faded from physical form but remained etched in memory. “If I have it, I’m not sure where it is,” she replied, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “I was rather hoping you might have a copy.”

Vague fragments resurfaced – our class motto echoing the immortal words of John Donne’s 1624 prose “Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions”: “No Man Is an Island.” Her speech, as I vaguely recollect, wove a narrative tapestry emphasizing that our life’s accomplishments are not solely our own, but rather a collaborative effort intertwined with the influences and support of others. A poignant truth that has reverberated through my own experiences.

As we bid farewell to Judy’s lakeside sanctuary that evening, our hearts brimmed with the joy of reuniting with an old friend, savoring a delightful meal, and basking in the warmth of her radiant smile and uplifting outlook on life. I must admit, maintaining such a positive disposition is a challenge I often struggle with, which only deepens my admiration for those who can embody it so effortlessly.

Dostoyevsky’s words rang true: “Man grows used to everything. The scoundrel!” Indeed, we adapt and acclimate, for better or worse, to the currents that shape our lives. Yet, moments like these serve as a restorative tonic, reminding us to embrace the beauty that blossoms when we tend to the gardens of friendship and cherish the interconnectedness that defines our human experience.