Slow cars. Daft customer service. Dim employees. Crafty kids. People who cut through your yard. Kids who whack flowers as they walk thoughtlessly by. Telephone menus (okay, let me uncross my eyes.) Life is filled with inconveniences. Waiting. Explaining, again. People who need help.
Actually (I’m told I say this a lot), the “people who need help” doesn’t bother me a great deal. I think I inherited the helper gene, and it’s actu… it’s really not an inconvenience to stop and help. My parents always picked up people for the long drives to church, participated in the big community service projects, and stopped to help stranded people by the road. I think they inherited it from their parents, who lived through The Depression (yes, you capitalize both words) and learned deeply the lesson that we can’t make it without each other.
I hope my kids have this gene and that it’s constantly asserting itself. That’s all I have to say tonight. When you’re old and gray and read this blog somewhere, I hope you find that you’ve worn your life out helping people. Listening. Brightening. Towing. Whatever was needed.
I hope you write books and build things and heal people and whatever else your soul sighs to do. But I hope you’re willing to stop doing those things when you see the car beside the road billowing white smoke or the stumbling steps or the tears. You will find patience distill upon your soul when you embrace a willingness to be inconvenienced.
But no whining. I don’t want inconvenienced that way.