A friend came to town for a funeral. Since death doesn't always give much warning, neither did her request to stay at our home. But we have a spare room, and all it took was clean sheets to make her feel welcome. When it was time for her to leave she tried to convey her gratitude which seemed more inflated than was merited by my meager efforts.

 

How does such magnification occur? I made a small gesture which somehow felt generous to her. 

 

I remember a small boy named Josh who used to come to church in California. He lived near the property and was drawn to join our Sunday School classes. I was glad to have him participate with the singing, and do the projects. After a few months he told me that he was the only person in his family that believed in God, which took me out at the knees.  In the spring the women's guild hosted a rummage sale as a fund raiser, and Josh appeared with some coins in his pocket. He bought a clip on tie. It was too long for him, but I complimented him on the purchase. 

 

"Maybe now the grown ups will like me."

 

With some pain I realized that probably no adults had ever spoken to him. Why would they even notice a kid with messy hair, when there were refreshments to enjoy and friends to chat with? 

 

I don't give myself much more credit, though. I never knocked on his front door to introduce myself to his parents. It turns out that Josh was braver than me. I regret that. 

 

Recently I had a smoothie with a friend who has been pushed to the periphery of some social circles. I asked her if she was angry about how she has been treated, and she smiled. 

 

"You are here with me right now." 

 

The tears came then. All I did was look in her face and hear what she wanted to say. Miraculously that was enough.