Whatsoever you do…
Last week nine women had dinner together in Chicago. This was a topic among all the moms, of all ages. “When did we begin telling our children that we do good things because it makes us feel good to help others?” I think it’s been a gradual erosion. I remember years ago when one of my sons was involved in a coat drive. His little sister asked him why he was getting all these coats. He answered with big brotherly wisdom, “Because when you do good things for people, good things will happen to you. And my teacher says doing good makes you feel good.” I told him he didn’t quite have it. “We do good things because Jesus tells us to. It doesn’t matter what you get in return. We don’t do it for ourselves.” This turned into a dinner table discussion where I discovered that somewhere outside our home all the kids had learned to do good to feel good or be rewarded. At dinner in Chicago these many years later, all the younger moms acknowledged they were still dealing with this around their own dinner tables.
The day I planned to fly home there weren’t any planes. People arrived at the gates, but no planes. By late afternoon all the gate areas were jammed packed. Babies screamed, kids sprawled on the floor with their Cheerios, businessmen cursed into their phones, well, you get the picture. A mother leaned against the wall to nurse her baby. I wished I could get her to my seat. I prayed for her anyway.
Near me, a dark-skinned family, speaking English and something else, tried to stay together. The dad, the uncle, mom, a nine-year-old girl, Iman, and her brother Usman, celebrating his fifth birthday. Iman rubbed his head, kissed his cheek, and said how much she loved her brother. He climbed all over her. I pulled a book out of my bag; the author had signed it for my granddaughter. Usman was delighted with it and “read” it a long time. The mother’s tired and grateful smile said everything. They were waiting for the flight to Atlanta to connect for their long flight home to Nigeria. “When I was a stranger…
Evening comes and, inexplicably, so do all the planes. It looks like the Disney Light Parade. Our gate area clears; the agents want us to board as quickly as possible! (As if it matters. Everyone’s connection has already departed.) It’s nearly empty, and I’m queuing up. There beside me sits a mom with a two-year-old who is desperate to escape his stroller, the dad, bleary-eyed in need of a shave, and two little boys about 3 and 4 pulling Thomas the Train luggage. Mom is crying. Dad tells the little guys it’s time to get on the plane. I hang back and ask her, “Is there something I can do for you?” “No,” she said. “Delta has put my family on two different planes. I’m out of diapers and have little food left for him.” I said, “Here! We’ll swap tickets. It doesn’t matter if I sleep in Chicago or Atlanta, I’m not getting home until tomorrow anyway. So, go!” “No,” she said, “But thank you. I already asked. I’d need two.” I watched as the last of our gate crowd moved up the ramp. The gate agent has no trouble getting on the intercom asking people to give up their seats for Delta. Why didn’t she do it for a family? I know there would have been more than two people in that crowd who would have gladly done it if they had known.
The opportunities are always there for us. But not to make us feel good. But to give God the glory. Sometimes the opportunities are so simple, we over look them.