In Service of Others
River City Rising
“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” –Mohandas Karamchand (Mahatma) Gandhi
Last year we received a Christmas card from Tyrone. Neither my husband nor I knew anyone named Tyrone and it became a lighthearted joke between us. If I missed his call, he’d later remark in jest, “You must have been on a date with Tyrone!” Last Sunday when I unfolded my Sunday newspaper a Christmas card fell out. The mystery was solved: Tyrone is our newspaper delivery person! Though I was sad that our running joke had come to an end, I was glad to know the name of the person who has faithfully delivered added joy to my Sunday mornings.
I believe one of the most important lessons my dad taught me was to learn the names of those whom I encounter in the service industry, especially on a regular basis. He explained to me, then a teenager, that when a server comes to the table I should remember his or her name and address them by such from that point on. Over the years I’ve tried to take it a step further by actually engaging in conversation with those who are such vital members of our society.
When I saw Patrick, a server at Paulette’s, in Kroger, we stopped and chatted for a bit about the Thanksgiving holiday that just passed. There was gladness in his voice as I listened to him share that he felt very blessed and was indeed thankful for many things in his life. He has blessed my life as well. There has not been a single time that I have eaten at Paulette’s during which Patrick did not offer words of wisdom and encouragement or simply made me laugh. No matter how much time passes between my visits he remembers me, my name and remnants of our prior conversations. In other words, he listens. So that day in Kroger I was happy to return the favor.
Ms. Mary and I conversed one recent chilly morning while she was on duty at the Downtown YMCA parking lot. It had been a rough month for her. Her uncle’s recent passing had occurred within weeks of the eighth anniversary of her daughter’s death. “I’m looking forward to 2014,” she lamented with the heaviness of her heart resting in her words. We talked about seasons and their certainty in our lives. I hoped that she found some comfort in knowing that “there is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” I hoped that as one year turned into the next so did Ms. Mary’s season.
Memphis is built on the backs of Tyrones, Patricks and Marys. Without them we would not have the conveniences of a newspaper to read with our morning coffee or enjoy meals in a restaurant where the staff makes us feel as though we are the only customers to which they must tend. We would not be able to walk away from our parked cars knowing they are being looked after—even in thirty-degree weather.
This holiday season, let’s all take a few moments to learn a new name. Let’s engage in a conversation with someone we have often seen yet seldom spoken with. Listen. Encourage. Remind someone whose pain is reflected in their eyes that inevitably, seasons change. After all, there is a time to keep silent and a time to speak.
Last year we received a Christmas card from Tyrone. Neither my husband nor I knew anyone named Tyrone and it became a lighthearted joke between us. If I missed his call, he’d later remark in jest, “You must have been on a date with Tyrone!” Last Sunday when I unfolded my Sunday newspaper a Christmas card fell out. The mystery was solved: Tyrone is our newspaper delivery person! Though I was sad that our running joke had come to an end, I was glad to know the name of the person who has faithfully delivered added joy to my Sunday mornings.
I believe one of the most important lessons my dad taught me was to learn the names of those whom I encounter in the service industry, especially on a regular basis. He explained to me, then a teenager, that when a server comes to the table I should remember his or her name and address them by such from that point on. Over the years I’ve tried to take it a step further by actually engaging in conversation with those who are such vital members of our society.
When I saw Patrick, a server at Paulette’s, in Kroger, we stopped and chatted for a bit about the Thanksgiving holiday that just passed. There was gladness in his voice as I listened to him share that he felt very blessed and was indeed thankful for many things in his life. He has blessed my life as well. There has not been a single time that I have eaten at Paulette’s during which Patrick did not offer words of wisdom and encouragement or simply made me laugh. No matter how much time passes between my visits he remembers me, my name and remnants of our prior conversations. In other words, he listens. So that day in Kroger I was happy to return the favor.
Ms. Mary and I conversed one recent chilly morning while she was on duty at the Downtown YMCA parking lot. It had been a rough month for her. Her uncle’s recent passing had occurred within weeks of the eighth anniversary of her daughter’s death. “I’m looking forward to 2014,” she lamented with the heaviness of her heart resting in her words. We talked about seasons and their certainty in our lives. I hoped that she found some comfort in knowing that “there is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” I hoped that as one year turned into the next so did Ms. Mary’s season.
Memphis is built on the backs of Tyrones, Patricks and Marys. Without them we would not have the conveniences of a newspaper to read with our morning coffee or enjoy meals in a restaurant where the staff makes us feel as though we are the only customers to which they must tend. We would not be able to walk away from our parked cars knowing they are being looked after—even in thirty-degree weather.
This holiday season, let’s all take a few moments to learn a new name. Let’s engage in a conversation with someone we have often seen yet seldom spoken with. Listen. Encourage. Remind someone whose pain is reflected in their eyes that inevitably, seasons change. After all, there is a time to keep silent and a time to speak.