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The Joy Giver

The Source

She was about 80 and she lived in the Chapin area. Actually, I have no idea how old she was, but Helen was the kind of gal who always looked “about 80,” and lots of folks thought she’d lost her mind. But Helen’s custom of talking nonsense disturbed anyone who’d just met her. After you got to know Helen and her peculiar habits you just shrugged off her non-sequiturs with a “Oh, that’s just Helen.” She had this strange habit of suddenly making comments out of the blue that had nothing to do with the original conversation. I had attended a meeting and was standing in the coolness of a June evening with a circle of friends which included Helen. Someone in the group said, “I’m not coming back if that guy’s going to talk all night.” Others in our late-night group agreed that the evening’s speaker was long-winded and a bit self-indulgent. Helen smiled and said, “Did you hear that?” “What?” I asked. “The tree frogs. Listen. Aren’t they beautiful tonight?” Tree frogs? I was concerned with the blowhard who’d just stolen two hours of my life and Helen was talking about tree frogs. The lady was obviously losing it. I’d called her one day to ask if she’d help serve lunch at our summer camp. She gladly agreed then I warned her, “This other lady bringing food sometimes has a pretty rough mouth, Helen. Don’t be offended if she let’s a cuss word slip.” Helen responded, “I think it’s wonderful that these kids can enjoy God’s creation at summer camp.” She obviously hadn’t heard me. I said, “Just don’t be surprised if the other gal seems sort of rough. She has a good heart but a wicked mouth.” Helen replied, “I can remember my first summer camp. Meal time was my favorite.” Somehow I wasn’t connecting and let it go, making sure that Helen knew what time to arrive with her ham sandwiches. The mystery of my friend’s conversational habits all became clear one night when I was invited to her house for supper. Her husband had just finished a tirade about the current president and polished it off with a short benediction about how the country was going to hell in a hat basket. He looked at Helen for agreement and as she ladled out the corn chowder she said, “Isn’t it wonderful to have Ken with us tonight?” Her husband sighed, and then said, “She always does that. I get crabby and she changes the subject to something good. I’ll never learn and she’ll never quit.” And thus I solved the mystery of this otherwise with-it lady who would suddenly throw your conversational train off the track. She was purposely directing each grumpy discussion into something for which to be thankful. It was like a reflex for her. Like a linguistic volleyball game, you’d lob a nasty ball of venom into the air and she’d block it with a compliment, a joy, a reason to give thanks. And on the scoreboard of life the woman was undefeated. Helen and her husband were good friends with a couple and the husband was about the most foul-mouthed man I’ve ever met. When I asked her how she could bear hearing that language all evening, Helen said, “Oh Ken, when we go to pick them up I just pray that God will shut his mouth…and he always does.” Remarkable. Most of us know a Helen. I hope you do…someone for whom simply being in his or her presence causes you to “think up.” Most of us can handle our daily tasks without much help from others, but what we really need are encouragers…someone who’ll give us a verbal pat on the back and say, “You can do this.” I used to teach with a guy named Ed. Although Ed was a remarkable teacher in his own right, perhaps his most valuable quality was his enthusiasm in encouraging others. Any teacher will tell you that professional jealousies are the bane of their occupation, and if you’re going to get encouragement it likely won’t come from the students on a daily basis. But nearly every week some member of our staff would receive a handwritten note in his or her mailbox simply saying, “Nice job on that field trip,” or “The kids were still excited about your assignment when they came to my class.” Ed was worth his weight in encouragement. This morning I went to find my newspaper and discovered it under a pile of wet leaves. Helen would have reminded me how beautiful the fall foliage can be.