I went to the dump the other day to recycle some cardboard boxes and broken furniture. I pulled up to the weigh station, paid my $20, followed the direction of the attendant and backed into my designated spot to unload. I put the truck in park, stepped down, and before I knew it my almost naked strappy sandaled feet had sunken into nearly three inches of mud. I looked up; the attendant and I locked eyes and shared a little chuckle about my super smart choice in landfill footwear. He shyly and sweetly apologized for the mud, and I assured him there was no harm done.
Trying not to slip, I made my way through the mud to the bed of the truck, hopped in the back and started unloading. The same attendant helped me with the one large piece of furniture and then disappeared as I continued unloading the smaller, more manageable items. I remember thinking how nice it was of him to help. I'm not sure what their rules are on customer assistance, but no one has ever helped me before and I was grateful.
After I finished unloading, using the last scraps of paper to wipe the mud from my sandals and toes, I turned to slowly ease out of the truck—mindfully this time!—and I was stunned at what was waiting for me. Right there on the ground was a homemade cardboard walkway from the bed of the truck to the driver’s side door. As I was obliviously throwing flattened cardboard boxes out onto the ground, that same attendant had been picking them up and arranging them in a line so that I wouldn't have to step in the mud on my way back. I was in absolute awe.
He lit up when he saw my face; I don’t think my smile could have been any bigger. He seemed genuinely surprised by how much I appreciated it. It was as if he had absolutely no expectation for how I would respond, and somehow that made it even more remarkable. I asked him his name: Abraham. I introduced myself as well, we shook hands, and I thanked him deeply for his kindness. I then proceeded to make my way back to the front seat, joyfully dancing along my very own cardboard red carpet.
We waved goodbye as I drove away, and this overwhelming feeling of goodness washed over me. I can't really explain it any other way—just PURE GOODNESS. In my rear view mirror was a complete stranger in long sleeves, long pants, a reflector vest and a hard hat in nearly 90-degree weather who went out of his way to make sure my feet didn't get dirty at the dump.
As I exited the facility and started to head back home, I couldn't seem to get this man out of my mind. I was beyond moved by this random act of kindn—no—LOVE. That famous Mother Teresa quote popped into my head about doing “small things with great love,” except I couldn't bear to call this a small thing. But great love? Yessiree.
Moments later I pulled over to the side of the road. I wasn't sure why at the time; I just knew that I wasn't supposed to be heading home just yet. Something in my heart felt unfinished, incomplete. I felt this internal calling, this cosmic pull to go back to the dump (said no one else ever! LOL).
I looked up and I happened to be parked in a shopping center with a Rite Aid. That was it—a “Thank you” card! (I may or may not have a mild obsession with greeting cards.) I go inside and head straight for the Papyrus display, always my first choice but the selection was a little sad. So I mosey on over to the main card aisle and opt for a "Thank you for bee-ing so nice!" card with a very happy bumble bee holding flowers in the shape of a heart. Corny. Sweet. Perf. And because I wanted to do something a little more special for him, I got a gift certificate for dinner for two at a cute place nearby and stuffed it inside.
I started to get really excited, and it’s kind of hard to explain why exactly. It wasn't the hope for a certain reaction or wanting him to think I was nice or a good person or anything. I mean, trust me, I have done plenty of things in my former people-pleasing lifetime with creepy, subconscious "Like me! Like me!" motives. But this came from way down deep. A pure, sweet, innocent, joy-filled desire to keep the love going.
I pulled back into the weigh station; the cashier immediately recognized me and asked what was up. I let him know that I was there to see Abraham, that he had been so nice to me earlier and I wanted to thank him. He smiled and ran off to whisper something to a male colleague not too far away. The second man looked up at me, smiled, and yelled something off into the distance. Out comes Abraham from behind a row of cars.
I wish you could have seen the look on his face when he saw me because I'll never be able to describe it. Pure shock, for one. Maybe a little confusion. Curiosity. Wonder. But mainly shock, I think. I pulled up beside him and jumped out of the truck. I held up my bright yellow card with "Abraham" and a little heart written on the front (with lots of my cutesy little decorative dots and sh*t).
I let him know how touched I was. How I couldn't stop thinking about what he had done for me. How people like him make this world so incredibly beautiful. His eyes welled up with tears. I cried immediately. He blushed. Smiled. And blushed some more. We hugged. We were like shy, giddy little kids. No agendas. No expectations. No egos. Just two strangers. Heart to heart.
He asked me to take down his number so I could text him next time I’m there. I did. And I will. I later looked up the spiritual meaning of the name Abraham. I found that in the long list of Bible saints, he alone is spoken of as "the friend of God." Yup, sounds about right.
I've thought about him a lot since that day. Probably multiple times a day, to be honest. I will never forget what he did for me. And that's why I went back. And that's why I share with you that I did. Because if people can see the impact that they can have on others—through words and actions both big and small—I believe that it can spread like wildfire. And it starts with us.
The next day I went to the post office to ship something for work, and a mural on the wall just above the counter caught my eye. Hand-painted in blue it read, "Imagine all the people, living life in peace." Lennon. I thought of Abraham. Peace. LOVE. Imagine…
So as we try to make sense of this crazy time and find peace in all the unknown, perhaps we can just try to love a little bit more as we go about our day. Kindness. Generosity. Patience. With those closest to us. With strangers. In our own homes. At the dump. Sometimes I think it could really be that simple.
You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one.
And if you have a couple more minutes to spare...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_YXSHkAahE