I was Served When I Learned of Your Service to Others
It was not long after moving to Payson when I met you. You sat in the back row at church, each week passing around the Sunday school role.
Your answers to questions were witty yet very thought provoking and filled with information I needed to learn. You gave me information regarding the history of the home my family had just moved into, further solidifying my appreciation for it, and my resolve to build upon its positive history.
There were times of great frustration on frazzled Sundays with fussy kids when you said a kind word to make me feel less out of control.
There were days when I’d see you taking the bus somewhere during the day.
Where? I had no idea. Work, I assumed. I knew very little about you; just that you attended my church and lived in a house up the street, quietly going about your life doing good.
Recently, however, I learned that there was more than meets the eye.
I learned that you spent the better part of your life taking care of sick and injured animals, before an injury left you unable to continue what you loved.
I learned that you are married and have children and grandchildren.
I learned that the home up the street is not yours, but your aging mother’s, and you spend nights taking care of her so she can live the remainder of her days in her home.
A person who loves you dearly, told me that after waking up in the mornings, you head back to your home in another town to spend time with your wife and grown children, often tending your grandchildren so their parents can work.
Yet, when I called to speak to you about all your good works, you spent the time showering me with kind words about my family. When I asked about you, and if I could learn more about why you do what you do, you kindly declined to have your name added to a story.
I met you when purchasing a new truck. You filled out all the paperwork, and carefully scraped the price tag off the windshield. You were honest. But it wasn’t the first time I saw you.
Nearly each morning, you helped my kids and countless others cross the street safely on their way to and from school. Rain, snow or shine, you were there to keep children safe, all with a smile on your face.
When I met you at the dealership, I asked about your story, inquiring what led you to spend time helping kids cross the street. With that same smile, you told of a challenging time. An injury on the job rendered you unable to work the job you’d spent years doing, and doing well. Forced to retire early, you didn’t look back, but forward.
Becoming a crossing guard was a way to give your injured body much needed exercise as it healed, and as you moved forward in life. Little did you know the impact you would have on the future generation.
When I asked for the opportunity to share your good works, you got shy, and said, “I’ll think about it, but I’d rather just do things quietly.”
I first saw you when visiting the ward building prior to moving to the area. You were a speaker, and a humble one at that. I could tell that the pulpit wasn’t a place of comfort for you, but you delivered your message well. I was left wanting to learn more.
As time went on, I learned of a past. One filled with snow, and lots of it. You were on the ski patrol at a popular resort, sporting what I’ve been told was an awesome ponytail. You left your position on the mountain for one in the healthcare world, still serving others, but in a different way. While you left the mountain, the mountain never left you.
Hours and hours, you’ve spent helping create a safe mountain haven for mountain bikers, hikers and runners like me.
Yet, each time I asked about your service, you always directed my attention elsewhere. “Go talk to that guy,” you’d say. “He’s the one who does more.” Always discounting the time you spent serving others.
You may not want credit for your service, but I want to thank you (each one of you) for quietly doing good things to help those around you.