Simple Heroics
It was the simplest of gestures, really.
But something about it was terribly poignant and profound -- and
instructive to anyone looking for solutions in today's complex world.
Sixteen-year-old Brian had been asked to participate in a
program at church. Never much one for public speaking, he accepted
the invitation apprehensively. His younger sister, Gretchen, knew of
his anxiety, and tried to soothe him with some good-natured teasing.
"Don't worry about it, Brian," she reminded him more than once.
"You can't really disappoint anyone because nobody is expecting much."
You know -- the sort of thing you'd expect from a little sister.
On the appointed day Brian was in his place wearing his best
clothes, a fresh haircut and the most strained smile this side of
Miss First Runner-Up. Blame part of that on pre-speech jitters.
Blame a little more on the car accident Brian was involved in on the
way to church -- not to mention the broken rib he sustained in the
collision.
"Look at it this way," I whispered to him as the meeting got
underway. "The worst thing that could possibly happen has already
happened. It's clear sailing from here on in."
Well, not quite.
When Brian rose to speak, the pocket on his jacket somehow
became tangled with the armrest of his chair. The unmistakable
ripping sound elicited an audible gasp from the congregation, and
brought a pained expression to Brian's mother's face. As Brian
turned to see what the ripping was, he lost control of the book he
was holding, and it fell on the foot of the woman sitting next to him.
The congregation was beginning to titter, and he hadn't said a word.
I saw him glance at the door. I'm sure he considered running,
and I doubt any would have blamed him. But he bravely made his way
to the podium and began to present his message. He was doing a
pretty good job, all things considered, when I noticed something
unusual -- blood. Dripping from Brian's nose. And not just a little.
At first Brian was unaware of what was happening, even though it
was painfully obvious to those in the congregation. Then he absently
rubbed his nose, and stopped speaking in mid-sentence when he saw the
bright crimson fluid that stained his hand.
To his credit, he plunged ahead with his remarks, as if he hoped
no one would notice the blood running down his face. He tried to
disguise his feeble attempts at wiping the blood with his hand, but
unfortunately, he only succeeded at making the mess worse.
Most in the congregation were transfixed. It was sort of like
driving by an accident on the freeway. You didn't want to see it,
but you couldn't keep yourself from looking. Then one person decided
to stop being a spectator.
It wasn't until she had almost made her way to the front of the
chapel that I noticed Gretchen. You might expect that a little
sister would be taking secret delight in her brother's humiliation,
but not this 12-year-old.
As Brian continued speaking she walked purposefully up the aisle
and directly to his side, a look of sincere concern on her face. She
handed him the handkerchief she was carrying and stood there with
him, her arm around his waist as he quickly mopped his nose, mouth
and chin.
When he finished he handed the hankie back to her. She smiled
at him, gave him a quick squeeze and returned to her seat.
Brian finished his talk, and I'm not the only one in the
congregation who thought his performance after the incident was more
confident than before. Nor was I alone in feeling that the day's
greatest sermon had been preached -- wordlessly -- by his sister.
Like I said, Gretchen's gesture wasn't exactly overwhelming.
Still, it was heroic in my view, in part because of its simplicity.
Gretchen didn't worry about whether or not taking a hankie to her
brother in the middle of a church service was appropriate. She didn't
form a committee to study her options. She just saw someone who
needed help, and she provided it.
You don't have to look hard to find everyday parallels, do you?
We stumble upon similar situations all the time -- the
disoriented tourist on the street, the elderly woman struggling to
reach that first step on the bus, the lost child in the department
store. Usually it doesn't take much to ease the trauma of the moment
-- some pocket change, an outstretched hand, a few kind words or a
couple of minutes of time. But too often we choose not to get
involved, assuming that others will come along to offer the kindness
we keep to ourselves.
And usually, others do. It seems there's always a Gretchen
around who is willing to step outside herself and do what needs to be
done. But the world can always use a few more.
Yeah, I know -- there's the risk that our helpful zeal will lead
us to say or do the wrong thing at the wrong time. But the way I see
it, that risk is worth it -- especially when you consider the
prospect of someday being the one who is up there with a bloody nose.
And without a Gretchen in sight.
~ Joseph Walker ~
<ValueSpeak@msn.com>
Copyright © 2010
Joseph Walker began his professional writing career as a staff writer for the Deseret News in Salt Lake City,
eventually becoming that newspaper's television and live theater critic. Since 1990 he has written a weekly newspaper column called ValueSpeak, which has appeared
in more than 200 newspapers nationally. His published books include How Can You Mend A Broken Spleen?
Home Remedies for an Ailing World for Deseret Book, The Mission: Inside The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints for Warner Books and three ghost-writing projects.
Please take a minute to let Joe know what
you think of his story: Joseph Walker
[ by: Joseph Walker Copyright © 2010 ( ValueSpeak@msn.com ) -- {used with permission} ]
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