I was a Boy Scout.
Now my favorite thing about being a Boy Scout was not the jamboree. It wasn't running the timed obstacle course that included either a harrowing rope swing over a real sinkhole or an equally dangerous run around it. It wasn't the camping in frigid weather, or in the monsoon season. It wasn't odd skills like making portable salt and pepper carry-alongs by filling straws and melting the ends. It wasn't knot tying. Learning to flip pancakes in a frying pan without a spatula. Cooking in a dutch oven. It wasn't my canteen, my plate/pan/fork/knife/spoon kit, my compass, or my silver match holder.
Obviously all those things have etched themselves in my mind. But they remain distant from what I appreciated the most.
Helping people.
At the time, it was various projects for others or at our church, Pinecrest Baptist Church in Cordele, Georgia. Our troop was 579. And we had great leaders in Floyde Greene and David Fallin. (Mr. Greene passed away just this month, so perhaps that's another reason why I have been reminiscing about my days in the troop.)
I don't remember all of the pledge. I do remember it started out with "On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country." I remember we were supposed to obey the Scout law. To help others. To focus on remaining fit physically, mentally and morally. I'm paraphrasing ... you can see parts of the real thing in the painting.
Now this will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I was the Scribe of our troop. It was my job to take the attendance, take up any money, and keep track of who had earned what. I had a workbook full of grids and matrices to fill out and keep up with it all. Best "first job" I ever had.
Today, I was reminded of how rewarding it is to help others.
I've been burned in the attempt to help others before, and it's not pleasant. Like the late evening I was dropping someone off at the Hampton Inn across from The Coca-Cola Company, and I was approached (in bright lights and in full view of the lobby, Mom) by a gentlemen who said he and his wife were stranded right beyond the North Avenue exit on the 75/85 connector, and he did not have enough cash to pay for a tow. He was a veteran, offered up phone numbers I could call to verify, and was just trying to get enough cash to get his wife and family towed to the nearest service station.
I can remember how we would help stranded motorists as we drove the many round trips between Cordele and Athens to visit my grandparents. Obviously, times change. I was guarded, and would only crack my window the width of a finger. I gave the man what I had in my wallet, which was a single $20 bill. He thanked me over and over, and set foot back toward North Avenue. I pulled out in the other direction, then decided to turn around and take North Avenue to I-75. Instead, I ended up following this "gentleman" in the dark ... passing him multiple times as I made one loop after another to discover his final destination ... a nearby liquor store. #goodguybummed
But today, it was for real. I pulled into a gas station and was the third in a line of three pumps. The lady in front of me appeared to be helping an older but spry black woman with short, spiky white hair that would put Don King to shame. They seemed to be working out what was going on, so I went about my business. As my tank was almost full, the second woman started to get in her car and the first woman was approaching me asking if I could help a "lady in distress." She was scanning her card and trying to start the pump, and everything was zeroed out, but nothing was happening. (Again, full daylight, Mom, and out in public view with others pumping gas, so I was game to help.)
Apparently, the pump was simply malfunctioning. So after trying a couple of things that the original first responder attempted with no success, I suggested we cancel the transaction and she could back up to the pump in front of my car and we could try again. She smiled and said we could try that, as her grandson was in the back seat proclaiming that perhaps the tank was already full. Ahh, the wisdom of youth.
So she backed up and I helped get her started. As she was sliding her card in the pump, she was saying how her husband had just passed and that he always pumped the gas and "did all this stuff." THAT made my throat swell. She wasn't too sure of her current zip code as she had just moved to the area, so we worked out that puzzle. I asked her what part of Alabama she was from, as I noticed her license plate on her Cadillac was from that state. We talked briefly about her living in Birmingham, and how I knew some places in the city. She had not lived there long, having transplanted from Chicago. Her smile was infectious and her spirit affable considering she said she was having to learn so much after the passing of her husband. Her resolve to "make it on her own" was inspiring, and yet she showed grace and humility during this brief moment when she recognized the need for help.
If it hadn't of been odd and weird, I would have given this sweet lady a hug.
The pump slowed to a stop, and she asked me where the receipt would come from. I showed her how to get the receipt, and she thanked me for assisting. I welcomed her to the Marietta area and wished her a good evening. I got back in my car and watched her wrangle the pump handle back into place, squint at the tiny pump screen, and show a sense of accomplishment as she put her gas cap back on. As I passed, I rolled down the window and said, "Sometimes the receipt prints slow, so just wait for it. I hope you have a wonderful upcoming weekend." She smiled and waved back at me, and raised her hands in apparent amazement as the slip of paper emerged from the machine.
THAT is what being a Boy Scout helped me learn toward being relevant and valuable in this world. Was I going to get paid for this act? Was there anything in it for me, as most folks would weigh out before committing to help? Sure, I got something out of it!
It was an honor to serve. I made someone smile. I managed to help someone feel like they were accomplishing something. I was someone to talk to briefly ... to provide a conversational respite. To prove that love and kindness crosses genders and colors, and is no stranger in the South! I hope the Lord continues to provide real and true opportunities like this one.
Even if it's just pumping gas.
Now my favorite thing about being a Boy Scout was not the jamboree. It wasn't running the timed obstacle course that included either a harrowing rope swing over a real sinkhole or an equally dangerous run around it. It wasn't the camping in frigid weather, or in the monsoon season. It wasn't odd skills like making portable salt and pepper carry-alongs by filling straws and melting the ends. It wasn't knot tying. Learning to flip pancakes in a frying pan without a spatula. Cooking in a dutch oven. It wasn't my canteen, my plate/pan/fork/knife/spoon kit, my compass, or my silver match holder.
Helping people.
At the time, it was various projects for others or at our church, Pinecrest Baptist Church in Cordele, Georgia. Our troop was 579. And we had great leaders in Floyde Greene and David Fallin. (Mr. Greene passed away just this month, so perhaps that's another reason why I have been reminiscing about my days in the troop.)
I don't remember all of the pledge. I do remember it started out with "On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country." I remember we were supposed to obey the Scout law. To help others. To focus on remaining fit physically, mentally and morally. I'm paraphrasing ... you can see parts of the real thing in the painting.
Now this will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I was the Scribe of our troop. It was my job to take the attendance, take up any money, and keep track of who had earned what. I had a workbook full of grids and matrices to fill out and keep up with it all. Best "first job" I ever had.
Today, I was reminded of how rewarding it is to help others.
I've been burned in the attempt to help others before, and it's not pleasant. Like the late evening I was dropping someone off at the Hampton Inn across from The Coca-Cola Company, and I was approached (in bright lights and in full view of the lobby, Mom) by a gentlemen who said he and his wife were stranded right beyond the North Avenue exit on the 75/85 connector, and he did not have enough cash to pay for a tow. He was a veteran, offered up phone numbers I could call to verify, and was just trying to get enough cash to get his wife and family towed to the nearest service station.
I can remember how we would help stranded motorists as we drove the many round trips between Cordele and Athens to visit my grandparents. Obviously, times change. I was guarded, and would only crack my window the width of a finger. I gave the man what I had in my wallet, which was a single $20 bill. He thanked me over and over, and set foot back toward North Avenue. I pulled out in the other direction, then decided to turn around and take North Avenue to I-75. Instead, I ended up following this "gentleman" in the dark ... passing him multiple times as I made one loop after another to discover his final destination ... a nearby liquor store. #goodguybummed
But today, it was for real. I pulled into a gas station and was the third in a line of three pumps. The lady in front of me appeared to be helping an older but spry black woman with short, spiky white hair that would put Don King to shame. They seemed to be working out what was going on, so I went about my business. As my tank was almost full, the second woman started to get in her car and the first woman was approaching me asking if I could help a "lady in distress." She was scanning her card and trying to start the pump, and everything was zeroed out, but nothing was happening. (Again, full daylight, Mom, and out in public view with others pumping gas, so I was game to help.)
Apparently, the pump was simply malfunctioning. So after trying a couple of things that the original first responder attempted with no success, I suggested we cancel the transaction and she could back up to the pump in front of my car and we could try again. She smiled and said we could try that, as her grandson was in the back seat proclaiming that perhaps the tank was already full. Ahh, the wisdom of youth.
So she backed up and I helped get her started. As she was sliding her card in the pump, she was saying how her husband had just passed and that he always pumped the gas and "did all this stuff." THAT made my throat swell. She wasn't too sure of her current zip code as she had just moved to the area, so we worked out that puzzle. I asked her what part of Alabama she was from, as I noticed her license plate on her Cadillac was from that state. We talked briefly about her living in Birmingham, and how I knew some places in the city. She had not lived there long, having transplanted from Chicago. Her smile was infectious and her spirit affable considering she said she was having to learn so much after the passing of her husband. Her resolve to "make it on her own" was inspiring, and yet she showed grace and humility during this brief moment when she recognized the need for help.
If it hadn't of been odd and weird, I would have given this sweet lady a hug.
The pump slowed to a stop, and she asked me where the receipt would come from. I showed her how to get the receipt, and she thanked me for assisting. I welcomed her to the Marietta area and wished her a good evening. I got back in my car and watched her wrangle the pump handle back into place, squint at the tiny pump screen, and show a sense of accomplishment as she put her gas cap back on. As I passed, I rolled down the window and said, "Sometimes the receipt prints slow, so just wait for it. I hope you have a wonderful upcoming weekend." She smiled and waved back at me, and raised her hands in apparent amazement as the slip of paper emerged from the machine.
THAT is what being a Boy Scout helped me learn toward being relevant and valuable in this world. Was I going to get paid for this act? Was there anything in it for me, as most folks would weigh out before committing to help? Sure, I got something out of it!
It was an honor to serve. I made someone smile. I managed to help someone feel like they were accomplishing something. I was someone to talk to briefly ... to provide a conversational respite. To prove that love and kindness crosses genders and colors, and is no stranger in the South! I hope the Lord continues to provide real and true opportunities like this one.
Even if it's just pumping gas.
