Thursday April 5, 2012

In the past six months three people interactions have profoundly impacted my life in ways that leave me grasping for words. David thinks it’s a little funny that I can’t just say, “Wow, what nice people,” and leave it at that. But I can’t. Each time I feel something so intensely it leaves me analyzing the encounter, looking for clues. Not so much because of the person, but because something in their demeanor is incredibly compelling in a way that tells me they have learned something about life I have not yet fully understood. It’s something I wish I were more of … but I don’t even know how to learn to become more like it until I know what that thing is.

What makes this vague rumbling paragraph even more odd is they didn’t really do anything crazily extraordinary. Extraordinary, yes. But their actions and words alone would never be enough to describe what I felt … and how can I explain how I felt when I don’t know why I felt that way? And how am I going to develop more of that character if I don’t know what it is?

The first was Jan Karon. I had no idea who she was other than David dropping her name in reference to job related things. To me, she was just another of David’s clients. David told me she was an author and that I’d like to meet her. It was the middle of August, I was crazy busy and said, “mmm hhmmm.”

He kept mentioning it and the chapel project he was doing sounded interesting so without a lot of thought, I breezed out to visit one of his last mornings on the job. I grabbed a copy of my children’s books and took them along, not expecting to stay long because I had a huge to-do list and a houseful of guests coming two days later to spend the weekend.

I was halfway up the paved driveway when I realized I had gravely underestimated this encounter and that I should have been paying a LOT more attention to David’s comments.

As if the antebellum house and immaculately groomed grounds were not enough, out stepped tiny, elegant Ms Karon herself. I looked at my flip flops and the dress I was planning to scrub the deck in the minute I got home and told myself, “the only way you can make this any worse is to be self-conscious and draw attention to yourself.” Yes, I do give myself pep talks when the need arises.

The house was beyond incredible. Think of Monticello as a private residence and then imagine having the owner give you a detailed tour herself. Wallpaper hand-painted in a tiny studio in France? Oh. My. Word.

But what blew me completely away was not the house, but Ms Karon herself. She was graciousness defined. Read that again because you probably glossed right over it. You know how some people are just so sweet because that is really who they are and other people try to be sweet sometimes and it comes across kind of syrupy? Well, Ms. Karon IS graciousness in the way some people (like me) TRY to act gracious. I’d already walked in with my books (this is something authors do with other authors I learned somewhere along the way) before I realized she was not only an author, she was a New York Times best seller and had written many novels … something I’m not even about to attempt. Resisting the urge to hide them, I handed them over and she accepted them as delightedly as I’d accept a pound of Blue Mountain coffee. She seemed never to notice that the boys and I were not exactly dressed in visiting-rights finery … not in that, glance at you and be polite anyway type of seeming to not notice, but as in really did not seem to notice. Was that it? The ability to really see people as people?

When we finished our tour and she insisted I have a cup of tea or espresso in her kitchen even though her guests were due to arrive in five minutes, I knew there was something different about her. She “should” have been shooing us out the door. Instead, she was sitting me down at the bar and asking the housekeeper to fix me a shot of espresso.

Why?

Then there was Tom and his beautiful wife (I am so sad that I cannot remember her name) whom we met at the homeshow. Tom has artistic talent that will make you stop dead in your tracks when you’re running with your head down. We all know I’m prone to exaggeration, but I’m not guilty this time. If you don’t believe me, check out his work here.

I discovered that I sort of expect people of enormous talent to be a bit snobbish, or at least reserved. If you were crazy talented or rich or famous or all three, wouldn’t you get tired of of everyone oohing and ahhing and exclaiming? Wouldn’t it eventually feel as though everyone wanted a little piece of you? As though people were trying to bask in your spotlight?

Not these people. There wasn’t even a millimeter of snobbiness. Not an ounce of condescension. In fact, they hardly seemed to realize they had a spotlight. Maybe that was part of it ………….. they love what they do, but it’s not what makes them who they are?

I don’t know. I only know that David and I loved them so much we both wished we lived close enough to hang out with them after the homeshow was over. Fun. Easy to talk with. And our kids are about the same ages. Just the kind of people who make you feel like you’re really friends already inside.

And then we went to Jamaica. David and I both love to travel (who doesn’t?) and when we do, we want to experience the real culture. This is part of why we chose to stay in a tiny resort that didn’t include food. Ok, let’s be honest. The biggest reason is because we couldn’t even afford to look at an all inclusive. But really, we are more of the give-me-the-real-Jamaica people at heart. We knew we’d want to try the local flavors and meet Jamaican people. It’s hard to do that when you only have five days. How do you wade through all the rip offs to find the honest locals you really want to support? How do you know what is a fair price and what is ridiculous? When to bargain and when to leave it as is so as not to offend them?

Friday morning we were standing at Miss Vern’s fruit stand when suddenly someone was at my elbow — “Oh, Vern has the best fruit on the island. We always buy from her. And she’s sweet, too.”

“Well, I don’t know about the sweet part,” said a male voice we later learned was Ron. Vern laughed. “You messing with me, my brother?” It was the easy back and forth banter of someone who knew exactly what David and I wanted to know.

“I’m so glad to know that,” I said. Just like that another Jamaican was at David’s elbow, pressuring us to go snorkeling with him. “I’m Vern’s son,” he said, capitalizing on the exchange he’d just heard. We said great, listened to his spiel, but told him we’d come back later.

Nancy (the first voice) wrapped her arms around me in a big hug and whispered in my ear, “We’re staying next door if you need anything and I just want you to know that is NOT Vern’s son.”

Oh, how I loved her. She didn’t have to do that. Who does? Who puts themselves out there for a total stranger? Later when I went to see Miss Vern for a green coconut to drink, Ron and Nancy called me over to their little porch. I waited on Vern to open my coconut and she told me the man who talked with us that morning was a known thief. “And I just want you to know he is not my son. If you want to go snorkeling, I’ll hook you up with a good driver.” I respected her so much in that moment. She had every right to have refuted what he said the minute he said it.

When I got to Ron and Nancy’s, we finally did introductions and met their friends who have lived on the island for nearly thirty years. They told us all we needed to know about the local attractions … which were tourist traps and which were fun and where to find the best local food. They explained exactly what it would be like to go to Mayfield Falls so we went prepared.

When we were ready to go out that evening, we hopped back over to their little porch for a taxi recommendation. As soon as they heard we were going to Sunset After Dark (their recommendation), they told us they were going to the same place and insisted we ride with them in their van.

Who does that?

But there is more. After we ate, they drove us (the opposite direction of the hotel) up on the cliffs and stopped at Ricks Cafe so we could see where locals jump off the cliffs. They explained the surrounding area and a bit of the local history. And in between they cracked jokes and kept us in stitches. For that night, we were part of their party … not just the strangers hitching a ride. Those four friends were one of the best things that happened to us on vacation.

They even hooked us up with their taxi-driver friend who agreed to taxi us to the Falls (up a horrendous road he normally won’t travel because it’s so hard on vehicles) just because they asked him.

“What is it about all these people?” I asked David again later as we walked down the beach in the moonlight. “What makes them go waaaaaaaaay out of their way to be so nice to us?”

I know Ms Karon gives tours of her house to bus loads of people, but what made her take that much time for just us? What made her offer coffee? What made Tom and his wife exchange so much more than the usual pleasant small talk of one business man to another? What made Ron and Nancy look out for us when they could have quietly let us learn it all ourselves the hard way?

The best (and still vague) way I know to describe it is that they live their life with their arms wide open instead of crossing them against their chest until you’ve proved yourself. They live with freedom instead of fear … whether it’s fear of your reaction to them or fear of how you may take advantage of them. It’s like they don’t even think of themselves at all. They simply give. And in that giving, they changed my world.

What if we all lived life a little more wide open? What if we all sprinkled a little more kindness and generosity? What if we all gave a few more hugs? What if we all changed the world around us a little bit more?

I keep thinking about Jesus and how He gave and gave and gave and gave and gave to people. When I read through the gospels I tear up every time I read phrases like this one … “and Jesus lifted up his eyes and seeing the multitude, was moved with compassion” ……………….

Who does that? Who gives when they are exhausted? Who gives when they’ve given and given? Who gives when it doesn’t include any reciprocation? Who gives when they may be rejected?

Giving isn’t always about exquisitely-wrapped birthday presents and checks in the offering basket Sunday morning. It’s a heart attitude. It’s smiling at the cashier at Kroger and saying, “How is your day?” when it was her job to say hello and you really just want to get out to the car ten minutes ago already. It’s saying “I’m coming” instead of sighing when your three year old needs big bathroom help for the fourth time today because his digestive system is unhappy. It’s slowing down and listening when you’re talking to your friend on the phone instead of simultaneously banging around putting dishes away. It’s seeing that someone needs a hug before she tells you. It’s being your best when you really just want to go to bed and not think about anything until tomorrow. It’s speaking encouragement when you could have stayed quiet.

It’s giving your best when good would have sufficed well enough.

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