Small World, Big Impact: BreAnn

Know what I love about writing? All of it, really, but today what I love about writing is how it reminds me of the things I'd forgotten. Ryan tells me, every single time I finish a scrapbook, that he's so glad I kept a photo journal and written diary of all we do, because even just a couple of months down the road, he's forgotten things we did, and he's so glad I captured the memories forever.

Today's story is one I'd forgotten, but my heart got just a bit convicted when I read about it in my old writing project. I'm freshly aware today of how the small things can be the big things.

For the first 25 years {or so} of my life, I was part of the Marion Easter Pageant. It was a huge tradition in our community, where denominations came together to portray the events of Jesus' last week, crucifixion and resurrection. {If you want to see it, there's a video here.}

We had a dress rehearsal {in full makeup and costume} on the Wednesday before Easter, and two performances: one on Good Friday night and a sunrise service on Easter Sunday morning. For Easter Sunday, all the participants had to be at the venue at four in the morning for makeup before the performance at six. That's challenging for kids and adults alike!!

I'm not sure how old she was when she started participating in the Easter Pageant, but BreAnn wasn't very old at all when she came into our dressing room. The room was very small {whatever you're thinking of right now as "very small" - go ahead and cut that in half and possibly in half again} - and we had a proportionately large number of women and children vying for space in that little place. We never could decide if it was more beneficial to get the kids ready early and send them to the hall to wriggle and squirm on the cool cement floor or if we should keep them corralled in the hot little room with us.

BreANn was full of personality and full of wiggles. She never ceased to find a way to get makeup all over the walls...the table...the floor...her costume...other people's costumes...and all the while, off her actual face. We would end up patching her makeup and straightening her costume dozens of times before the pageant began. She would sneak candy off the table whenever she could. {Candy that had been brought in to keep the adults functioning, not add hyperactivity to the already energy-laden kids.}

Toward the end of the Pageant's run, though, BreAnn began to grow up. She was a teenager and still participated every single year. She came to every rehearsal...early. That was more than many of the adults managed to do. She never missed a performance. Ever. She learned to do her own makeup and learned how to keep it ON her face and OFF the walls. She learned to walk away from the candy and stay calm.

A few years before the end of the Pageant, I was a student on campus at IWU, and our dorms had drinking fountains with an extra hot water spout, for hot water or Ramen noodles. Since the venue for the Pageant was not known for its abundance of hot water, I decided to get a thermos of hot water to take with me to each performance. Makeup was so much gentler when applied with the assistance of hot water, not frigid water.

The first year I moved out of the dorms, I mentioned at a practice that I wouldn't be able to bring the hot water anymore, because I didn't have the magic drinking fountain. {Why I didn't think to just HEAT SOME WATER is beyond me. Can't even blame the gallbladder this time.}

Without hesitation, BreAnn spoke up. "I'll bring it! I just live a block away."

I was both surprised and impressed with her initiative. While all the rest of the women {including yours truly} were trying to decide what to bring in for snacks and breakfast, she offered to bring what she could. She couldn't cook and probably didn't have money to buy food, but she could bring a thermos of hot water, and she wanted to contribute.

For the rest of the Pageant's run, BreAnn brought the hot water for our dressing room - for every performance.

I have no idea where she is now. The Pageant was forced to shut down many years ago, after the venue was deemed unsuitable for use. It's been remodeled now and they've brought back a version of the Pageant, but I'll always be fond of those early years on cold floors and crowded dressing rooms with a young girl learning to fit in where she could. I appreciated the way she focused on what she could do, rather than what she could not do. It's a lesson I'm still learning.

Small World, Big Impact: Trudy

1. Today is our 28th monthiversary. Still crazy in love with this guy named Ryan who has put up with crazy ole me for 28 months now.

2. We started priming our room last night. It's HUGE. Funny how it doesn't feel so big until you go to paint it, right?

3. My computer isn't feeling well, so I'm posting this from Ryan's...so for anyone who actually might read the "posted by" thing at the end, don't be confused. It's really me. Bekah. :)

4. On to today's regularly scheduled programming. I'm sharing another person whose life has so touched mine and helped shape me into who I am today.

I knew Trudy considered me a special friend when she asked me to be in the delivery room when she gave birth to her first child. There's a whole separate level of trust involved when you invite someone into one of the most sacred moments of life. But even then, I didn't have a clue how much she really loved me. It wasn't until almost a year later that she showed me in a way no one else ever had...how much I meant to her.

I was going through a rough patch with someone else in my life, and I was frustrated beyond belief. It was a ridiculous situation that had blown out of proportion in control in ways it never should have. I was a brand new adult...in that awkward time when I was expected to know how to handle things because I was an adult and dreadfully unaware of how to handle things because I was such a new adult.

The only thing I did know was...something had to change. I couldn't continue living the way I was in that moment. The stress would kill me if something else didn't.

So one night, I decided to call Trudy. It was late, and I knew the discussion wouldn't be a short one, but I needed her advice. As she always does {for everyone}, she dropped everything she was doing and talked to me for quite a while. She listened, she offered her opinion, and she offered advice. She said she would pray for me, and she told me she hated to see the situation dragged out like it was - and all the people whose hearts were hurting over it.


One of the hardest thing about the entire mess that entangled me was the mutual friends I shared with the other person involved. They were numerous, and I had reached a point where I felt so wounded by the words and actions of the other person that I just didn't feel I could continue to share close friendship with anyone we shared. I didn't think I could trust anyone who knew the truth of what was happening between us and still supported someone who hurt me so deeply. I told Trudy that right out loud, and she immediately started crying.

"It's not fair, Bekah," she said. "I love you, and I don't want to make a choice that could cause me to lose your friendship." She said other things after that...things I don't even remember. What I remember is that she cried.

I didn't remember any of my friends ever crying over me before. {Of course, to be fair, I think it was the first ultimatum I'd ever issued to a friend.} But through her tears on that phone call, I learned something I'd never known before: I had friends who valued me enough that they would cry at the thought of our friendship dissolving. Before that call, I didn't know my presence mattered that much to anyone!

Trudy, thank you for teaching me a measure of my worth. Thank you for being open with me during a difficult season. Thank you for teaching me that it may not matter what my words are...they might be forgotten...but if I am honest with my heart, that won't be forgotten. Our basic need is the same across the board. We want to be loved. You showed love through your tears, and you've challenged me to do the same.

***

I still love Trudy and her family so much! I proceeded to attend three more births for her, and I've loved watching her kiddos grow up! The craziness of my schedule since I started working at the station has kept me from spending as much time with her as I would like, but I'm thankful she still calls me friend and has room for me in her life! And I'm grateful for her example to me. I know I don't always do friendship right...I stumble more than I realize sometimes. But oh goodness. How I do love my friends and hope they know they are as dear to me as Trudy's conversation taught me I was to her!

Small World, Big Impact: The Husband

Not MY husband, although keep reading...this one comes full circle!

I love revisiting these little snippets I wrote back in 2002, because I like to see how the Bekah of then was impacted by people just living their every day. People who had no idea the girl in front of them was taking mental notes.

And to this guy...this nameless guy in my mind, I owe HUGE thanks.

It happened while I was at Burger King having lunch with my mom. {Proof positive that such things really can be life changing in a good way.} I was in a hurry, because I only had an hour before I had to be back to work, and she and I had a lot to discuss in that hour! We sat down in the non-smoking section {Whoa!!! Those still existed as recently as 2002??} and right as I was about to plunge into my account of the morning's drama, Mom spoke to a man sitting at a table behind us.

I didn't know who he was, but he exchanged pleasantries with Mom, and before she moved back to our conversation, she asked him how his wife was doing. I could see his face out of the corner of my eye, and he broke into a huge smile as he answered, "Beautiful as always!"

I stopped, Whopper Junior halfway to my mouth. {And FYI, it takes quite a bit to get me to actually STOP eating.} I turned and looked at the man fully. It was obvious from the look on his face that he was as absolutely in love with that woman as he could be. Mom made a comment about what a sweet woman this mysterious wife was, and he rushed to agree with her.

I don't remember one more thing about lunch that day. Not one thing. But I remember thinking that when I'm old, I hope my husband tells someone that I'm beautiful. And I hope he says it even when I'm not with him to prompt the maritally correct response. I also wish I could have met this man's wife to see firsthand what kind of an amazing woman she was.

I was a good decade or more away from even HAVING a husband when this event took place, which was probably a fact I was better off not knowing. But in those days, I spent a lot of time observing marriages all around me. Some of my friends had been married for years but still acted like newlyweds. They preferred being with their spouses and talking lovingly of them when they were apart. Other people seemed to need a reminder that they even had a spounse.

Even in my singleness, in my observations, in my dreaming, I knew people thought I had unrealistic expectations for my someday-husband. But I wrote these words back in 2002: "I don't think it's too much to hope for a man who is hopelessly in love with me forever. A marriage like that takes work. And I know it will have its difficulties and trials. But if we can work to make it last, I hope that I can someday hear through the grapevine that my husband was telling everyone how crazy about me he still is, even though I'm old and falling apart."

Today I'd like to thank the gentleman in Burger King, nameless to me though he is, for becoming "the man whose wife is still beautiful." I want to thank him for saying that about her out loud, in a burger joint, to an acquaintance and her daughter. I want to thank him for loving and respecting his wife. And I want to thank him a thousand times over for instilling some hope in a girl like me that there could still be men like him out there in this world.

Today I'd also like to thank a Mr. Ryan Shaffer for being just like that man. I might not be old, but I think the Great Dental Event of 2014 and the Great Gallbladder Eviction of 2015 are proof that the falling apart is well underway. Ryan, thank you for making this dream of mine from a decade before our marriage...come true. I do hear through the grapevine that you brag on me when I'm not around. You tell me I'm beautiful when I'm standing in front of you, and you tell others when I'm not around.

You're proof that my dreams weren't unrealistic. Let's be the next generation of that man and his wife for all those crazy dreamers coming behind us. Let's make a big impact on our small world!

Small World, Big Impact: The Student

For the last several weeks now, I've been telling you about people who have impacted my life in big ways. They're not people you would know by name. They're not famous. They're ordinary people, living an ordinary life, but along the way, a little thing made a big impact.

I initially wrote these several years ago, but I've never shared them on the blog, so I've been bringing them to this space now and then, just to remind myself - and all of you - that the little things make the biggest difference.

This one is dear to my heart.

I'm ashamed to say I don't even know her name. I should know it. She spoke to me often. I knew her face when I saw her. But even though I don't remember her name, I've never forgotten what she did.

It had been a long day at work, and I was tired. Working in Financial Aid and dealing with thousands of dollars of people's money meant taking the brunt of their frustration and anger. Understandable. Education was expensive, and private Christian education was even more expensive. Back then, the students were paying close to twenty thousand a year to attend school, and my guess is now, it's another fifteen grand per year {or more} on top of that. It's obvious why many needed help, and it was our job to do just that. But as much as our office desired to do so, we never succeeded with making many of them overly happy.

Usually the parents called or came in to the office, all in a frenzy, demanding more help, threatening to pull their kids out of school or asking for special consideration. But now and then, the students themselves showed up with the questions. It was rare, but it happened.

And one particular day, a young lady walked in while I happened to be covering the front desk. She sat down and just unloaded every thought in her mind on me. I don't remember what she was upset about, now. Maybe she didn't have enough money, or there might have been a problem with her loan, or maybe something had been removed from her aid listing. But while I don't remember the problem, I do remember the verbal lashing I took that day. Whatever the problem, it wasn't my fault. She wasn't even my student. But I took the brunt of it, because I was there.

I was used to it, because it happened often, but that didn't mean it didn't sting. I tried to shake it off after she left, so it wouldn't ruin the rest of my day.

A couple of days later, she came back and asked for me. You might imagine why I cringed as I walked from my office to the front to meet her. What now? Did something else go wrong?

I wasn't prepared for what happened when I arrived at the front. It had never happened before, and I'm pretty sure it never happened again - at least from a student.

When I walked into the lobby area, she came up to me and said, "Do you remember me from a couple of days ago?"

I nodded.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know you guys do the best you can, and I know it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have talked to you the way I did, and I"m sorry."

Stunned.

I knew students knew how to yell and complain. I had no idea they knew how to apologize. Dumbfounded, I thanked her.

I wish I could remember her name, but even though my memory has failed me, that young lady remains forever my Financial Aid poster student.

She came back to apologize. It wasn't easy. She had to swallow her pride and find some serious courage to walk back in that office and face me.

But that day, she became a fine example of how to be adult enough to say I was wrong. I'm sorry.

And that is a rare and beautiful quality.

Small World, Big Impact: June

If you grew up in church, like I did, you probably have a host of memories of people who helped lay the foundation of who you are today. I know I do. And today I'd like you to meet one of them: June.

June and my mom have been friends forever...since long before my time. The history of friendship between our families is long and rich. But I was still a pretty young girl when June chose to pursue a friendship with me, and it impacted me more than I knew in that moment.

I sat at the end of the pew and watched as people walked forward into the choir loft, reaching for hymnals and scooting down to let more people in. Someday, I thought, I want to be old enough to be in the choir. I didn't even remember how old I was that day, but probably upper elementary school. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up to see June standing there. "Come on," she said. "You're going to sing with me."

I didn't even look around to see if that was okay with Mom or Dad or anyone else sitting nearby. I just took her hand and went. I don't even remember what we sang. I just remember sitting in the choir loft thinking that the greatest thing ever had just happened to me. Someone thought I was old enough to be part of the choir.

It was just an impromptu volunteer choir during a week of revival services, but it was the beginning of something big in my mind.

I sang in the choir on a regular basis in junior high and high school. {That was before I realized I wasn't particularly great at it.} I enjoyed it...it gave me a place to belong during that season of my life.

But for me, that night wasn't as much about the choir as it was about the faith June had in me. She treated me like an adult...or at least a more mature person than I really was.

And that was just June. She had always believed in me. She had been my Sunday School teacher in the second grade, and she had a contest for all the kids in our class. We received points for attendance, bringing our Bibles, bringing an offering, bringing friends, and memorizing verses. The prize was dinner for the winner's family at her house. I worked hard, and I won. And she fixed a great dinner for the whole family!

I've always appreciated June's giving spirit, and the faith she had in me, even when I was young and incredibly awkward. During my first years of adulthood, she worked where I did my banking, and I enjoyed seeing her every week when I went in. I'd pop into her office and catch up on life with her. And every week, she would trust me with prayer requests. That meant as much to me as her trust in me the night she took my hand and led me to the choir loft.

One of my great delights of attending the church we do is that June and her husband attend there as well. We go to the same service, and every week, when she arrives, she comes  to visit us at our pew and catch up on the week.

June, thanks for your faith in me...from the time I was an awkward kid...to a brand new adult...and even now. I hope that I can plant the same seeds of faith and confidence in the lives around me as you did in me. I appreciate you!!

{I realize this photo doesn't show you her face, but it's a candid captured at our reception, when I had the joy of introducing her to Ryan!!}

Small World, Big Impact: Mr. McBride

Can I introduce you to another person from my formative years who made a big impact on my tiny world?

He taught Chemistry. Chemistry was not my friend. The only thing I remember from Chemistry class was that one day I leaned against the lab table and some {still unknown to me} chemical that had apparently dripped on the table ate three holes in the front of my skirt. Right through the fabric. All the way. Unfortunately, since I still don't know what it was, if I ever encounter it again, I'll be bidding a fond farewell to another piece of clothing.

Mr. McBride loved Chemistry, and his greatest desire was for all his students to understand the deep mystery of the science. I have no doubt at all that I was the stupidest student to ever cross his path. He must have explained the concepts to me dozens of times, and still, I never even came close to comprehending them.

I was a good student. An honor student, actually. And while science wasn't my favorite subject, I had managed my way through earth science and biology...and then...my brain just shut down in ways I had never experienced before. Chemistry could not and would not break through.

I dreaded his class, because I viewed it as the bitter end of my honors status. I tried so hard. I really did. I studied. I went in after school for special tutoring. I found the smartest guy in our entire school and asked him to be my lab partner. He even came to my house to help me study after school. And still: nothing.

It was a frustrating and disheartening experience for someone who had always been able to learn...to be enrolled in a class necessary for graduation and face the truth that passing was unlikely at best.

Truth? The fact that I made it through is a mathematical impossibility. {I wasn't any good at math either, but I was decent enough to know that.} If you looked at the {mostly failing} scores of my tests and assignments, you would see what I mean. I should never have passed.

Mr. McBride, though, was a kind man. He saw my effort. He saw my desire to stay afloat. Forget succeeding...I just wanted to survive. He looked at me kindly and ever so patiently explained the formulas to me again. And when my chin quivered and my eyes filled with tears, and I asked him how I would ever pass his class, he just kindly asked me to keep trying.

The only F that ever appeared on my report card came in Chemistry class. Failed the daylights out of the final. There it sat, for my parents to read. And I should have failed the entire class. But in that class, I learned the meaning of grace. I didn't ace the class. I didn't even make the honor roll in that season because of that class. But I cherished that C in Chemistry far more than any A+ in English, because that C was a gift from a teacher who clearly graded me on effort.

Thank you, Mr. McBride, for doing everything you could to help me pass your class. And when you saw that I was one of "those" students and there was truly no hope...thank you for grace. Thank you for caring about a student who was a total failure in the subject of your passion and life's work. Thank you for making it possible for me to graduate from high school...or otherwise, I would still be your 36 year old student in tutoring. We both know it. I will never forget your kindness and your patience, but most of all...your mercy.

I know Mr. McBride has since retired, and I don't know where he is...but I have never forgotten him, and because of his mercy alone, I have one positive memory of Chemistry.

Small World, Big Influence: Faith

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh how I used to loathe Valentine's Day. LOATHE.

When I worked at IWU, it was impossible to avoid the day-o-love. Students paired off as though they were headed for the ark. The entire Student Center smelled like a florist. {I believe my terminology of choice in the day was "reeked of flowers."} Girls merrily lugged massive bouquets and floated along behind balloons...and then there were the rest of us.

The ones who winced every time the lost-looking delivery guy showed up in the office corridors, clutching flowers while searching out the right office suite. The ones who sat at the front desk and greeted said delivery guy with fake smiles and a "Can I help you find someone?"

One year, our student worker Jenna {who was also single at the time} and I made a pact to wear black from head to toe on Valentine's Day in protest of the flowers, chocolates, and balloons that had taken up residence in our building.

We were cute, I think.

That also happened to be the day I met with a representative from a church directory company about our church's upcoming photo session. I was in charge of being the liaison between the company and the church, and this was my first big impression. On Valentine's Day. In all black.

I explained to the kind lady why I was decked out in mourning, and she laughed with me. She said I would get along very well with her own daughter, who also wasn't fond of the day. I wasn't quite as bitter as I looked, but it was a hard day, to be honest.

Right before the end of the work day, I looked up from my desk to find my friend Faith standing in the doorway, holding a box in her hand. It had fruit roll ups with Disney princesses on the packages. My nickname in college was Princess, and my college friends liked to remind me of that with little princess-y items now and then.

Faith came in and said she knew I probably didn't like the day, but she wanted to make sure I got something from someone, and when she saw the fruit roll-ups in the store, she couldn't pass them up. I smiled because it was just like Faith to remember me on a holiday like that. A couple of years before, she'd brought me a card on Valentine's Day. That year's day of love had been particularly hard, because I'd just broken up with my college boyfriend, and she had said it was important to her that I received something, even if it wasn't from a guy.

She was in a relationship and it would have been easy for her to forget that not everyone had a significant other to share fun days with. She could have been busy planning her own festivities, but she took time to remember me.

And I appreciated that so much.

Faith inspired me to spend several years finding unique ways to reach out on Valentine's Day. To let my single friends know they were special. To stop wearing black and eating Blizzards on the couch...and start finding ways to show love to others.

I think it's pretty appropriate that this story was up next for this little series, because...you know...Valentine's Day is next week. Might be time for all of us to think of people who need some love and reach out to them on a day when they might feel forgotten! 

Small World, Big Influence: Ellen

For the last several weeks, I've been telling you about some people in my life - from upwards of twenty years ago - who were pivotal in shaping me into the person I am today. All of them are people who aren't known on a national level. They're just ordinary people living an ordinary life, and a piece of their ordinary crossed a piece of mine, and I'm forever impacted because of something they said or did.

As I've shared these stories, I've relied on my original words from writing I did over a decade ago, but today I'm going to start from scratch on my story, because I feel like leaving it in its original form would be confusing and incomplete. My message remains the same, but my words are new.

Today I want you to meet Ellen. She doesn't know me at all. And truth be told, this one Sunday night at church was the only encounter with her I ever had. I have no idea where she's moved in life or what's happening with her in the present day, but I can tell you that a speaking invitation she accepted at a little church many years ago left a big impact on me.

I nearly didn't go to church that night. I knew we were having a special speaker, and I knew she represented the Crisis Pregnancy Center. While I respected and appreciated the work of the CPC, I really wanted to go to church for Bible study, not for fundraising speeches. I argued with myself for a while, but in the end, I ended up in my pew for Sunday evening service.

When Ellen stood to speak, she completely surprised me. She did talk about her work at the Center, but she spoke about much more than that. She didn't just rattle off a list of shocking statistics and count the numerous needs to keep the place running from month to month: she talked about the need behind the CPC. She didn't just talk about pregnant teenagers. Her heart broke for the reasons that landed them inside the walls of her office.

It was the first time anyone in my life had ever dared to publicly talk about why people ended up in a crisis pregnancy. Real, deep wounds and losses in life that caused them to turn to sex for comfort. And not just sex...but impurity in general. Girls who felt so unloved by people who didn't take time to invest in them that they wanted a baby to have someone to love.

Ellen had a bunch of her own kids, and at that season, most of them were teens, so her heart for this age group was huge. Her mission at the CPC wasn't just to lower the county statistics. It was to teach young women how to find real answers to their questions. Real food for their hunger. Real change that would last.

It wasn't Ellen's work with the CPC that caught my attention that night. It was not even her passion for kids and teens. It was her passion for life. She didn't care what age any person was - her passion for people burned fiercely because they were alive. The value she saw in an unborn child that drove her at her job was the same value she saw in a four year old, an eighteen year old, a fifty year old, and a seventy eight year old. Age didn't matter to Ellen. Heartbeats did.

That night, I found myself with a deep desire to be passionate for people. All people of all ages. Life is valuable, no matter how young or how old. How collected or how broken. Ellen saw potential in all people. She saw importance in every single life.

If I ran into Ellen today {and managed to recognize her} I would thank her for taking time from her platform that night to share more than a need for money. I would thank her for sharing her heart and passion with a whole church - and especially with the one defensive girl in a back pew.

Small World, Big Impact: Paula

Can I introduce you to another person who had a big impact on my life? Waaaaaaay back in the day, when I first started working as a student worker in the Financial Aid Office at IWU, I had the opportunity to work with some truly wonderful people They all left huge impressions on my heart in different ways, but this one today is so burned in my heart. I can still see this moment in my mind.

***

I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but I was in the same room with her, and I had to be there to pull the files I'd been asked to work on that day. I knew she was talking to her daughter on the phone. I heard her say, "Well, I have to work over a little tonight, but you do what you can on your math, and I'll help you with the rest when I get home."

When she hung up, I turned around and said, "Paula, you're such a good mom." I knew she was divorced and had three children, all in or near their teen years. I knew she worked many, many hours each week, and yet I had watched her juggle every day so that each child's needs were met at all times. I had seen her use her lunch hours to pick them up from school. I heard her check on them every day when she knew they should be coming home. She had made sacrifices of both time and money to give them what they needed, and when she could - what they wanted.

"I do the best I can," she told me. "I can't do everything, but if my babies need something and I and I can get it for them or help them with them, I will." I loved her attitude. I knew a lot of parents who wouldn't even help their kids with what they needed. I knew a lot of other parents who were willing to help their kids, but they griped and complained the whole time. Paula never did. She always smiled, and though I knew she was tired from working long hours into the evenings and on the weekends, she accepted the need to do that and completed her tasks without complaining.

How could she not be bitter? I wondered. I knew she had a wish list of things she would like to accomplish for herself. Things she wanted to volunteer for and projects she wanted to complete. But all of those things took a back seat to her children. They were her priority. She found ways to take them on vacation, even if she was low on money. She wanted them to have a fun time during the summer. She encouraged them to get jobs and offered to drive them to and from work in the summer, even if that meant she had to forfeit her lunch hour every day. Many days, she ate popcorn for lunch while she sat at her desk. She had little help with the kids, but she accepted that, too.

Thank you, Paula, for showing...for living...a life that proves you care about your children and you understand they are a responsibility. Thank you for shouldering all the responsibilities, even when you did so all alone. You provided a good example to me of what I need to do if I have children of my own. Thanks for your positive attitude. I've so often complained about petty things, when you did so much with a cheerful attitude. I know sometimes you hurt, and sometimes you were so tired, but you never stopped smiling or going. Thank you.

***

Paula stopped working at the school a few years later, and although I ran into her a couple of times after that just running around town, I've not seen her for years. I have no idea what is happening in her life or her kids' lives now, but I've always been thankful for her example. Even though we don't plan to have children, I know these lessons go far beyond a life with kids of my own. Still grateful. Still hope I can live sacrificially in the day-to-day.

Small World, Big Impact: The Waitress

Once upon a time, in a land far away {known as the end of 2014}, I started telling you about some people who made a big impact on me by just being themselves. None of them were big name people that you'd ever heard of. They hadn't done huge things by the world's standards. But they were incredibly faithful in their own everyday worlds. And I wrote about them in a little project I did several years ago.

{The introduction to this series and why I felt moved to share it with you can be found here.}

I had been SO EXCITED to tell you about this next person...and then December arrived. It arrived with our anniversary trip and the house sale and all things Christmas...and I never told you. So I hope you have a moment to spend with me today, because this lady...is a treasure. A treasure.

***

I was on vacation with Mom and Dad. I don't remember where we went that year, but we ate at Bob Evans one night. It was very busy that evening, and I just knew we were going to get a waitress who didn't have a clue. It seemed to be my general luck when eating out. Much to my surprise. we happened to sit at a table in the section of a very nice waitress.

At that time in my life, I was just getting into writing, and I carried my gray notebook with me everywhere. I wrote all the time about anything and everything. That night, I'd brought the notebook to the restaurant with me. I wrote about her appearance: tall - probably over six feet! Skinny, blonde hair pulled up in a brown claw clip. Artificial nails polished lavender. Simple thick gold wedding band. Average face. White shirt, black CK pants, black shoes. Calls everybody honey, careful to treat everyone like family. Even cuts up an old man's meat for him, because he couldn't do it himself.

That last part is what I remember about the waitress. She was so friendly, and I remember in the middle of rushing from table to table to check on all her people, she noticed the tiny old man at the table across from us. He was there with his wife, and he was having the most difficult time cutting his meat. The waitress leaned her tray up against the side of the booth, bent over, took the man's knife and fork, and began cutting the meat. She talked to him the whole time, smiling, calling him honey, and assuring him it was no problem.

I asked Dad to leave her extra on the tip. I'd never seen a waitress take so much time for someone before...especially an older person. She was in no hurry to move us in and out as quickly as possible so she could get more people in her section. She just took good care of us and served everyone with a smile.

I'm sorry I'm not always so kind. I sometimes forget the "quality above quantity rule. I spend so much time trying to generate work that I forget to make the time I do spend with people the most valuable that I can.

Sweet waitress, I"m sorry I didn't write down your name. I don't want to go through life calling you "The Bob Evans Lady," but it's the best I can do. I haven't forgotten you, though. Thank you for being kind to the man across the aisle. You probably didn't even know I was watching or taking notes. But I was doing both, and you impressed me with your spirit of servanthood. Thank you for being willing to go above and beyond what you had to do and for reminding me of my need to do the same!

***

I wrote that back when I worked in Financial Aid, and we had way more files on our desk than time in our day. I am happy to say that as I copy these words to you today, and as I think about life in radio, it's a joy to have the time to spend with people that I didn't have in the other line of work. I still rush more than I should some days, but I'm thankful for all I learned from this wonderful woman - whose name I still don't know - and for the privilege of serving others in the work I do!

Small World, Big Impact: Wendy

Last week I started telling you about some people who had a big impact on me...not because they are famous names known worldwide, but because they were faithful in their everyday lives, and I noticed. My hope is that as you read about these people, you will recognize people in your lives who did the same, and that you'll also see that you are impacting the lives of people around you. It's your choice whether that impact is positive or negative. Let's be a big, Christ-honoring impact on those in our paths!

This week I want to introduce you to Wendy...as I wrote about her twelve years ago.

I wrote Wendy's mother a letter once. I never mailed it, but I wrote it as part of a class assignment. Wendy was adopted, and I wanted to thank her biological mother for giving her the gift of life. In my letter, I told her what a friend and role model Wendy had been for me. I told her of Wendy's inner beauty, her passion for God, her many talents, and her outstanding commitment as a wife and mother. I closed the letter by saying, Wendy's life has certainly been a blessing. Because you chose to give her life, she was able to give life to three beautiful, healthy children. I can only say one thing to you, her biological mother, and I mean it with all my heart: thank you. You made the right choice.

But now I want to thank Wendy herself. I babysat for her children many times, and I learned so much about a healthy Christian marriage and about parenting, too. I heard her talk about her dates...times when she and her husband would go out and set goals for their marriage and for their children. They spent time focusing on the needs of their family and doing everything they could to create a strong bond of love and family values.

One night she came home and showed me some cards she bought for her kids. No special occasion...she just wanted them to know how much she loved them. And she does love her kids. I've never seen a parent enjoy her children so much. She thrives on the pure pleasure of her gift of parenting.

From her, I learned to take pride in a home and to make everything in that home personal. I learned the importance of taking the roles you play in life very seriously and doing the best you can with them, and not worrying so much about what you can't do.

I saw the excitement in her preschooler's face as she told me the leftover cake on the counter was from the spiritual birthday party she celebrated with her family. What a great idea...to celebrate the spiritual growth of children! In these and other ways, I watched her cultivate the unique individuality of each of her three children.

Wendy, when I am a wife and a mother, I hope that I can not only have a portion of your sweet spirit, but also remember the valuable lessons I observed just by being in your home and watching you. Thank you for teaching me that marriage and motherhood are not chores to be completed, but blessings to celebrate in new and imaginative ways each day!

***

Wendy and her husband have seen all three children through to adulthood now, and the first of the kids got married this year. Through the magic of Facebook, I've been able to see that what they did as parents when their kids were young paid off, and they are still a family to emulate today. Though parenting isn't in our planned future, it was Wendy's example that made me strive to be intentional about weekly date nights, creating a home, and being beautiful for my husband. I still long to continually cultivate the same kind of loving relationship that she and her husband have. And I've taken all the advice I stored up from those babysitting years and all I observed in their home, and that's what I use at baby showers when I am asked to offer advice! Thankful for Wendy's influence on her impressionable babysitter!

Small World, Big Impact: Amy

Yesterday I shared with you about my deep desire to be the best Bekah I can be...even if my circle of influence is tiny. Even if I never become a famous, best-selling author.

Many years ago...fourteen, to be exact...I wrote a "book" as a Christmas gift for my family. I had it printed at the school's print shop, and the title was Pieces of My Puzzle. I was in that awkward stage of trying to be seen and known as a grown-up instead of the little girl I had always been, and I hoped that through the words of the book, they would see my heart. One section of the book was about the very kind of people I described yesterday. Those who are probably {in most cases, anyway} not famous world-wide, but they had a marked impact on my world.

I thought I would share some of them with you over the next few weeks, both because I want to introduce you to some of these people who shaped me - some rather silently - but also because I want to challenge you to find these people in your own life and thank them for being that influence on you. And I'd love to challenge you to realize you are these people to those around you. You are making eternal impacts in ways you don't even realize.

So without further ado, I'd love you to meet Amy, as I wrote about her 14 years ago:

I have never seen her without a smile on her face. I don't know how many times I sat at the front desk in our office and waved to her as she walked by. She always waved and smiled right back at me. She remembered my name. I had been to her house a couple of times for home parties {as someone's guest}. Her home had always been very inviting, and you could feel a soft and natural peace and joy in that house - just from her presence there.

I remember during one of the parties, her husband came home. She still looked at him with a bride's smile, even though they had been married for a few years. Wow, I thought. He's lucky to have her. What a beautiful person to come home to every day. And you could tell just from looking at him that inside, he knew what a blessing God had given him.

At that same party, Amy let us peek into her wedding scrapbook. I flipped through it and found a letter she read to him at their wedding reception. I only read a couple of lines...it seemed to personal to read in full. But the words I saw, combined with the photo of her reading those words to him that day, showed me a depth of love I hope to someday have in my own marriage.

Everybody has bad days at work...days when the job stinks and you want out. Days when you don't feel good, and you'd rather be home in bed. Days when the weather dampens your spirits before you're even fully aware of what the weather is...but you know it's not good. But in all those days, I've never seen Amy down in the dumps. I gather that she must have bad days too...she is, of course, human. But that sweet smile that always stays on her face is something that inspires me to want to be more like her. Oh, I have smiles on my face a lot. But they're not always sincere, and once the person has passed by, my smile sometimes completely disappears.

Amy doesn't smile for effect. Her whole persona is a smile. A soft and genuine smile. She has a little baby now. I ran into her a few days after he was born, when she brought him to work to show him off. He was so tiny, fast asleep in the stroller. I asked her how she felt, and she just smiled and said, "I feel great! I was a little tired, but I feel good now." I asked if he was a good baby. She said, "Oh, he's a wonderful baby. He doesn't cry much at all." Of course not, I thought. He's got you for a mother. What more could a little baby want?

Amy, you didn't even know that I was watching all those times, but thank you for being a smiling example to me...an inspiration for my life. Thank you. And to your little son...your Mama is someone special. Watch her smile. Inherit that smile. Someday someone will notice, and you won't even know, but it will change that person's life.

***

Amy still lives around here, and she's a counselor now. She has the chance to impact many lives through counseling, but for me, the biggest impact was her smile and her joyful spirit toward her husband. And now that I have that husband I mentioned in what I wrote, I always hope he sees in me what Amy's husband saw in her. 

Small Worlds: Big Impact

Thanks for your kind words yesterday about {possibly irrational} fears of serving in unknown capacities and for letting me know I am not alone in the boat of wanting to serve in ways that are unique and perhaps not entirely trendy.

You've given me the courage to bring up my next point...hope you will hear my heart clearly on this one.

I've been wrestling for a while. Not the formal sport kind of wrestling that Ryan did in high school {though oh what a blog post THAT would make}, but a heart wrestling that has left me convicted and searching in ways I've never experienced before.

And then this past Sunday, one of our pastors preached about it and bravely confessed his own wrestling, so at least I know there are two of us in this boat. Guessing there are many more.

I am a small servant in a big world.

I am a small servant in a big world that demands big servants.

I sometimes feel inferior because I am a small servant who feels the pressure to be bigger and louder and better and bolder.

I sometimes feel guilty because I am a small servant who genuinely doesn't mind being a small servant, but I do mind the loud pressure to be bigger and louder and better and bolder.

It's all about numbers, everywhere you turn.

Please like my Facebook page. I'm close to 1000 likes and I want to get over this next number marker.

I have doubled my Twitter following in the last month.

My book just went into a second printing and I signed a contract for three more books.

{Please note the above sentences are merely examples and in no way an actual representation of my life. HA!}

You all know that I work in radio, and part of my producer job is to schedule guests for our show. Lynne tells me the ones she wants to schedule and it's my job to track down the authors/guests and book them. And it's not uncommon for me to reach out to a publicist who sent me a press release about an author not all that long ago and ask to book a certain date, only to hear something like, "Let me put you in touch with her directly. Our contract to promote her ran out."

Already? Many times the book isn't even a year old. It baffles me that these people have thrown soul and sweat into writing a book, watched it come to fruition, and less than a year later, they're just on their own again. The content is still good. The message is still valid. People still need to hear!

It's a world of grow, grow, grow, push, push, push, move, move, move...and my heart hurts, because I believe in the process of growing and pushing and moving, we're losing value. We're plowing through projects and over people and past Divine Appointments, and it genuinely hurts me.

I read a blog post not long ago {so wish I could remember where it was so I could link to it for you} written as a caution by an author to other authors...admonishing them that if they're not willing to sacrifice pretty much everything in their personal lives, they shouldn't pursue publication - at least in the traditional sense. If they're not willing to stay up late and skip vacations and time with their family and be willing to do all that is demanded to write a book, then they shouldn't sign the contract.

Is this what Jesus meant by going into all the world and making disciples? {Not trying to be a smarty pants. Genuinely asking.} Did He mean to plow through projects and over people and past Divine Appointments and sacrifice our "small world" commitments to be part of the big world? The noticed world? The world of numbers?

I believe with all my heart that God created and ordained some folks to be a big deal in the world. He fashioned and designed them with unique gifts that let them get out there and do mind-blowing things. Billy Graham comes to mind.

But we aren't all Billy. And I don't believe God intended for all of us to be Billy. I believe He meant for some of us - dare I say most of us?? - to make a big impact on a small world. Maybe we aren't breaking the mold of all the social media algorithms. Maybe we aren't booked every weekend to speak somewhere. Maybe most people don't even know our name.

But oh my goodness. To the handful of folks that do know our name...what a platform of influence we hold. We are impacting the DAYLIGHTS out of that crowd. They know us - not in the stalkerish-got-a-selfie-with-us-to-hashtag-on-Instagram sort of sense, but in the drop-off-the-perfect-gift-on-the-porch-as-a-surprise-because-we-just-get-each-other sort of sense.

You guys?

That's who I want to be.

I wrote a book four years ago. In the grand scheme of book publications, mine is somewhere near the tail end of the list of sales. It's a best-seller in my family, and that's about as far as I can take that claim to fame.

But you know what? A couple of years after I published it, I got an email from a lady I've never met, who lives in a state I've never been to, who told me flat out she doesn't really have a relationship with the Lord, but she read my book and it made sense to her in a way that "churchy" books never have. It made her think. It got under her skin.

I'll take that over selling 100,000 copies any day of the week.

Yeah I'm on the radio, and there are people who know me because of it, but in the grand scheme of radio, I'm not a household name by a long shot.

But you know what? I've received emails from people who have shared deep heart-hurts with me and have taken a risk to ask for my prayers because they say I seem like the kind of person who really cares...and sometimes we email back and forth for a long while about whatever their concern might be.

I'll take that over being known {and consequently dissected for every word I say} any day of the week.

More than anything else in this world, I want to be a faithful wife and a faithful writer. Those are the two greatest gifts God has entrusted to me, and it doesn't matter to me if my name is known far and wide...as long as when I get to Heaven, God tells me I loved my husband well and faithfully...and the words I wrote were honoring to Him toward those who read them - no matter how small that readership might have been.

Forget numbers. Forget fame. Forget algorithms. Forget strategy. God, give me the assignments YOU have laid out for me, and let me be faithful in making a big impact on my small world.