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Little Given, Much Received
By Don Staheli
Our family of five small children with
big appetites didn't ever send very much that was edible to the
garbage. If the bowl was not emptied at dinnertime, whatever had
graced our table became a tantalizing leftover to be eagerly consumed
as a microwave special by whichever lucky child arrived home first
the next day. So I was quite surprised when I found our garbage
can had been raided by a roving scrap bandit.
I quizzed the kids to see if they could
identify our thief-in-the-night. No one could, but my son told of
seeing a mysterious, doglike ball of fur skulking through the backyard
just a few days before. A likely suspect.
The next morning when the garbage had
once again been raided, we decided to try to prevent the ransacking
of the refuse can by putting a little something where the obviously
hungry mutt could get to it without making a mess. After a few days
of this we finally spied him — the mangiest, filthiest little mongrel
I had ever seen. His light-colored coat was as snarled and matted
as the head of a recluse Rastafarian. He was gnawing on some doggy
delicacy with an air of skittishness that spoke of having been chased
away from his meal by more than one irate homeowner.
This small dog presented such a pitiful
sight that my rescue reflex was immediately piqued. As I approached
him to test his friendliness I expected him to run off, but all
he did was cower down and whimper. He didn't move when I scratched
his head. I figured he was just too weak to try to escape. Up close
he appeared even dirtier and in worse shape than we had thought.
He was the scruffiest thing we had ever seen. Scruffy! The perfect
moniker for our nameless dinner guest.
We decided to clean Scruffy up and
give him a decent meal. A plastic tub accommodated his size quite
well as we doused him with a bucket of water, held him tight to
trickle shampoo over his snarly coat, and massaged the suds into
cleansing lather. The rinse water was gray with weeks' or even months'
worth of accumulated grime.
Scruffy seemed to enjoy it as we poured
on bucket after bucket and then shampooed again, just to be sure
he was as clean as we could get him. After the final rinsing, he
showed his gratitude with a flurry of shakes that sent a drenching
shower into the faces of all of his would-be groomers. At least
the water was clean.
From that moment on Scruffy was a different
animal. He ceased his cowering and began a tongue-enhanced pant
that seemed to reveal a happy smile behind the fur that covered
his face. After eating the food we set before him, he ran around
the yard jumping and barking in a display of pure joy and excitement.
Every so often he stopped at the feet of whoever was near and waited
for a pat or a rub or a scratch; then he was off again running in
circles, up the yard and back again, until it was time for another
love pat by one of us who shared his revelry.
Scruffy stayed around for several days.
We fed him and gave him a soft rug to sleep on and laughed at his
clowning in the yard. One morning we found a few moldy tortillas
on the front step. Scruffy was returning our kindness at the expense
of some neighbor's garbage! The real personality in that little
dog was oh so fun and lovable — far different from what we had supposed
when first he came into our lives.
One day we missed the canine vagabond
of whom we had grown so fond. I suppose his wanderlust got the better
of him, and he went in search of more friends and easy pickings
from someone else's garbage can. We have never forgotten him, though,
and the incredible transformation that came about through the showing
of a bit of kindness.
We can see the same miraculous change
in people. I spied an old man, head down and shuffling, walking
slowly toward me on the sidewalk. He had a few days' growth of beard
and was unkempt in his dress. He looked like a man who had left
behind the happy days of his life and lived now in sweet memory
but lonely and bitter reality.
As the scruffy man approached, I blurted
out a cheery, "Good morning, sir!" To my surprise and
true delight, he lifted his head and, with a grin as wide as a well-fed
puppy, responded, "Good morning to you!" The lonely old
man before my eyes vanished in an instant, and the lovable side
of his nature came out when just a little kindness was sent his
way.
I think they call it nurturing, that
offering of self to those around us who need some loving and lifting.
And it's not just the stray dog and the lonely widower who deserve
such attention. Perhaps even more in want are those around us whose
existence and well-being we take so very much for granted. Our wife
or husband, mom, dad, or the kids are just as much in need of an
overt demonstration of our love, some identifiable kindness that
they will notice and that will bring joy and maybe even a silly
grin into their lives. People soften and warm to a little nurturing.
It will help them now, and they'll remember it later. The recollection
of such simple acts may see them through a dark hour down the road
when we're not there in person.
Those around us need to know we share
their pain and are willing to bear a portion of whatever burden
they may carry — not just when it's convenient or uncomplicated,
but whenever the need exists. If a man's wife or one of his children
has a problem, so does he. There should be no mistake. We are not
in this alone, and our responsibility to love is as great as our
right to be loved. A little considerate effort from us can turn
the night to day for one who longs for such a kindly touch.
There is a miracle formula in which
a very small addition of love creates an overflowing reaction of
happiness. The person who mixes the generous potion and the thirsty
one who drinks from the gracious cup are both better for the experience.
Much will be received even when only a little is lovingly given.
Our
right to be cared for is exceeded only by our duty to nurture others.
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