Thanks Mister

I think everyone has some words in their memory which they will never forget. Mine are “Thanks, Mister”.

Memories are a strange thing. Sometimes we forget the names of people who are important to us – you often hear a mother of multiple children say: Cindy, Heather, I mean Kristen, please don’t do that. Sometimes we remember the most obscure facts, trivia. But sometimes we remember words which have a deep impact on our very soul.

I have friends who can recite the exact words their spouse answered in response to: Will you marry me? I have other friends who can remember the words said to them at the moment they found out about the Kennedy assassination or the September 11 attacks. And I have a few friends, like me, who can remember words which did not shock them, or move them, but really shook their souls. I think the words which shock or move us are ones which may help us live, or live better, our lives. I think the ones which stick with us to eternity are the ones which moved our souls, and changed our total outlook on life.

Mine started with a call to my work office one Saturday morning, where I was again working casual overtime. A nun who I did not know was calling to ask if I would volunteer to spend 2 hours on a Saturday morning to help fix up some houses donated to the archdiocese, so that those homes could be used to house homeless families. Alone in the office, doing work I knew was sooooooo important, I reasoned that the sister’s request for 2 hours was just small amount of my time. Besides, I was a sucker for any request from a nun; I always was.

So I and a few other volunteers began working to fix up a couple of homes. The homes were solid on the exterior, but the interior was a different story. One had bullet holes sprayed across the living room wall. Another was missing a bathtub. Both required numerous repairs and painting to make them look livable. And so we met, every Saturday that summer, for 2 hours.

The homes were quiet, as we amateurs decided what to do and set about doing it. We struggled a bit with figuring out how to repair about some plaster walls, and in particular one bedroom ceiling where the plaster had heavily fallen off the supporting wood framework. Re-plastering a ceiling, over our heads, and making it stick seemed like a difficult task. Finally, I read in the Reader’s Digest Handyman’s Book that putting wallboard over the ceiling would be difficult, but still easier than re-plastering. So we planned to do just that.

The Saturday we wallboard-ed the bedroom ceiling took longer than our normal 2 hours, and we could not stop half way. When we finally were done and were cleaning up, we were surprised to hear the front door of the house open up – we had always been working alone. In walked the nun and the family which was living in the house – much to our surprise, since we thought we were just barely getting it livable, and weren’t aware that anyone had moved in yet. The mother and 2 little boys came in, and while she introduced herself, the littlest boy raced past us and into the bedroom we had just completed.

A short while later, the little guy walked out of the bedroom smiling, and walked up to me and hugged my leg, his head not even coming up to my knee. He looked up at me, smiled, and said: “Thanks, mister. My bedroom ceiling was falling on me at night, and it woke me up some times.”

I lived in the suburbs. I worked hard. I donated much time and money to charity. But I think that was the first time I really knew the feelings of being poor, and of the little happy things in their life. I don’t think I ever even answered the little guy who spoke to me, I was too stunned. But I’ll never forget him, or what he said.

Since that day I have become involved in many charities actively helping the poor and elderly. While I love the one-to-one interactions with them, I usually found myself involved in the running of those charities – I guess God expects us to use the talents he has given us, and that’s ok. But I miss the conversations with those who were helped. Over the years, I have had many personal thanks from people who expect and are grateful for so little in life, and I have many letters and pictures and cards. But I’ll never forget the little words from the little guy which changed my life: Thanks, Mister.

God can move each of us with his small, still voice, if we but listen. And in a few rare cases, he may even use a small, still, little person. And a smile. How many Saturdays or evenings are you spending at the office, when there may be more important things to be done. Do you need a call, as I did, to listen?

Thanks, my friends, for listening to me.