It was not long after moving to Payson when I metbryou. You sat in the back row at church, each week passing around the Sundaybrschool role.
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Your answers to questions were witty yet verybrthought provoking and filled with information I needed to learn. You gave mebrinformation regarding the history of the home my family had just moved into,brfurther solidifying my appreciation for it, and my resolve to build upon itsbrpositive history.
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There were times of great frustration on frazzledbrSundays with fussy kids when you said a kind word to make me feel less out ofbrcontrol.
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There were days when I’d see you taking the busbrsomewhere during the day.
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Where? I had no idea. Work, I assumed. I knewbrvery little about you; just that you attended my church and lived in a house upbrthe street, quietly going about your life doing good.
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Recently, however, I learned that there was morebrthan meets the eye.
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I learned that you spent the better part of yourbrlife taking care of sick and injured animals, before an injury left you unable tobrcontinue what you loved.
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I learned that you are married and have childrenbrand grandchildren.
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I learned that the home up the street is notbryours, but your aging mother’s, and you spend nights taking care of her so shebrcan live the remainder of her days in her home.
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A person who loves you dearly, told me that afterbrwaking up in the mornings, you head back to your home in another town to spendbrtime with your wife and grown children, often tending your grandchildren sobrtheir parents can work.
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Yet, when I called to speak to you about all yourbrgood works, you spent the time showering me with kind words about my family.brWhen I asked about you, and if I could learn more about why you do what you do,bryou kindly declined to have your name added to a story.
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I met you when purchasing a new truck. You filledbrout all the paperwork, and carefully scraped the price tag off the windshield.brYou were honest. But it wasn’t the first time I saw you.
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Nearly each morning, you helped my kids andbrcountless others cross the street safely on their way to and from school. Rain,brsnow or shine, you were there to keep children safe, all with a smile on yourbrface.
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When I met you at the dealership, I asked aboutbryour story, inquiring what led you to spend time helping kids cross the street.brWith that same smile, you told of a challenging time. An injury on the jobbrrendered you unable to work the job you’d spent years doing, and doing well.brForced to retire early, you didn’t look back, but forward.
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Becoming a crossing guard was a way to give yourbrinjured body much needed exercise as it healed, and as you moved forward inbrlife. Little did you know the impact you would have on the future generation.
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When I asked for the opportunity to share yourbrgood works, you got shy, and said, “I’ll think about it, but I’d rather just dobrthings quietly.”
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I first saw you when visiting the ward buildingbrprior to moving to the area. You were a speaker, and a humble one at that. Ibrcould tell that the pulpit wasn’t a place of comfort for you, but you deliveredbryour message well. I was left wanting to learn more.
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As time went on, I learned of a past. One filledbrwith snow, and lots of it. You were on the ski patrol at a popular resort,brsporting what I’ve been told was an awesome ponytail. You left your position onbrthe mountain for one in the healthcare world, still serving others, but in abrdifferent way. While you left the mountain, the mountain never left you.
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Hours and hours, you’ve spent helping create abrsafe mountain haven for mountain bikers, hikers and runners like me.
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Yet, each time I asked about your service, youbralways directed my attention elsewhere. “Go talk to that guy,” you’d say. “He’sbrthe one who does more.” Always discounting the time you spent serving others.
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You may not want credit for your service, but Ibrwant to thank you (each one of you) for quietly doing good things to help thosebraround you. (Brown is a Serve Daily contributor.)
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