Good Deed

My dad always taught me to a) do good deeds and b) never ever tell anyone that you did them. Ever. It was something that stuck with me and I often wonder what sorts of secret good deeds my dad has done over the years and not told anyone about. I know he does them, because he's that type of person.

So although I like to model my behaviour after my dad's (secret good deeds as well as public noise-making) I am going to go against it just this once...

My feet hurt after running the ultra. I think the tendons in the top of my foot are all inflamed. It sucks. I can run a little bit here and there but only if I'm all hopped up on ibuprofen. I was out there today in the beautiful sunshine when I saw a girl struggling on the sidewalk. She had dropped a grocery bag full of stuff: binders, magazines, her wallet, some medicine, makeup, typical teenage-girl stuff. The bottom of the grocery bag had busted through and everything just dumped out.

The thing that makes it all worse is that she is a bit disabled and uses crutch-type things (Lori... what's the technical term?) to walk. She couldn't just bend down and pick it all up and keep going. She was stuck, literally. Now, I wouldn't even barely be able to call this a good deed because there isn't a human being on earth with a beating heart that wouldn't stop and help her. I told her that I'd run home and grab a new bag and run back in 30 seconds. She kinda blinked at me and said, "Sure! Thanks!"

I took off, grabbed a bag and came back and scooped all her stuff into the new bag and I carried it to her house while she walked beside me. I felt all smug as if I was the greatest human being to grace the earth. I swear I looked around to see if anyone was noticing how great I was. But you know how she reacted? She was kind of rather nonchalant about the whole thing! I half expected some tears of gratitude, a gushing paragraph of thank-yous and "you made my whole life" and "you're a dream come true"... but she didn't. You know why? I think it's because she has learned to accept grace in a way that I could only dream of. I'm sure she's needed help throughout her life so often that her heart is open and receptive and grace-full. She kicks ass, really. That's what I think.

She's the one that dropped her stuff all over the sidewalk, but I'm the one who was the loser in that scene. I've done my fair share of "dropping my crap all over the sidewalk" let me tell you! And do you think I just stand there and wait for someone to offer me grace? Not at first, anyway. I crumple into a dramatic heap of pathetic tears and with my butt in the air and arms flailing, I try to scoop all my mess up all by myself while binders and papers and medicine bottles go flying.

My point? I have a few.

1) Don't complain about stupid sore feet.
2) People who have needed grace are quicker to give it back to others who need it too.
3) Do good deeds and don't tell anyone about them. It grows integrity faster than a fat kid eats cake.

I think my dad would approve of my divulging of this "good deed" just this once, right pops? Hope so.