Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

kindness

The Ripple Effect of a Random Act of Kindness

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Sorry I am a terrible selfie taker! I took three photos and managed to cut off Ted in every one.

You might remember back in September when I wrote a blog post and newspaper column about Ted, the gentleman who brightens my morning run with his cheerful greeting. I happened to see Ted the Saturday the article ran in the newspaper. He flagged me down mid-run to tell me how much it had meant to him that I had stopped a few days earlier to thank him for being a bright spot in my day. Our conversation also gave me the opportunity to tell Ted that I’d written my monthly column about him, and that it was running in the newspaper that day.

Ted and I got to chatting — me a little breathlessly and sweatily, as I am not in the best shape — and I learned he is a writer too. He published his first book in 2015, a novel about a Nebraska farm boy who enlists in the Air Force during World War II and fights as a bombardier. Ted is now working on a memoir, which he hopes to be able to share with his grandchildren.

We agreed to meet the following Saturday morning on the trail for a book exchange. Ted would bring me a signed copy of his book, You Can Only Be Lucky;  I’d bring him a signed copy of Katharina and Martin Luther. 

That morning, back from my run, I pulled his novel from the ziplock bag and read the inscription. “I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it,” Ted wrote. “Thank you for the wonderful article you wrote in the Lincoln Journal Star. I really appreciate you doing that.” And then he signed off with his signature salutation: “Be sure to have a super fantastic wonderful day!”

Turns out, I’m not the only one who has noticed Ted’s warmth and kindness on the trail. Joyce, the mom of one of my son Rowan’s classmates, stopped me in the middle school hallway on parent-teacher conference night: “My husband left the newspaper folded open to your article on the kitchen counter for me,” she said. “We both knew exactly who you were writing about!” Joyce and her husband are runners, and they, too, have been the welcome recipients of Ted’s exuberant greetings.

This morning when I saw Ted on the trail, he told me multiple people have recognized him since the article ran in the paper. “Hey, you’re Ted!” they exclaim, their faces brightening as they pass by. Ted said he’s noticed more people respond to his greetings now, and some even shout out their own salutation before Ted can greet them first. Even the cyclists sing out a hello as they whiz by.

I love this story for so many reasons. First, it’s been a delight to get to know Ted a little bit. Who would have thought two strangers — a retired chief financial officer and a middle-aged mom — could find common ground in the early morning hours on a random bike trail in Lincoln, Nebraska? It just goes to show that human beings are created for connection and relationship, and we often have more in common than we might first assume.

Mostly, though, I love that Ted exemplifies the impact of a random act of kindness. His generosity and warmth have created a ripple effect that reverberates well beyond that one bike trail he walks every morning. Dozens of people have been positively affected and influenced by his simple yet heartfelt greeting.

We don’t often get to see what happens when we offer our kindness to the world. We might assume it doesn’t make any difference at all because we don’t see the ripple effect – the smile a person carries in her heart for the rest of the day, the kind word that’s then passed on to someone else. My experience with Ted has reminded me that we can change the course of a stranger’s day for the better simply by offering our words as a gift.

Put Your Kindness into the World

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* It’s the first week of September…how did that even happen?! My kids have been back in school for three weeks, and I am back into a regular work routine — all the amens! Today’s post is  my column that ran in the Lincoln Journal Star this month, but next Wednesday I hope to back to a regular weekly blog schedule. I’ll have some news for you, plus some thoughts on recovering from a hard season. Thanks for sticking with me during my blogging respite – I missed you!*

A couple of weeks ago I did something uncharacteristic while I was jogging on the bike path. I stopped to talk to a stranger.

You know the runners who seem like they have springs coiled in the soles of their sneakers? The ones who pass by all chipper and spry? That’s not me. My primary focus when I run is oxygen intake. I typically don’t have the energy to extend much more than a teeth-clenching smile to those I pass by.

This summer, though, I couldn’t help but notice one walker in particular. In fact, it was hard not to notice him, because every time I passed him on the trail – which I did two or three times a week all summer long — he offered an exuberant greeting or a kind word.

Sometimes when he spotted me he complimented the color of my shirt or shorts, which made me laugh, because I don’t wear the snazziest fitness gear you’ve ever seen.

But more often than not, he looked me straight in the eye as we passed each other and called out, “Have a wonderful day!” with more enthusiasm you would ever imagine an older gentleman could muster.

I began to keep an eye out for the man with the paddler’s hat and the peppy greeting. I noticed I had more spring in my step after he greeted me; I began to look forward to seeing him.

This past July my friend Amanda launched a project she called WholeSpirit – 31 days of speaking kindly to strangers, complimenting people just because, and writing encouraging notes. When the 31 days were done, she wrote a recap about it on Facebook, noting how surprisingly difficult and often awkward it was to say real, meaningful things to strangers. “I’m a tall blond woman, so maybe people thought I was trying to sell them real estate,” she quipped.

Despite the inherent discomfort in speaking words of authentic kindness to strangers, though, Amanda noticed that every single person she spoke to reacted positively. “Everyone’s face lit up,” she recalled. “They smiled. They looked genuinely shocked, and they usually responded with a simple ‘thank you.’”

A few days after reading Amanda’s Facebook post about her WholeSpirit project, I saw the cheerful man approaching on the bike trail. Before I could lose my nerve, I plucked out my earbuds and veered onto his side of the path. “I appreciate you so much, and I just want to say thank you for being a bright spot in my mornings,” I gushed breathlessly.

His name is Ted, and Amanda was right, he seemed a bit surprised by my declaration of gratitude (or perhaps he was simply startled by the middle-aged woman who had unceremoniously lumbered sweaty and gasping into his morning reverie). Seconds into our brief conversation, though, Ted’s surprise turned to delight. We introduced ourselves, he thanked me for stopping him, and then, as is his habit, Ted wished me a wonderful day.

“Being kind in our minds may be easy, but are we putting that kindness into the world?” Amanda asked in her Facebook post. “Be overwhelmingly generous with your kindness. It literally costs you nothing, and makes all the difference in this world.”

Ted puts his kind thoughts into his small piece of the world every day, and I, for one, am grateful.

Be Gentle Always

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Be Kind

I stopped short in the driveway and stood staring. It all looked so normal, so everyday — the potted impatiens she’d planted in front of the garage, the Windexed windows, the kitchen light glowing inside. No one would have known what was going on behind that front door.  No one would have guessed from the outside that there was grieving and sickness, tears and joy mingled bittersweet.

I watched the grandkids play tag, climb the river birch tree. They yelled and laughed, falling in piles on the grass.

Later that same week I drove to church early on a Sunday morning. I stopped at red and then accelerated, and just at the last second I saw the car turn left in front of me. I slammed the brakes and glimpsed through the windshield a fist raised, mouths forming angry words, faces leaning forward, disgusted.

What I’d absent-mindedly taken for a stop sign was actually a red traffic light. I’d been distracted, thinking about labored breathing and cool extremities and the other signs of imminent death my husband had catalogued for me the night before on the telephone.  The couple in the oncoming car had turned on the green arrow; they’d had the right of way. The angry look on their faces accused, “Pay attention, stupid girl!”

I didn’t blame them for the angry words I couldn’t hear. Not really. I’ve done the same myself – muttered a searing response to the driver who cut sharply into my lane, the cashier who seemed grumpy and impolite.

I didn’t blame the couple in the car for their angry gestures because they simply didn’t know. They didn’t know that my driving error wasn’t intentional. They didn’t know that I was simply distracted by suffering and worry.

It would be easier if we all resembled Atlas, the weight of the world plainly strapped to our backs. It would be easier to be kind to others if we clearly saw what they were carrying – the grief, the sorrow, the lost job, the estranged spouse, the addicted child, the dying mother. But we don’t know, we can’t always see the pain and suffering. We can’t always see what the other person is carrying.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” No one knows for sure who said it first. Some say Plato. Some say Philo of Alexandria. But the point is a good one.

We must always aim to be gentle with one another. Kind. Tolerant. Forgiving. We must always try to give one another the benefit of the doubt. Because at one point or another, the person who carelessly cuts you off at the red light, who hands you your change with barely a nod, who snaps at work, who doesn’t wave back – that person is carrying the weight of the world, a weight you can’t see. And your gentleness may be the balm that calms and soothes, the bit of peace that person needs.

{This is a repost of a piece I wrote five years ago this month, when my mother-in-law Janice was dying. It was a tough time, but that time also helped me understand why it’s important to try to give others the benefit of the doubt, to offer them gentleness, even when their actions and behavior don’t seem to make sense. I had looked fine on the outside; no one would have known the grief I was carrying in my heart.}

How to Be Kind, One Wave at a Time

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I see him two or three mornings a week, always at about the same time and at the same place. He wears navy blue shorts and a blue plaid shirt, and occasionally pulls a cap over his military-cropped hair. Often I pass by him twice on my run – once on my way out as I lumber toward the halfway point, and once on my way back as I labor toward home.
His greeting is always the same: a big wave, arm held out as if he might offer a high-five, and a generous, eye-crinkling smile. If I pass him on my return trip, I get the wave, the smile and a hearty, “Have a good one!”
It’s been ten years since I first began to recognize the man on the trail, and his response has never been anything other than genuine, unwavering cheerfulness, week in and week out…and not only to me. The man on the path greets every person he sees the same way: with kindness and joy.
I don’t know a thing about this man in the navy blue shorts and plaid shirt. I don’t know where he lives or what he does for work or if he’s retired. I don’t even know his name. I’ve never stopped to converse with him. There is simply the wave, the smile and those same four words as we continue on in opposite directions.

I’ve passed a lot of runners, walkers, bikers and roller bladers in my ten years jogging on the trail. Some say hello, some smile, some look at their feet or ten yards into the distance without so much as a glance in my direction. You wouldn’t think it would make any difference, would you — whether someone says hello or smiles or not? But it does. It’s more than enough to impact my mood and often, my whole day.

The man on the path has only ever spoken four words to me. But within those four seemingly mundane words is a powerful life lesson: A simple kindness can bestow lasting blessings.