Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

#SmallThingsGreatLove

Why a Small Gesture Makes a World of Difference {a story of the warm cookie angel}

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One day a few weeks ago, as I was staring out the sunroom windows into the middle distance, ostensibly “working,” I spotted The Warm Cookie car idling in front of my house.

Let’s pause right here for a moment of silence to appreciate that there is such thing as a Warm Cookie delivery service in Lincoln, Nebraska. It’s true. You can order a dozen chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, butterscotch oatmeal chocolate chip, or any other number of flavors, and they will deliver a box of cookies still warm from the oven right to your door. You can even add a pint of milk or a single serving of vanilla ice cream with your delivery.

Jesus himself came up with this concept, I am sure of it. In between changing water into wine and distributing fish and bread to the multitudes, he trademarked The Warm Cookie.

Anyway, when I saw the Warm Cookie car idling in front of my house, my heart leapt. I’d never been the lucky recipient of a box of Warm Cookies, and I thought my time had finally come.

Alas, it hadn’t. My heart broke as the car accelerated past my house and turned into my neighbor’s driveway. No warm cookies for me.

I posted my disappointment on Facebook, received much empathy for my cookielessness state, and promptly forgot about the whole incident.

Four days later, I was having a terrible-no-good-very-bad day. You know the kind. My writing projects were backlogged at work. I sucked up the vacuum cord, shorted out the vacuum and nearly electrocuted myself in the process. My kids needed to be in two different places at the same time. And I’d just found out my closest friend was moving 1,500 miles away. That kind of day.

Walking in the door after my hour-long commute, I dropped my bags on the living room floor and slumped into the kitchen. And that’s when I saw it. There on the counter sat a cardboard box wrapped in a raffia bow, nestled inside of which were a dozen warm cookies. I read the card: “I wanted The Warm Cookie car to stop at your house.” It was from Kimberly.

Warm cookie in hand, I immediately Voxed my friend Kimberly in New Jersey, gushing into the phone, detailing the terrible-no-good-very-badness of my day and thanking her for her kindness.

But here’s the clincher: the warm cookies weren’t from my friend Kimberly. She messaged me back a little while later, sheepishly admitting that though she would love to take credit for the idea, the surprise delivery was not from her.

Here’s the second clincher: to my knowledge, I do not know any other Kimberlys. Mystified, I called The Warm Cookie, explaining my conundrum and why I hoped to track down the giver. Turns out, The Warm Cookie company had no record of a Michelle as a recipient nor a Kimberly as a giver.

I call her the Cookie Angel now, the mysterious Kimberly who gave me a reason to smile on a terrible-no-good-very-bad day. And as I write this, I’m thinking, wouldn’t it be fun to make this a thing? To launch a Pay it Forward Warm Cookie Angel Campaign? As far as I can see, the world could really use some snickerdoodles right now.

In all seriousness, though – we would all do well to remember the lasting and powerful effect of the small but meaningful gesture. Maybe it’s a handwritten note slipped into the mail. Or a bouquet of zinnias snipped from your garden. Or a lively greeting along your daily exercise route. As Mother Teresa so famously said, “We can’t all do great things. But we can all do small things with great love.”

Thank you, Kimberly the Cookie Angel. Your small thing turned around my bad day and made me smile all week (and my kids were pretty happy about it too).

It Wouldn’t Be Advent without Slightly Irritable Love

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I ran into Hobby Lobby a couple of days ago and experienced a PTSD moment that brought back the memory of last year’s One Small Thing Done in {Slightly Irritable} Love experience. So, in honor of that…a repost…It just wouldn’t be Advent without it…

salvationarmykettle

I recently ventured over to Hobby Lobby to pick up four spools of ribbon. It goes without saying, Hobby Lobby in December is Dante’s seventh circle of hell. There’s a sign over the store entrance: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” [Not really. But there should be.]

My quest for four spools took me 40 minutes. Miraculously, there was only one woman ahead of me in the check-out line, but she seemed to be purchasing great quantities of sequins.

I think she may have been paying for them one at a time.

By check.

I sweated in my goose down parka.  I breathed the serenity prayer. I channeled baby Jesus.

By the time I burst out the double doors all sticky with sweat, the biting cold that hit my face actually felt good. But as I scurried toward my car, I noticed the Salvation Army bell ringer standing in front of the store’s entrance. She looked miserable, her cheeks flushed scarlet, her breath blowing great plumes of mist into the air as she rang the bell and held out miniature candy canes in her bulky mittened hands.

The moment was ripe for a good deed.

You see, at the start of Advent I’d hatched a brilliant plan. I would do “one small thing in great love” for every one of the 24 days leading up to Christmas. As Mother Teresa once said, “None of us can do great things, but we can all do small things with great love.” It seemed like a lovely plan, all Christmassy and Peace-on Earth-Goodwill-to-Men. I couldn’t wait to get started.

But the problem is, I’m no Mother Teresa.

It was 12 noon the moment I decided to buy the Salvation Army bell-ringer a hot chocolate, which meant that every Christmas shopper and her mother, sister and Great Aunt from Gothenburg was already in the drive-thru line at the McDonald’s across the parking lot (and yes, if you must know, I drove. It was only 800 yards, but it was 8 degrees outside and I’m no fool).

I thought the cashier’s head might pop off when I ordered a single hot chocolate during the mad lunch rush. I thought my head might pop off when, 15 minutes later, I was still waiting for the hot chocolate, channeling baby Jesus again and humming “Away in the Manger” under my breath.

Finally, steaming cup in hand, I drove back across the parking toward Hobby Lobby. You should know, if Hobby Lobby itself is the seventh circle of hell during the Christmas season, the Hobby Lobby parking lot is the ninth circle.

That’s the inner circle, people — the pure, undiluted essence of hell.

I pulled over to the side of the lane, clicked on my hazards and prepared to dash down the sidewalk to hand over the hot chocolate when suddenly, I stopped. There were now two, TWO, Salvation Army bell-ringers standing outside Hobby Lobby – the same woman I’d seen 20 minutes earlier and another lady, buttoned up to her eyebrows in plaid parka.

One cup of hot chocolate. Two Salvation Army bell ringers.

I made an executive decision as I stood on the sidewalk with the cup in my hand and my car hazards flashing as traffic unfurled in an angry snarl behind me: I was not going to navigate the ninth circle of hell and the McDonald’s line and the irritable McDonald’s cashier and the ninth circle of hell again to retrieve a second cup of hot chocolate.

One cup was all the Great Love I had in me.

I approached the two ladies, held out the single cup of hot chocolate and explained how there’d only been one of them 20 minutes before. I laughed sheepishly and suggested that if they didn’t have germs, maybe they could share the one cup.

The best part of this story? The ladies were thrilled. It was like I’d just handed over two full-length ermine fur coats instead of one lousy cup of McDonald’s hot chocolate. They laughed at my story and patted me on the back and thanked me 12 times.

And then I dashed back to my car, waved an apology to the traffic backed up behind me, and pulled into the ninth circle of hell again. It’s true, I’m no Mother Teresa. But one small thing done in (slightly irritable) love? That I can do.

Leaf Bags, Banana Bread, a Note in a Stranger’s Mailbox {#SmallThingsGreatLove}

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I envisioned writing a lot more about the Small Things in Great Love initiative this Advent than I actually have. Turns out, these things I’m doing really are small. Really small. So small, in fact, that a #SmallThingsGreatLove blog post might typically look something like this:

I made cheerful conversation with the cashier at SuperSaver yesterday. The End.

See what I mean? Not a lot of meat there.

But you know, that’s okay. Not everything in life warrants a finely tuned story all tied up with a happy ending and a shiny red bow.

What I have learned in doing these small daily deeds is that this whole initiative has made me more intentional. It’s really easy for me to have very good motives – to desire to “love my neighbor” – but then fall short in the execution of that love. Keeping #SmallThingsGreatLove top-of-mind has reminded me to put love into action at least once a day.

Earlier this month I ran into my neighbor Mike at Walgreen’s. As we chatted amicably for a few minutes, Mike mentioned he’d been to three stores already in search of leaf bags. I advised him to try Ace Hardware. As I turned toward the automatic doors, though, it struck me. “Mike!” I yelled across the parking lot. “I have a ton of leaf bags in my garage. Don’t bother with Ace Hardware, just take some of those!”

I doubt I would have suggested that Mike help himself to my leaf bags if I hadn’t remembered the whole Small Things in Great Love. But that’s just it. This initiative has prompted me to be more generous on a daily basis than I am ordinarily. Mother Teresa’s words have inspired me to go the extra mile – or in this case, the extra inch (Mike, it should be noted, didn’t actually use my leaf bags).

It’s just leaf bags, right? It’s just a cup of McDonald’s hot chocolate. It’s just a thank you note to a stranger or a loaf of homemade banana bread for an elderly neighbor. All small gestures, most of them not even significant enough to warrant a blog post. But I don’t know. Something tells me these small, small gestures still make a difference.

“Let’s not just talk about love; let’s practice real love.” (1 John 3:18, The Message)


Jesus Lives in the Grocery Store {#SmallThingsGreatLove}

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I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m convinced Jesus lives in the grocery store. SuperSaver on 56th Street in Lincoln, Nebraska, to be exact. I know, technically he lives everywhere  and is in all places and in all people. But he really lives in the grocery store. SuperSaver is Jesus’s tabernacle, his temple. He lives right there amid the StarKist tuna and the Hamburger Helper.

Last week a woman stopped me in the pasta aisle. “This may sound like a strange question,” she said, her parka still buttoned up to her chin, “but do you write for the newspaper?” I was surprised. In the three years I’ve been writing for the Journal Star, no stranger has ever recognized me or stopped me in public.

“I do!” I said, pleased with my teeny-tiny moment of fame. She graciously mentioned how much she appreciated the column, and we talked for a few seconds about how rare it is these days for a city newspaper to feature a weekly religion section. Then we went our separate ways – she toward the canned vegetable aisle, me toward the frozen foods.

Two aisles later I passed her again, and it struck me: the lady in the buttoned-up parka must have read December’s column, the one in which I wrote about doing small things with great love for each of the 24 days of Advent.

I stopped my cart next to hers. “I’m onto to you,” I said, smiling. “This is your small thing done in great love for the day, isn’t it?” She didn’t outright agree, but I could tell the way she laughed that it was. Stopping to tell me she enjoyed the column was indeed her good deed for the day.

This is all so very ironic, of course, because while I’d been pushing my cart up and down SuperSaver’s aisles, I’d been thinking about how I might accomplish my small thing. Turns out, this Small Things Great Love initiative is trickier than I’d envisioned. I work from home; some days I only leave the house to drop off and pick up my kids from school. I don’t have a lot of interaction with the public. I don’t have a lot of opportunity to love my neighbor – at least the “neighbors” who live outside my own home – but I figured the grocery store was a good place to start.

I love that the lady in the parka stopped to offer me a kind word. I love that the column inspired her to participate in the Small Things in Great Love Advent initiative. And I especially love that while I schemed how to accomplish my good deed for the day, God took me by surprise, showering me with great love on a Tuesday afternoon in the grocery store, just when I least expected it.

One Small Thing Done in {slightly irritable} Love

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So last Saturday I ventured over to Hobby Lobby to pick up four spools of ribbon. You should know, Hobby Lobby in December is Dante’s seventh circle of hell. I really think they need to post a sign over the door with Dante’s words, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

Suffice to say, it took me 40 minutes to purchase my four items. I sweated in my goosedown parka.  I breathed the serenity prayer. I channeled baby Jesus. There was only one woman ahead of me in the check-out line, but she seemed to be purchasing great quantities of something small. I think it may have been sequins. I think she may have been paying for them one at a time. By check.

By the time I burst out the double doors all sticky with sweat, the biting cold actually felt good. But I noticed the Salvation Army bell ringer standing right outside Hobby Lobby looked miserable, her cheeks flushed scarlet, her breath blowing great plumes of mist into the air as she rang the bell and offered miniature candy canes in her bulky mittened hands to kids passing by.

“Aha!” I thought to myself. “A great opportunity for a Small Thing in Great Love! I’m going to buy her hot chocolate!”

{Cue symphony here}

The bad news, of course, was that it was 12 noon, so every Christmas shopper and their mother, sister and Great Aunt from Gothenburg was already in the drive-thru line at the McDonald’s across the parking lot (and yes, if you must know, I drove. I realize it was only about 800 yards, but it was 8 degrees and I’m no fool). I slipped into a parking space and stood in line inside, and I thought the cashier’s head was going to pop off when I ordered a single hot chocolate during the mad lunch rush. And then I thought my head was going to pop off when, 15 minutes later, I was still waiting for the hot chocolate, channeling Jesus again and humming Away in the Manger under my breath.

Finally, steaming cup in hand, I drove back across the parking toward Hobby Lobby. And you should know, while Hobby Lobby is the seventh circle of hell during the Christmas season, the Hobby Lobby parking lot is the ninth circle of hell. That’s the inner circle of hell, people — the pure, undiluted essence of hell.

I pulled into a handicapped spot, clicked on my hazards and prepared to dash down the sidewalk to hand over the hot chocolate when suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. There were now two, TWO, Salvation Army bell-ringers standing outside Hobby Lobby – the same woman I’d seen 20 minutes earlier and another lady, buttoned up to her eyebrows in plaid parka.

For. The. Love. One cup of hot chocolate. Two Salvation Army bell ringers.

I know this whole 24 Days of Advent #SmallThingsGreatLove initiative was launched with Mother Teresa’s lovely words, “None of us can do great things, but we can all do small things with great love” in mind. But let me just state for the record, right here, right now: I’m no Mother Teresa.

I made an executive decision as I stood on the sidewalk with the cup in my hand and my car in the handicapped spot: I was not going to navigate the ninth circle of hell and the McDonald’s line and the irritable McDonald’s cashier and the ninth circle of hell again to retrieve a second cup of hot chocolate. It wasn’t going to happen. One cup was all the Great Love I had in me for the day.

So I approached the two ladies, and I held out the one cup of hot chocolate, and I explained how there’d only been one of them 20 minutes before (I did glance accusatorily at the other lady who’d appeared in the meantime). I laughed sheepishly and suggested that if they didn’t have germs, maybe they could share the one cup.

And the best part of this story? The ladies were thrilled. Delighted. Overjoyed. It was like I’d just handed over two full-length ermine fur coats instead of one lousy cup of McDonald’s hot chocolate. They laughed at my story and patted me on the back and thanked me like 12 times. The one lady, who, it turns out, had been inside Hobby Lobby warming up when I walked by the first time, announced that I was “paying it forward” (clearly an unHollywoodish paying it forward, but I’ll take it). And when I walked away, I heard each of them insisting that the other one take the cup.

So there it is. It’s not exactly how I envisioned it. This Small Things in Great Love isn’t all pretty and perfect. It’s not a scene out of a movie, complete with symphony crescendo and gently falling snow. It’s real-life – kind of messy, not necessarily what I expected, but still very, very good.

[My friend Mary has joined me in #SmallThingsGreatLove this Advent, and I cracked up when she wrote about a similar experience here.]

So tell me, did you ever try to do a good deed and have it all turn out not quite as you anticipated?

Addendum: After my friend Kristin, mom to a disabled child, read this post this morning, she graciously mentioned to me that it’s not cool to park in a handicapped spot. She is totally right. Not only is it illegal, it’s just plain rude and selfish, and I regret doing it. So, for the record, I’m leaving it in the post, ’cause it’s the truth, but I do want to state that it’s not ever acceptable to park in a handicapped spot, no matter for how short a period, and no matter which circle of hell you are currently in! Thanks, Kristin, for giving me some much-needed perspective on this!