Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

Advent: #SmallThingsGreatLove

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…

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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.

24 Days of Advent: Small Soles, Big Hope (#SmallThingsGreatLove)

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Pushing the silk Christmas table runner and the glittery glass balls aside, we traced and cut, pinned and matched, our heads bent low over bright striped cotton and denim cloth. We were quiet, Christmas carols from the iPod filling the dining room as we guided pinking shears and scissors along Sharpie lines, tracing patterns for toddler size tens that will make their way from Nebraska to Uganda.

“Just think about this for a second,” Brad said, holding up a pair of castoff jeans. “A little kid in Africa will actually wear the shoes that you are making today. You are making an actual pair of shoes for someone.” Rowan nodded without lifting his eyes from the cloth spread out in front of him.

I first heard about Sole Hope at the Allume conference this past October, and when I learned how one simple pair of cloth shoes with rubber tire soles could change the life of a child in Africa — even perhaps save the life of a child in Africa — I was sold.

Ugandan kids who go barefoot (which is most of them) are susceptible to jiggers — sand fleas that borrow into the soles of tender feet, where they lay their eggs and ultimately cause severe discomfort and often even serious infection resulting in paralysis and amputation if the infection goes untreated. Removing the parasites and eggs with a needle or pin without proper sterilization or anesthetic is not only extremely painful but also dangerous, as it can lead to the spread of HIV and other life-threatening conditions.

Before we began to trace and cut, I insisted that my kids watch the online video depicting children who suffer from jiggers and the process they often endure to remove the parasites from their feet. Rowan was unable to eat lunch afterwards. It was gruesome and heart-wrenching to watch, but for someone with more than a dozen pairs of shoes in her closet, the video brought the devastating reality of jiggers right into my home, as well as into my heart.

The sad fact is that infection caused by jiggers is entirely and easily preventable. Let me say that again: Infection that causes the suffering of thousands of children across Africa is entirely and easily preventable.

All a child needs to protect himself is a single pair of simple shoes.

On Sunday, we cut patterns from denim and cotton, materials that will  be used by Ugandan women who will be paid a fair wage to sew five pairs of toddler-sized shoes to cover five pairs of toddler-size feet. We traced patterns from paper cut-outs onto cloth and old jeans, cut out the pieces and grouped them into five sets, each held together with a safety pin.

Later, when I laid the pieces out on the coffee table next to the nativity, they didn’t look like much – a few pieces of bright fabric, old denim,  half-moon heel supports cut from plastic folders purchased at Walgreen’s.  And it’s true, it wasn’t much: one hour of effort, a $15 starter kit from Sole Hope, the materials for five pairs of simple shoes.

But it was something. It was one small thing done in great love. Five pairs of shoes. Ten small soles.

And it was also, I pray, one small way to offer big hope to small souls.

This is a great project to do with your extended family or your kids. My boys are ages 8 and 12, and they were able to trace and cut from the patterns with little to no supervision. Or better yet, gather your girlfriends, pour some wine, put out a tray of appetizers and chat while you trace and cut. It’s fun, it’s easy (no sewing involved!), and it’s a great way to put those two-sizes-t0o-small jeans that you’ll never wear again to good use. Sole Hope provides the patterns, an informational DVD and an instructional booklet for shoe-cutting parties up to 100 people. You provide the scissors, pinking shears, old denim, cotton fabric, safety pins and plastic (you can use milk jugs or clean laundry detergent bottles; I bought cheap but sturdy plastic folders). Then you mail the completed materials back to Sole Hope’s United States headquarters in Ashville, North Carolina, and they ship the materials to Uganda, where they pay Ugandan women a fair wage to sew the shoes together. Click here to read more and order a shoe-cutting kit.

 

What do you think? #SmallThingsGreatLove