get
back to working, perhaps you’ll find a way to help someone else in need.” We
rode the rest of the way in silence.
A
little over an hour later, we found ourselves at Nashville Municipal Airport.
Dropping Frank at the Southwest departure gate, I stuffed ten Franklins in his
pocket to cover his tickets and food, with a couple to spare. “Good luck
starting over. Trust me, Frank, it can be done. Hey, it’s a whole lot easier
when people believe in you.” My last words to you are these: “When good things
come your way — and they will — pay it forward. That way you’ll
never forget where you came from and you’ll remember those who helped you along
the way.”
What
am I saying? Here is someone I know for a fact is in need of re-compensation.
“Hang on, Frank. Here’s a little something I need to give you.”
Reaching
into my backpack, I pulled out a small, brown paper-wrapped box and shoved it
into his calloused, leathery hands. “Bury this box deep inside your checked
luggage. Best you do not carry it onboard.”
“Why?
Just what is it?” asked Frank, looking as if I had given him something illegal
to transport. “It’s more than a
little something to help you get back on your feet.” Resting my hand on his
shoulder, “Promise me you won’t open it until you get home. I want you to use
all you need to get up and going and when you can, pay the rest forward. That’s
all I ask of you.”
“After
all you’ve just done, I promise to do just that. You never did tell me your
name.”
“D.
Just D,” I confided in a whisper. “God Bless you, Frank.”
I
pulled from the curb, waved goodbye, and headed westward again. I couldn’t help
wondering, How do I meet such extraordinary people?
Chapter
9
O n the road again, I had one more
stop to make before I left Nashville. Second Harvest Food Banks, with outlets
in Nashville and Knoxville, were all that stood between tens of thousands of
Tennesseans and hunger on a daily basis. Even in my little piece of Heaven,
hundreds of people lined up monthly for the food truck deliveries that helped
them stretch one dollar into five. My friend, Lane, works tirelessly to
continue to raise enough capital to meet every need that comes their way. She
and her staff are the unsung heroes of the forgotten few who are lost in the
throes of our current financial uncertainty. Somehow, someway, Second Harvest
has managed to purchase three meals for every dollar donated. Just imagine if
one hundred dollars can buy three hundred meals, that would feed a family of
four for one month, imagine what five thousand dollars or even a million
dollars can do.
Grabbing
two unmarked packages from my bag, I put them in a big brown envelope and
dropped them by the Nashville center, along with a note that read,
Please deliver this envelope directly to Lane. Keep
up the good work. Your tireless efforts do not go unnoticed. All that I ask is
that you and your staff go to Hawaii for a week — on me. Use the rest as
the needs arise.
From
a friend
I’m
thankful that I’ve been able to right many a wrong, as of late. I pray I can
until I can't.
Daydreaming
through Kentucky and Illinois, I wished I could be there to see Lane’s, as well
as her staff’s reaction, when she announces that everyone is going to Hawaii.
Priceless. I’ve learned in my lifetime that selfless people make the world a
better place and they need pampered, too.
Thrust
back into reality, eight hours into the drive, in an almost 360 degree turn of
circumstance, I inadvertently met my next “exceptional” person of the day. And,
this time it was a rather stunning female.
Note to self: Looks, however, can be deceiving.
I
had no more than stopped outside Kansas City, Missouri, for my third fuel stop
when a girl, projecting the allure of Ana, straight out of 50 Shades of Grey and the confidence of a brass-balled monkey, pulled up beside me at the pump.
She shouted through the window glass. “I’m on empty. I
back to working, perhaps you’ll find a way to help someone else in need.” We
rode the rest of the way in silence.
A
little over an hour later, we found ourselves at Nashville Municipal Airport.
Dropping Frank at the Southwest departure gate, I stuffed ten Franklins in his
pocket to cover his tickets and food, with a couple to spare. “Good luck
starting over. Trust me, Frank, it can be done. Hey, it’s a whole lot easier
when people believe in you.” My last words to you are these: “When good things
come your way — and they will — pay it forward. That way you’ll
never forget where you came from and you’ll remember those who helped you along
the way.”
What
am I saying? Here is someone I know for a fact is in need of re-compensation.
“Hang on, Frank. Here’s a little something I need to give you.”
Reaching
into my backpack, I pulled out a small, brown paper-wrapped box and shoved it
into his calloused, leathery hands. “Bury this box deep inside your checked
luggage. Best you do not carry it onboard.”
“Why?
Just what is it?” asked Frank, looking as if I had given him something illegal
to transport. “It’s more than a
little something to help you get back on your feet.” Resting my hand on his
shoulder, “Promise me you won’t open it until you get home. I want you to use
all you need to get up and going and when you can, pay the rest forward. That’s
all I ask of you.”
“After
all you’ve just done, I promise to do just that. You never did tell me your
name.”
“D.
Just D,” I confided in a whisper. “God Bless you, Frank.”
I
pulled from the curb, waved goodbye, and headed westward again. I couldn’t help
wondering, How do I meet such extraordinary people?
Chapter
9
O n the road again, I had one more
stop to make before I left Nashville. Second Harvest Food Banks, with outlets
in Nashville and Knoxville, were all that stood between tens of thousands of
Tennesseans and hunger on a daily basis. Even in my little piece of Heaven,
hundreds of people lined up monthly for the food truck deliveries that helped
them stretch one dollar into five. My friend, Lane, works tirelessly to
continue to raise enough capital to meet every need that comes their way. She
and her staff are the unsung heroes of the forgotten few who are lost in the
throes of our current financial uncertainty. Somehow, someway, Second Harvest
has managed to purchase three meals for every dollar donated. Just imagine if
one hundred dollars can buy three hundred meals, that would feed a family of
four for one month, imagine what five thousand dollars or even a million
dollars can do.
Grabbing
two unmarked packages from my bag, I put them in a big brown envelope and
dropped them by the Nashville center, along with a note that read,
Please deliver this envelope directly to Lane. Keep
up the good work. Your tireless efforts do not go unnoticed. All that I ask is
that you and your staff go to Hawaii for a week — on me. Use the rest as
the needs arise.
From
a friend
I’m
thankful that I’ve been able to right many a wrong, as of late. I pray I can
until I can't.
Daydreaming
through Kentucky and Illinois, I wished I could be there to see Lane’s, as well
as her staff’s reaction, when she announces that everyone is going to Hawaii.
Priceless. I’ve learned in my lifetime that selfless people make the world a
better place and they need pampered, too.
Thrust
back into reality, eight hours into the drive, in an almost 360 degree turn of
circumstance, I inadvertently met my next “exceptional” person of the day. And,
this time it was a rather stunning female.
Note to self: Looks, however, can be deceiving.
I
had no more than stopped outside Kansas City, Missouri, for my third fuel stop
when a girl, projecting the allure of Ana, straight out of 50 Shades of Grey and the confidence of a brass-balled monkey, pulled up beside me at the pump.
She shouted through the window glass. “I’m on empty. I
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