During our recent travels, my daughter ran out of the rubber bands that attach to her braces to correct her bite. It was a simple miscalculation. Problem is, we get those from her orthodontist, 1000-odd miles away from where we were staying. You can’t just walk into Rite Aid or Walgreens and pick up a few packs.
“Maybe we can get some from another orthodontist,” I said. “We can offer to pay for them. Surely they’ll go for that.” I picked the closest orthodontist office and off we went, just before we were due to leave town for our next stop up the road.
We entered the office to find two women in scrubs seated behind a long reception desk. A man in a tie and jacket stood between them, discussing paperwork. Each of them adopted a serious face as I explained our quest and our willingness to purchase these rubber bands.
The two women glanced to the man, whom I correctly surmised to be the senior orthodontist. He was not seeing patients that day, but he stared at us for a moment and then said, “We don’t sell those.”
I prepared to plead.
He paused, looked at us, and continued, “You know what? I can give them to you. Ours are a little different, but if you hand me those (empty) packs, I’ll see what we’ve got that’s close.” The orthodontist disappeared into the back of the office and reemerged after several minutes with 2 packs of rubber bands similar to those my daughter uses. He handed them to her and told her, rather gravely, “These ought to help until you get home.”
I wanted to thank him. He’d already refused money. The office was a rather understated set-up, into which effusive offerings of words would likely strike a dissonant note. We all stood there for a quiet half-second.
And then it hit me.
When my grandmama requested and received a favor from someone, she would invariably tell them, “Ask me to do something for you next time.” Though she died five years ago, I can still hear those words in her voice. She meant them – and because she offered them with sincerity and grace, they evoked a resonant power.
Our situation, however, did not lend itself to such mutuality of engagement. Within minutes we would be leaving the state.
I repeated our thanks – and then it came to me. Echoing from the memory of my grandmother, I heard these words from my lips:
“May someone do something kind for you.”
The man’s face softened as he acknowledged our thanks and our blessing.
I walked away thinking about how this and similar small blessings might be repeated, either audibly or silently, throughout our days. Having simple rituals could enable us to reach out to those around us, to engage with them in a new spirit. How might the world and our own lives be better if we came to know and rely on a reflexive blessing or two?
I can think of any number of situations where our (ahem, my) reflex is the opposite – when I crack my elbow against a doorframe or encounter a car whose driver stubbornly refuses to let me merge on the expressway; when I hear the voice of an antagonistic politician or a the words of a neighbor proclaiming some old racist or homophobic fallacy. I can jump to a reflexive curse pretty quickly. And as southerner, I know that “bless your heart” often signifies a problem rather than a sincere wish.
But what if I had on hand simple words and rituals that speak of and to that which is good? Could I make kindness and connection come more easily to me? Could I make it my automatic response to recognize and honor that part of God that dwells within each person?
I’m sure plenty of people already do so, including those in faith traditions other than my own. But mainline Christianity as I’ve known it has not given me much experience in this area. I don’t have the words waiting for me. I may be prepared to fuss or cuss, but I’m not ready to bless.
I want to change that.
“May someone do something kind for you” is thus becoming one of my regular refrains, a small blessing I aim to offer throughout the day when I encounter manifest kindness.
(and if people use or create other everyday blessings, I’d love to hear the words that work for them).
I acknowledge that these are small and simple words in a big, complicated, and often bleak world. I’m not suggesting that such everyday blessings are a revolutionary means of righting wrongs and upending injustices. Instead, they serve as one way of deliberately connecting ourselves to other human beings. We cultivate an awareness of our interdependence and of our mutual need for deep kindness. It’s a step away from the dehumanization that infects our culture. It points toward transformation – in the image of God – of ourselves and our relationships to one another.
May someone do something kind for you.