Last night, I sat in my purple, frayed lawn chair as I watched Andrew pitch a seven inning game. The sun was out, the mountains in the background were unbelievably beautiful, and my son was having an awesome game. I didn't think it could get any better.
It was the first warm game of the season. But if you've ever experienced Colorado weather, you know it can change in a flash.
The weather remained calm, the wind kept its distance, and it seemed everyone was having the time of their lives. But then the sun went behind the mountains. It was still pleasant enough, and to most folks, it was a relief from the glaring sunshine.
But I shivered and slipped my fleece jacket on, and wondered if I'd eventually need the other three jackets or the wool blanket that I faithfully bring to each game. If the wind picked up, or clouds began to roll over the top of the mountains, I would eventually don
each and
every winter good I brought, and wish for more.
I continued watching the game.
"Who would have ever thought I should have brought a jacket?" I heard a shaky voice behind me say.
I turned to see an old lady sitting four bleachers up. I'd never seen her before. I later came to realize that she was likely our catcher's grandmother. She was quite thin, with stark white hair. Even though it was warm when she arrived, she wore a long sleeve sweat suit and tennis shoes.
I knew then that we possessed a common trait - the inability to stay warm.
I stole another glance at her. Her body was arched over, arms and legs crossed to keep the warmth in. Her smile was broad, revealing a road map of wrinkles as she watched her grandson catch my son's pitches.
I smiled too. But my smile quickly turned upside down and I felt a pang of guilt. After all, I was sitting comfortably with my jacket butttoned up to my neck, two jackets resting on the back of my chair, and a wool blanket under my toosh. Not to mention my husbands jacket lying on the ground next to me.
I'm too shy, I thought.
Chicken!
I ignored the accusation and went on watching the game. The wind picked up a bit. I shivered, and again I remembered the lady behind me.
I stole another glance at her.
Still hunched over. Still cold. Still smiling.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I hate being cold, and I knew it happened just as easily to her as it does to me. Everyone else seemed warm and comfortable. I was the only one who knew how she felt. And I was the only one who could help her.
I pryed my sorry, shy tooshy off the purple, tattered lawn chair, and grabbed a jacket that I was sure would completely cover her. I slowly made my way up the bleachers, trying to stay out of people's view of the game. I wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and said, "I can't stand to see you over here shivering when I have all those jackets just sitting there waiting to be used."
I made sure the jacket was snug.
She smiled at me, and the lines in the map grew deeper.
"Thank you so much. I should have thought to bring something for myself."
"Well, you're new here," I assured her. "I've learned to come prepared, even when the weather is beautiful."
She seemed happy with that response, and even happier that she could sit and watch the game, goosebump free.
I, however, was not goosebump free - a gift given to me not by the weather, but by her pricelss look of gratefulness.
How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these.
~George Washington Carver
You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
