Last night I walked into a local soup restaurant for the first time in many months. It was around 6:30 and the place was empty except for one young, friendly employee working through her closing duties. She kindly filled my to-go order and directed me to the checkout where I noticed a framed picture hanging on the wall just to the left of the cash register.
When I glanced at the picture I immediately recognized the sweet face of an older lady who was almost always working there during lunchtime hours. Something about her reminded me of my grandmother. The way she cheerfully served the food, bussed the tables, and chatted with customers made me wonder if she owned the place. I remembered hearing that she passed away this past winter. And suddenly the dreary weather, a long day, and seeing her picture made a little lump swell in my throat.
Later at home I Googled her name and pulled up her obituary. She was an 83-year-old widow when she died; a beloved mother and grandmother. And as it turns out, she didn’t own the soup restaurant but chose to work there in her post-retirement years. An excerpt from her obituary reads:
“In her later years, she enjoyed working at The Soup Kitchen… where she was known for her friendliness and her hospitality. Her smile, grace, and witty personality were known and loved by all she came in contact with. Her special gift was knowing how to make people feel important and loved. She will be greatly missed by all who knew her.”
I would add that she will missed by those who didn’t know her but who merely encountered her at her workplace. What a legacy to be known for making people “feel important and loved.” Given the current climate of our culture, anyone who has a knack for making other people feel seen and cared for is a godsend. We need more of them. And we need them to live forever.
Earlier this week counselor and parenting expert Sissy Goff shared this image of three things our kids need most from us right now:
Stability and predictability are simple enough. But giving our kids an opportunity to make a difference requires some intentionality. It means taking the time to remind them and model for them that life is about a whole lot more than just us and our wants and whims. And that starts with me living like I believe this—putting my phone down, pushing my comforts aside, and looking up and out to see how we can be serving our neighbors, friends, and acquaintances. I can assure you I’m in more of a survival mode than a service mode right now, and it isn’t pretty or inspiring.
I want my daughters to know that thanks to the blood, sweat, and tears of many people who went before us, they can grow up and become a surgeon or a senator. A president or a playwright. An attorney or an analyst. There is value and pride and great purpose in any and all of those professions. But I have to remind myself often that I also want them to know, as Dallas Willard said, that “it’s not what they’re achieving but who they’re becoming that matters.”
It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed, anxious, and negative about our world right now. With so many voices and issues clattering for our attention from platforms and podiums, I too easily overlook the contributions of those who are quietly bettering their corner of the world behind-the-scenes…
Or behind a soup counter.
J.R.R. Tolkien said and I believe it to be true: “I have found that it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.”
A picture hanging by the register of a little soup place in East Tennessee serves as proof and as a challenge.
Let’s keep being ordinary folk doing the kind of everyday deeds—like smiling, and noticing, and listening—that keep darkness at bay.
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