Lessons Learned at the kettle

"...But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a fraction of a penny" --Mark 12:42

A couple of days ago I volunteered at a Salvation Army Kettle - the kind you see at shopping malls and other public places at this time of year. Basically the Salvation Army puts out these kettles for people to put in donations to support their work. Because our agency agreed to help out, I was glad to sign up for a shift.

The work was simply enough. I simply had to go to the mall, stand beside the kettle for 90 minutes, and thank people for their donations. While a few people actually stopped by, for the most part I was simply standing there.

As I stood there watching the people walking right by me, busy with their Christmas shopping, a mild feeling of loneliness came over me. It was not so much me feeling lonely for myself, but I was getting a taste of how the busy, "happy" holiday seasons can be a lonely experience for many people. Christmas is billed as a season of peace, of joy, of family and friends. There are many who don't have a whole lot of any of those things in their lives. As I stood there in the mall, I quietly wondered whether Christmas feels like this for them: being alone while surrounded by people busy celebrating.

I was watching this one family carrying...no, hauling a huge load of Christmas gifts when I was startled by a voice behind me.

"Hi!"

"Hello!"

I turned around to see an elderly gentleman. We chatted for a bit. From our conversation, it was apparent that he struggles with some mental disability, and from the way he dressed, I guessed that financially he wasn't exactly well off. He told me that every year he makes it a point to look for the Salvation Army kettle to make a donation, because in the past he had benefited from Salvation army's services to the needy.

Then he pulled out a handful of loose change from his pocket and dropped them into the kettle. He did so slowly, one coin at a time, like it was the most important thing he had to do that day. After he was done, I thanked him, he said good-bye and started to walk away. After taking a few steps, he stopped, turned and said to me, "You take care of yourself."

I didn't get a chance to tell him, but in many ways, he gave more that day than he could ever know.