Helper

It has occurred to me numerous times in my life that I'm a helper. I do things for people. I help out. It started as a skinny energetic child in Idaho helping Mom in the kitchen and around the house. You couldn't get me outside to save my life -- I absolutely hated being outside. So much so that Mom would put me in my winter coat, put me outdoors, and lock the kitchen door behind me. Just to get me outside. I would lay by the door and cry. And fall asleep. I wanted to be indoors! Helping, apparently. If it was in the kitchen, I was there....or cleaning the bathroom, I did it. I babysat regularly from the time I was 10. They didn't just get a babysitting job out of me -- I cleaned their houses, vacuumed, did dishes, the whole lot. I was a helper.

I spend my current life in the helping mode. It's part of my career now.

• What do I do with my stroller? You leave it right here by the boarding door....it will be waiting for you in Los Angeles....minus your child.
  
• Where is seat 15C? Out the back door, turn right, it is an aisle seat on the right-side at row 15.
  
• What are we going to be served for lunch today? Nothing.
  
• Are they going to hold the flight to Medford for me? No.
• Which gate are we arriving today? N1 on the North Satellite.
• Which way to the baggage claim area? Follow the signs....to Milwaukee.
  
• Can you lift my carry-on bag down for me? Umm, sure. (Good attitude ensues...)

And it goes on and on. I started to count the number of times I was asked questions on my one, simple round-trip to Orange County and back this morning. I lost count. I had full intentions of writing this post and was sort of interested in how often it happens. It is nonstop from the time I get to work until I strip off the blue polyester in my hotel room, or home, at the end of the day. It happens even in the grocery store and in hotel lobbies. I think the uniform is a magnet.

But even outside work, I find myself just in that helper mode. Without even trying to. I see people needing the door held open, and I do it. I see the waitress coming with food for our table and I'm automatically starting to clear space for her to set down the plates. I stack the plates at the end and gather the trash together. Something falls to the floor in the grocery store, and I'm down there picking it up. I have spent the last numerous years of my life helping family members, inlaws, and friends. Seems like someone always needs advice, money, or a visit. It's just automated, built in, ingrained. I'm not sure when it happened, where it came from, or how it all got started.

I've thought for a very long time about the number of people in our world who need help. And its overwhelming. There are far more who actually need help than actually provide help, it occurs to me. There are a million opportunities each day for me to provide assistance or answer questions for people. Partly because of my particular job. Partly because I'm probably looking for the chance to point someone in the right direction.

But sometimes, I hide. I'm tired of it. I don't want to answer any more questions....especially the ones that I've judged to be silly or stupid. And there are plenty of those. And I definitely cast judgment on them quickly and easily. Shame on me. Being a helper is endless and thankless. Those who need help suck the life out of those who help them. They need something, we have the answer, we provide them the help, they take it, they walk on. But just this morning, it occurred to me that it is part of my calling in this screwed-up world. To help. It is definitely my gift. I'm good at it and function well within its parameters. I think I just plain old need to embrace it, enjoy it, go with it. And most of the time I do.

Anybody need help? Give me a call.