About 15 years ago or so, as
I worked at the regional offices of Youngstown Area Goodwill Industries, I felt
like I was at the lowest point of my professional life. I remember how hard it was for me to
experience any sense of satisfaction and contentment with my situation at the
time.
The Goodwill regional office
is an 86,000 square foot complex that houses what they call “The Plant.” That’s where they process the donations they
receive. It takes a small army to
process each and every donated item that Goodwill receives each day. And that is a good thing, because that means
more jobs for the disabled and for those who have not been dealt a lucky hand
in life. That is the main purpose behind
the organization. Goodwill employs
disabled individuals, persons who are trying to come out of welfare and have no
skills, single mothers who have no other prospects of getting a job and many
others who would find it very difficult to find gainful employment anywhere
else. They are the Goodwill recruits who
work at “the Plant,” sorting, cleaning, packing, shipping and even fixing all
donated items.
Goodwill also is a contractor
for cleaning services and small assembly jobs.
Again, these jobs are performed mainly by people with a wide array of
disabilities who are able to feel productive and independent thanks to this
organization.
That’s where I worked when I
felt at my lowest professionally. Only a
few years earlier I had been in charge of Marketing for ESSO Standard Oil in Panama
It was not a particularly nice morning that day. We don’t have many of those around here…It
was unseasonably cool for that late in June.
I drove in the parking lot, found a spot, got out of the car, slammed
the door and headed toward the building thinking how the rust on the car’s door
was getting worse by the minute.
The usual parade of “hellos” and “good mornings”
started as I approached the main door.
As usual, I wasn’t much in the mood to reply, but I did out of
obligation. I entered the reception area,
punched the clock and went to the office I shared with my two bosses. I was the first one to arrive. Soon, though, I heard the sound of high hills
out in the hallway announcing my two female superiors’ arrival.
Shortly after my daily routine began, the CEO came
into our office with bad news. “Laverne
died last night,” he said gravely.
Laverne had been a prominent member of the Goodwill Senior Volunteer
Guild for the last thirty years. The
Guild was a group of seniors that performed several volunteer activities all
year round, from sorting books to organizing employees’ Christmas Parties. Unfortunately, the Guild had not been able to
recruit new members, and it had decreased to a mere three people who did all
the strenuous work.
The atmosphere turned dark as we meditated on the
future of the Senior Guild. The phone
rang and it was Betty, the current president of the Guild. We talked about the sad news and also about
the ice-cream social that the Guild had planned for the lunch break on that day
for the employees. As we discussed the
alternatives, we decided to continue ahead with the plans. Laverne would have liked it that way.
The morning continued with the same hectic pace as any
other day. Soon it was time to get the
cafeteria ready for the frozen treats. I
pushed my chair back and got up with a sigh that revealed my lack of enthusiasm. I really didn’t want to do this, but it was
my job, so I left my desk and walked to the employee cafeteria to perform my
duty.
As I walked back and forth looking for paper products
and scoops, dragging tables, and pushing the darn cart with half a dozen of
ice-cream tubs on it, my mind drifted away.
“How did I get to be this old?” I
asked myself. “How come I’m not managing
an entire department at some important corporation and making lots of money, or
even some “decent” money, like some of my friends are?” “Tomorrow is pay day, what a joke,” I
thought. With a sigh, I recalled that my
bi-weekly check was always spent before it even made it into my account.
Cheerful greetings from Betty, Jerry and Hilda pulled
me out of my thoughts. They were the only
remaining active members of the Guild.
It was 11:45 and people began to come into the cafeteria to enjoy their
lunch break. Over 300 workers would show
up in shifts of half an hour each, so we would be there until past 1pm. I stood next to Hilda as she handed out
spoons and napkins to those who approached the table. My job was to make sure that Betty and Jerry
had enough cones, cups, and, of course, ice-cream. I mainly just stood out of the way.
The receptionist had made several announcements over
the speakers about the ice-cream social so the workers’ faces lit up as they
approached the table. People on
crutches, walkers, wheelchairs, walking canes slowly maneuvered their way to
the ice-cream. There were also many
visually impaired persons who felt their way with their white canes.
Jerry and Betty kept serving ice-cream with a smile
and a funny remark to all who came by.
To their left was Hilda. Everything
was running smoothly. Everyone was
enjoying themselves. The place became
alive with laughter and conversation. I
took a few steps back and just stood there.
I looked at everyone’s movements.
Then I concentrated on their hands.
I saw how Hilda’s eighty-two-year-old hands carefully distributed spoons
and napkins with a loving smile on her weathered face. I saw Jerry’s fingers passing out the cups to
the fingers that received them. Some
fingers were shy, some were assertive, some firm, many shaky, some well
manicured with polished nails. Others were
curled up, unusable or even missing, but certainly, all very appreciative. My eyes then went down to my own hands...they
just hung from my long arms, able and full of fingers, but lacking a
purpose. “What have I done with such a
great gift?” I asked myself. The answer
didn’t come.
Betty’s gentle laughter brought me back to the table
and I realized that they soon would need more ice-cream. I hurried through the
hallways pushing the cart among boxes and bins. I thought about how life presents us with so
many opportunities to look at things from a different perspective. “Lord,” I prayed, “I’ve been so frustrated
trying to get what I lack, that I have forgotten to thank you for the many
blessings that I do have.”
Back at the table, I continued watching from a
distance. I caught myself smiling at the
funny, witty and above all, appreciative
comments my co-workers would say. I saw
how Jerry kept joking around with everyone.
I saw Richard handling his cone despite his crutches. I saw Margaret expertly minding her way
around the place with her white cane. I
saw Lona extending a dollar bill to pay for the treat. She hadn’t realized the ice-cream was free
because she was hearing impaired and could not hear the announcements, and I
had forgotten to post signs around the Plant.
“Thank you very much,” she said to us with a broad smile as she got her
cone.
I saw the most wonderful parade of smiles and
compliments I’ve ever seen. I saw my
co-workers one by one; slowly move around the room enjoying their treat. Some with severe and multiple disabilities,
some with wounded self-esteems caused by generations of government assisted
dependency, all savoring their scoop of vanilla joy. “Thank you for doing this for us.” “It’s been real nice of you to come and serve
us ice-cream.” “God bless you all.” It didn’t matter how disabled their bodies
were, or how much life had torn them apart, the light of their spirits shone on
us through the brightness of their eyes.
After the last scoop was served, I cleaned up and said
good bye to Jerry, Betty and Hilda. We
would probably see each other at Laverne’s funeral the next day, I
thought. I put the remaining supplies
back on the cart to store them away and I pushed it out of the cafeteria
wondering whether that had been the last Senior Guild-sponsored event.
Back at my desk, I gulped my scant lunch and went back
to my routine. I sensed, however, that
at that moment, perhaps something in me had begun to change.
The day slipped away and soon I found myself saying
goodbye to the guard at the main entrance.
I stepped outside and started to walk to the parking lot. My car was the only one left. Distracted by the gentle breeze, I missed the
rust spots on the bottom of the door.
Instead, I noticed the beauty of the early summer afternoon. For the first time I actually thanked God for
having placed me there at that very moment.
I started my old car, rolled down the windows and drove off thinking how
it had turned out to be a beautiful day after all.
Every time you drop off a bag
full of your unwanted items at one of the local Goodwill stations behind their
stores, think about this story and how Goodwill changes lives on a daily
basis. It sure changed mine.
