“The smallest deed is greater that the greatest intention.” – John Burroughs

The Smallest Deed

It was a small thing and it started with a short text message.

“Are you in town?”  Barry Smith asked.

“Yes.” I responded.

“Oh, good!”  He said.  “I’m out of town and I was wondering if you could help Andre.”

Andre Paczocha is a friend of ours.  And, not too many years ago he was almost given up for dead!  He was in an automobile accident.  A bad one!  In fact.  The steering wheel and the driver’s side of his car’s dashboard tried their hardest to replace his heart within seconds of an errant driver’s incursion.  After saving his life, Andre’s attending physician said, “All I can say Andre, is that you must be too stubborn to die!”

Yes.  Andre lived, but his life has changed in innumerable ways.  Things that were once simple and easy for him have become burdensome and difficult.  At least he can walk pretty well now.  He can amble forward for a way and then he has to stop and catch his breath, because his heart has never been the same after the accident.

“If you can think of every heart ailment, I have it.”  Andre once said to me.

Everything isn’t about his heart condition and bodily mobility though.  He can’t work. He can’t even drive his car.  That’s why Barry had contacted me.

The day after Barry and I communicated through text, I drove to Andre’s home and picked him up so we could drive to a meeting at the Social Security Administration.  It was an easy thing for me to do; to ride in a comfortable car, to visit a friend.  While doing so I wondered about the small nature of my deed just as John Burroughs must have done while writing one of his esteemed essays, in which he says, “The smallest deed is greater that the greatest intention.”

This thoughtful reminder perked up my spirit as the tires of my car met the gravel of Andre’s driveway a couple of minutes later.  My mood was heighted even more as soon as I saw him standing on his front porch with a smile of gratitude gracing his face.

We spent about three hours together; driving, talking, attending to his business.  Upon leaving the social security office I asked, “Where you able to complete what you needed to?”

Andre responded with a happy, “Yes!  And, I know a short cut back to my house. It will only take us about fifteen minutes to get there.”

So, we drove together once again.  This time the driving interval seemed to be completely insignificant.  Perhaps it was because we had actually completed our intention.  And, measuring this time together through life’s rearview mirror, our trip together seemed to be the smallest deed, ever.

It was a small thing to help Andre, and it started with a short text message.

“Are you in town?”  Barry asked.

“Yes.” I responded.

“Oh, good!”  He said.  “I’m out of town and I was wondering if you could help Andre.”

Barry and I did help Andre in a seemingly insignificant way.  Then and now, it is clear that Andre helped me infinitely more!  My time with him confirmed that what is inconsequential to one may be insurmountable to another and that the smallest deed is always much greater than anyone’s greatest intention.

A Face of Triumph

A woman crossing the finish line during event take down.

A Face of Triumph

Potential early morning triumph brought throngs of competitors and their supporters to the town square and the finish line for an early fall marathon. People were lining the road leading to the finish line holding signs and cheering as runners charged forward toward the end of their run and the carnival-like atmosphere there, around the main stage.

That platform held a live band which was blasting music to surround everyone as they milled around, laughed and sampled products from the event sponsors.  Smiles of individual achievement were on almost every face and many people were wearing race medals around their necks which certified they had completed the course.  It was like a vast party on the square.

And, like the race, the party was coming to an end.  The racers, their supporters and the vendors began taking their success and grins toward other destinations and activities.  It wasn’t like a rush to an exit.  It was more like a trickle at first, almost imperceptible in effect, sort of like the steady stream of slower runners still pounding the street toward completion, victory and conclusion.

Soon, the crowd was gone, the music stopped and trucks were loaded with barricades, tents and all pieces of the stage.  It looked like the end of the event.  But it was neither the end of event nor the end of triumph.  As it turns out, one more competitor would cross the finish line.

Few would see her trudging forward, but there were a few.  You see, it had been hours since the first competitors completed their run for glory.  So, it had to be more than the sight of her running that caught my attention.  There was also the crisp staccato of appreciative clapping.  But, neither of those stimulants cemented the significance that this runner delivered with her finish.

It was the look on her face.  Hers was the genuine face of triumph.

Potential early morning triumph brought throngs of competitors and their supporters to the town square and the finish line for an end to an early fall marathon. People were lining the road leading to the finish line, holding signs and cheering as runners charged forward toward the end of their successful run.  It was a carnival-like atmosphere there around the main stage.

Now that stage was gone.  The metals had been awarded and the crowd had vanished.

“Too bad!” I thought.  “They missed what very few saw; an improbable victory.”

It was not a victory over others.  It was a victory of one, the joyful face of a person who had faced true struggle and defeated it.  It was the look of satisfaction.  She, the last runner to finish, displayed the face of triumph for all of us, because many of us have been in her shoes.  I know I have.

I treasured the sight of her victory because it reminded me of the value of such personal triumph.  It resonates with the heart.  Her amazing finish displayed the gratification of completing something no one else thought she could.  It personified the rewards of defeating one’s own self-doubt.

The last runner to finish the race wore the face of triumph for herself and for all of us.