People Like to Help

People like to help.  Besides the scientific feel-good endorphins that are released, there is a goodness energy that expands into the world when one person helps another.

For five and half years I worked with a clinical psychologist.  In the waiting room at his office, there was a bronze sculpture called The Assent prominently displayed in one corner. Two Native Americans are struggling on the face of a jagged cliff. The one above reaches out and extends himself, grasping for the one below. The one below looks up and also reaches out to receive the hand of safety and strength.

Sculptor, Gary Price says of his creation:

“Climbing the mountain of life we learn, grow and, hopefully, increase in wisdom. As we continue the trek, we realize it is not just about ourselves. It is then that we pause, turn around, and reach out our hand in assistance to those who can benefit from our travels.

“This sculpture epitomizes the struggle to overcome opposition and difficult personal challenges and the absolute need we have for others to reach out, bring us in and raise us up.”

Price goes one to say his message is captured beautifully in a poem written by American Indian Howard Rainer. It reads:

‘Grab hold, and take this hand that reaches out to you.

Look up into my eyes; my spirit cries out to you: Friendship is my thought.

Let us climb the jagged cliffs of life and fight the ascent of opposition together.

If I can lift you today, you will look back and grab the hands of a thousand more.

That is the way the Great Spirit would have it.’

“My sculpture has to do with relationships,” Price says, “Man to man, man to woman, man to children, man to nature.”

In 1996, I was recovering from the bitter ending to a long-term relationship which required relocation and included the loss of dignity and material possessions.  I was struggling to get my feet back underneath me.  I decided to take direction from my mother’s philosophy.

A wise woman with pioneer roots, her solution to my complaint that I was bored was, “Go clean a closet.”

Or when I was feeling sorry for myself, it was some form of the Dolly Parton quote, “Come down from the cross, somebody needs the wood.”  She would say, “Quit thinking of yourself and do something for someone else.”

Over the years, I have put this to good use; once, when I was out of work, I volunteered at the library for the blind in Salt Lake City while looking for another job.

Fortunately, when my relationship ended, my job didn’t.  The busyness of work helped somewhat, but not enough; I knew I needed a major shift in my frame of reference, and started looking for an opportunity to serve outside myself.

It showed up unexpectedly, in the form of my supervisor’s 10-year-old daughter, Leah.

Leah was battling some form of leukemia, which required her to make frequent, unpleasant, hospital visits.  These visits entailed physical examinations, blood draws, and other invasive procedures.

One day as I heard Leah’s mother, Heather, talk about an upcoming visit, I was struck with inspiration.

That afternoon I visited my favorite beauty supply store at the University Mall. Taylor Maid not only sold hair dye, wigs and makeup, but costumes and other theatrical supplies.

My brainstorm was to buy some fake tattoos, and I figured Taylor Made would be my best source– I was right.

As I stood at the point-of-sale display looking through the selection of skulls, satanic symbols and dragons for something suitable for a 10-year-old, a store clerk inquired if I needed help.

I began to explain that my idea was to make an adventure out of an unpleasant hospital visit. “If we can find some silly tattoos, Leah can put them on herself before going to the hospital.”

“Think how fun it will be,“ I continued, “when the nurses move her hospital gown aside to examine her and see this weird tattoo!”

I had already talked to Heather about my idea, and she was on board.

And, when I explained my errand, apparently, so was the clerk!  For the next 10 minutes, we sorted through a variety of choices and found a handful of perfect tattoos; a rose, a unicorn, a rainbow, a moon with stars and, other adorable appliqués.

The clerk and I chatted about Leah, how brave she was and how hard it must be, at 10 years old to face those reoccurring medical appointments.

When I got to the cash register with my stack of body art, I handed the clerk a $10 bill, which would more than cover the cost.

The clerk looked at my purchase and my payment and hesitated for such a long time that I thought I must’ve miscalculated.

Then, she said, “I’d like to pay for these myself.  I know I don’t know Leah, but, I’d like to do that, is that okay?”

Even though I was taken aback, I was quick to agree.  I could see that the clerk had been touched by Leah’s story.

We were alone in the store, and, as she counted out my change, I took the liberty of asking her if she believed in the power of prayer.

She said that she did and I asked her to pray for Leah.  It was sort of like blessing the fake tattoos. 

Heather described Leah’s delight with the tattoos and the ritual of choosing where to put them, and, the fun of surprising the nurses.  Heather said those tattoos got Leah through three months of hospital visits.

I swore Leah’s mother, Heather, to secrecy.  Over the next two years, two or three times a month, I would deliver some small treat or token to be given to Leah before her hospital visits.

Leah was told that each gift and card came from “a secret friend”.

Heather told me each gift, especially the tattoos, had made a difference and how much Leah looked forward to every surprise.

I never saw the store clerk again.

I don’t know the long-term outcome of Leah’s treatment.

 But, if a priest who says a blessing over a wafer and cup of wine transforms their earthly content to a heavenly realm, the clerk’s humble prayers would certainly transform the tattoos, simple symbols of a stranger’s love into healing balm –they were no less a sacred offering.