The Things We Don't Remember

It's Rice Festival weekend in Crowley, and for those of us who grew up there, it brings back a flood of memories. But one of my most meaningful Rice Festival memories is something I don't actually remember.

Several years ago, I received an unexpected message from a grade school friend I hadn't seen in more than 25 years.

She had been listening to a speaker talk about leadership and how sometimes it takes just one person willing to do the right thing, even when no one else does. It reminded her of something that happened at the Rice Festival when we were 12 or 13.

“There was a disabled boy in a wheelchair, and everyone was staring, gawking, or avoiding him – even adults. But you, you gave him the biggest, warmest smile. That made such an impression on me, and I thank you for that.”

I was stunned. Not because I remembered the moment. I didn't. Not even a little.

But because she did.

For more than 25 years, she had carried the memory of something I had apparently done without a second thought.

We often believe making a difference requires doing something extraordinary. But perhaps some of our most meaningful actions are the smallest ones.

A smile. A kind word. A moment of acknowledgment when someone feels invisible.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus continually noticed those whom others overlooked. He didn't simply see their circumstances. He saw them.

What strikes me most about my friend's message is that the smile wasn't even directed toward her. Yet somehow, it touched her, too.

One small act of kindness reached further than the person for whom it was intended.

We may never know who notices our actions, remembers our words, or carries the memory of a simple gesture for years to come. And perhaps that's the lesson. We don't have to do something extraordinary to make a difference.