Friday Tidings

I arrived a bit early for my volunteer shift at my granddaughter’s school, so I took a few minutes to watch the senior class at the nearby high school practice for their graduation ceremony. Leaning against the chain-link fence was an older man, observing them with keen eyes. I commented, “I bet they can’t wait to be done.” He shook his head. “I’ve watched them all through high school, and I always wonder how they’ll do afterward.” He explained that he was the janitor. Over the years, he’d been in every classroom, cleaned the lunchroom countless times, driven the school bus, and—as he was doing that day—helped prepare for graduation. Curious, I asked what advice he’d give the graduates if he had the chance. “Oh, they won’t ask me anything,” he said with a chuckle. “Except to tell me a toilet’s plugged or a door needs unlocking.” We stood in silence for a while, just watching the smiling, excited, soon-to-be graduates. Then, without warning, he said, “The one thing I’d tell the...

Summertime once meant hot days on my grandparent’s ranch. Grandma’s lessons lingered long after those summers ended. 1970: It was a sweltering summer day when Grandma and I headed into town. The wheat fields along the road shimmered gold, heavy with ripe grain ready for harvest. We had stops at the butcher and grocery store to gather provisions for the long days of harvest ahead. I loaded boxes into the trunk and packed ice chests with frozen meat as fast as I could, eager to escape the heat and return to the comfort of our air-conditioned car. Finally, we were on our way home. As we passed the local cemetery, something unexpected happened. A long line of cars had gathered outside the gate. Without a word, Grandma slowed and pulled over, joining them. “We need to step out,” she said simply. We stood together in the blistering heat, among at least fifty others who had paused their day to bear witness. A small family stood near a casket draped in the American flag. I was only twelve...

Sometimes, we meet amazing individuals like Mel on the toughest days. He says his passion is bringing comfort and care, and his life’s purpose is deeply rooted in nursing. Born in the Philippines, Mel worked tirelessly to earn his nursing degree. But with few opportunities at home, he moved to Ireland, and eventually made his way to America. This isn’t a story about immigration or attracting talented people—though we were fortunate to gain Mel, and many others, in this way. This is about nurses, and the dedicated, complex lives they lead. Mel admits nursing is hard, but says he wouldn't want to do anything else. Last week marked both Teacher and Nurse Appreciation Week. One week isn’t nearly enough to recognize the depth of their contributions. Teachers help people like Mel discover their purpose. And nurses are there for us when we need them most.

I had just turned twelve when I officially began my babysitting career with the Anderson family. I couldn’t have asked for a more energetic bunch of little boys to keep entertained, fed, bathed, and ready for bed by 7:30 p.m. Avon was the smiling, inspiring mother of this young crew. She worked the swing shift at the hospital from 3:30 p.m. to midnight—a schedule that required a remarkable combination of cooperation and sacrifice. Avon was home with the kids all morning and afternoon, after her husband Don left for work. By mid-afternoon, she became a full-time, dedicated obstetrics nurse. Then, during her meal break, she’d rush home, help with dinner, kiss the boys goodnight, and head right back to the hospital—day after day, year after year. I never once saw Avon get flustered. Busyness was normal—so were dishes piled in the sink, toys scattered across the floor, and a mountain of laundry waiting. But love was generously served every single day. When Avon delivered their baby gir...