The Littlest Good

I think the Salvation Army has got it wrong. For those of you who didn't know, those Christmas time bell ringing kettle shakers do have an official slogan. A sort of mantra if you will. Even it you won't, they still have it. The slogan is "Doing the Most Good." I do not like this slogan. First, I find it grammatically awkward. Second, I find this slogan pompous. Though the The Salvation Army website does list a variety of 13 categories of programs they support, is it really inconceivable that there is another charity out there with 14 categories? How can they claim to do the most good? Have they done research on every other charity in the world and compared apples to apples? I think not my friends! By the way, in case you're wondering, the charity category list, as it appears on the SA website, is not arranged alphabetically. In fact, the first category displayed is "Anti-Pornography." Something tells me the bell ringers were not present in the category selection meeting. Finally, the third reason I do not enjoy the Salvation Army slogan is that it plays into a societal epidemic of egotism. It too often feels like everyone is after bigger, better, faster, more. When we focus on the big, it is so easy to miss the beauty and competence of the small. Smaller, slower, steadier, less. In time, all of these things develop and become greater than 'more.' More is empty. Less is sufficient.

Consider an example from my own life...

Not too long ago I learned that a former co-worker's 4 year old son was diagnosed with brain cancer. My reaction to the news was typical; shock followed by remorse. I counted my blessings, hugged my kids a little tighter for a few days, and then continued on with my life. A few weeks later I got an invitation from my ex coworker to join the facebook page that his wife (whom I've only met once at their wedding) had created to chronicle their son's journey. Every few days or so they post a very detailed update about what exactly is going on in the little boy's life. Reading these posts makes me feel completely useless. There's nothing I can do or say that will improve the situation this family is in. I've kept the "hang in there"s and "let me know if I can do anything"s to myself, because I'm sure they get plenty of those already from people who are closer to them than me. Who am I? Instead, I chose to hide in the background "liking" any and all positive updates but leaving no comments......until this week.

The update this week was a description of the events leading up to an MRI. Essentially the child was kicking and squirming and screaming in resistance. It took both parents and a couple medical professionals to hold the kid down, a scene I know far too well due to the urinary reflux problems of our daughters (See "VCUG"). At any rate, the mom attributed the child's fit of resistance to him being "on to" the fact that he doesn't like the smell of the gas they use to put him out. I could relate to this anecdote intimately, so I left a comment. I said, "Will they let you put scented chap-stick on the inside of the mask to help with the smell? My daughters had bladder surgery at ages 3 and 7 and being able to pick their smell helped a little. He might be on to this trick to, but I couldn't read your post and not suggest it." I didn't expect a reply, but later that same day, the mom posted, "I'll ask about that. Great idea!!" The fact that I got a reply me feel good. The fact that she hadn't yet heard of the chap-stick trick made me feel even better. The fact that she followed "Great idea" with two exclamation points of enthusiasm made me feel (in the smallest way) useful, which is the best feeling of all. By sharing an unpleasant experience of my own, I was able to give a tiny suggestion that has the potential to make another person's unpleasant experience a little less so.

On the scale of helpful things one can do, I did the littlest good. But let's let it grow.....I told this mom about the chap-stick trick, she tells the hospital staff, and they start doing that for all of the children in that hospital. Then one of those other mom's at her hospital shares it with another mom whose kid goes to a different hospital, then she tells that hospital staff, and they start doing it too and so on and so forth until every child in the country is falling swiftly asleep to the sweet smell of strawberry kiwi anesthesia. A little overboard perhaps, but even still, I love the littlest good.

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