Two lost wallets, one six year old girl, one Great Blue Heron and a random license plate may not seem to have anything in common, but this week they collectively have reminded me that life’s messages are everywhere.
My son-in-law, a very conscientious young man, has decided that instead of eating Big Macs during his lunch hour, he is going to play tennis. He and a fellow office worker regularly head out to the nearby high school’s courts for an hour-long game. Often, they are the only ones on the court, so they feel comfortable leaving the contents of their pockets on a nearby bench.
During a recent outing, Tom left his wallet, keys and cell phone on a bench clearly visible from the court. After the game, Tom put all three items back in his pocket, but when he returned to his office the wallet was missing.
Soon after arriving back at work, he received a call from a McMinnville high school student. The boy told him he had found his wallet near the tennis courts. When Tom asked him how he knew to call the office where my son-in-law works, the student told him he had seen a Costco card in the wallet with the name of Tom’s firm. He got on the Internet, found a phone number for the firm, and called.
My son-in-law had just stopped by an ATM before heading off to tennis. His wallet was loaded with $170 in cash. In addition to many other important items, the wallet also contained a credit card that he had been using to book a vacation in Europe. Loss of that credit card would have been problematic.
Tom raced over to the tennis courts to meet the high school student. Nothing was missing. The boy refused to accept a monetary reward, stating “I just hope someone does the same for me.”
A few days after hearing Tom’s story, I read an “In My Opinion” column in The Oregonian about a similar event. Judy Goldstein, a freelance writer from Florida, had been visiting her daughter in Portland when she misplaced her wallet. Scheduled to fly back to Florida the next day, she was distraught. No wallet meant, among other things, no identification, and thus, no chance to board an airplane. Eventually, she made it home.
Two weeks later she received a call from an employee from ¿Por Qué No? , a restaurant in Portland. Her wallet, completely intact, had been found. The restaurant worker refused a reward, so Goldstein’s son-in-law stuffed the tip jar when he stopped by to pick up the wallet. As Goldstein so wisely writes “Although it appeared I lost my wallet, I gained something far more important in return. I call it faith … There are still good people — including strangers — who do good deeds …”
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I found renewed faith in humanity in the guise of a little girl. In the mornings at my school, the kids pour off the school busses, many with tousled hair, sleepy eyes and grumbled “Hellos.” One recent morning, as her somewhat catatonic classmates shuffled off the bus, Dulce bounced down the hall, bright-eyed and full of energy. She entered my room and opened up her pink backpack. Inside was a pink box with contents Dulce considered valuable. She had brought the box to school specifically to share it with me. The precious cargo included two small paintings rendered by one of Dulce’s relatives; two charming drawings (one of a glittering ship, the other a girl in her tree house) drawn by Dulce; and a small pink Post-It note. On the Post-it she had written a one-sentence love note to me. She kept the drawings but gave me the note. I thanked her and pinned it on my bulletin board. Later Dulce checked to make sure I still had the note. I assured her I did.
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On my walk this morning, a lone heron standing on the shores of the Columbia River triggers my memory of a favorite poem. In “The Peace of Wild Things” poet Wendell Berry writes “When despair in the world grows in me … I go and lie down where the wood drake/rests in his beauty on the water and the great heron feeds. /I come into the peace of wild things/who do not tax their lives with forethought/of grief.” On my return home, I pass a parked car with an intriguing license plate. Perhaps the letters and numbers are random, but the first three letters – “PAZ” – spell the word “peace” in Spanish. A block later I see a van painted with the word “knead.” I love this bakery’s playfulness with homonyms. I return to thinking of my young six-year-old messenger. In English, the name “Dulce” means “sweet.” And ¿Por qué no? means “Why not?” Perhaps I am the cipher of this cryptic message: We all “knead” peace and a generous sprinkling of “dulce.” The headlines can make us feel crippled by grief and despair, but honest strangers, bright-eyed children, and a graceful bird can also remind us that peace and kindness can prevail.
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