Seasons of Helpfulness

FACE TO FACE

Seasons of Helpfulness

Virginia Hughes

Recently my brother helped his youngest son move into a basement apartment. His son was thrilled to have found a perfect place with extra low rent all by himself. A mere one hundred dollars and a separate entrance, ta-da! Most of us, including my brother, would consider such a low rent may have too high a hidden personal cost to pay. Questions arose, “Where’s the bathroom? I’m not seeing a kitchen, are you?” Shrugs and nonchalance were the answers to the questions. My brother focused solely on—carry the load, set it down, carry the load, set it down and repeat. The hot, sunny moving day was made more tolerable by shade from a thick overhanging tree limb nearby. It grew so closely around the door he couldn’t help but brush against it while bringing in the larger items of mattress and sofa. He had decided to trim the aggressive limb back once the move was complete, but its shade was most welcome at the moment.

In the grueling heat of back and forth, my brother scratched at an itch on his arm. Ouch, there seemed to be more than a bite there. Suddenly the tell-tale burning, angry rash was forming up and down his arms and legs. What on earth? He remarked how the rash looked like poison ivy, but where had it come from between the truck and the few steps into the apartment? He scouted around the yard and found nothing. The only thing he had brushed against was maybe that very large limb shading the entry.

Surely that limb so close to the door and several inches thick was not poison ivy. On very close inspection yes, it was poison ivy, it absolutely was. How could that vine have been overlooked so long to have grown into a limb of such size around an entrance? His thanks for helping move his son was a painful case of poison ivy. And that terrible ivy limb needed to be safely, gulp, and immediately removed before it caused more harm.

We are used to this kind of thank you from our dear ones. This kind of “No good deed goes unpunished,” because it often comes with family. We nearly perish with back aches and activated kidney stones helping them through various moves and the many agonies of their lives. Being there for them as we are able brings harsh realities of caring for others. Rarely is there a gold star or blue ribbon handed to us for our acts of generosity. Helping is as thick and enjoyable as a poison ivy limb at times, monotonous and ongoing. It may be annoying or painful, but we keep helping because it’s the right thing to do.

The same son had given my brother a lousy case of COVID a few weeks prior. Is he still glad he helped? He sure is. His son was encouraged by the assistance, all settled in and now teaching science to high schoolers. The thick poison limb generated by a curse as old as Eden has also been removed which means others will be spared its rashes.

Jesus taught us to help and asked us to serve each other in the church. We know what love is because he laid down his life for us. We give our time in caring for others to honor Jesus. This is what a loving family does for each other. There is also the practical notion to help others now in this season of helpfulness while you are able; as there comes a day when you will also need help.

The reality is that there are difficult people in the family or on the fringes who also need help. My advice? Try not to be one of the difficult ones to help like Mrs. Surly, whom I remember as an angry, bitterly behaving woman from one of the small churches my father pastored. She didn’t attend church, but claimed it as her own when it suited her, as in when she needed help. Our small church valued every member including the “barely theres,” with the hope one would be revived, enter worship with a vibrant amen, and become part of the church family.

Mrs. Surly came to mind as I considered the phlox growing in the front garden. This phlox blooming so heartily started long ago in Mrs. Surly’s garden. I had decided to get rid of the scads of pink phlox which throughout August is a favorite of pollinators. Why get rid of it? I wanted to follow a new color direction which featured luscious peach colors thriving down the center line, with plants woven throughout in shades of blue and white. The hot bubblegum pink of the phlox was not enhancing the emerging color scheme. But Mrs. Surly’s phlox was not easy to remove. It is not a hybrid, dainty phlox, but a relentless field variety not asking permission or shrinking when weather conditions are less than ideal. It blooms and thrives in sun, shade, wet or dry conditions. It also brings in hummingbirds, bees and butterflies resonating in a summer symphony of resounding hum and buzz.

Years ago, every square inch of Mrs. Surly’s yard had been planted with scores of beloved plants. In time they had become overgrown and were too much to control. She would call Mom, who would send my plant brother, Richard, and me to go help weed and purge. Sweetness was not one of Mrs. Surly’s qualities. Gentleness did not sweep through her gardens. She swore at the plants, about the plants, the midwestern muggy heat, even ouryoung ages and total incompetence were complainedabout. “Where have you been?” And “What took you solong?” greeted us before we knelt to weed . . . to help her.

We hoped for coins for all our weeding and being orderedabout, but she only paid us in plants, roots and seeds tobring back to Mother’s garden.

Over and over, the lessons are taught that beauty comesfrom surprising places, even from seemingly very uglythings. God’s continual sense of humor and his planreigns throughout all creation amid lessons of gracewhile completing his good works though us and in us. Themiracle lives on in gnarly roots which grow leafy shrubswith delectably scented peony blossoms by late May. Thatthese lovely blossoms came from such an unpleasantsource is the twist in the story of helping ornery Mrs. Surlyin her garden.

Mother’s bountiful gardens grew, abounding in color andvariety, which gave her much joy, at a time when sourcesof joy seemed dried up in the well. Mom sent pieces of hergarden that came from Mrs. Surly with each of us whenwe left home to live in other parts of Indiana, Ohio, Illinoisand Michigan.

Mrs. Surly reminds us that a person may be difficult andundeserving, but still needs help. And if you help suchas these, may you be blessed above and beyond, andperhaps form friendships and warm memories that followyou all the days of your life.

The hot pink phlox in the garden won me over again whenit proved it doesn’t remain that hot pink color for long.In a few days it fades into beautiful tones of purple andblue, blooming so steadily and mixing in beautifully withthe new color scheme.

Each season brings new ways to help our church family. May we seek opportunities to help each other and find ourselves in a season of helpfulness.