I’ve done a few really nice things. I’ve done mission work. I’ve taught kids. I’ve talked to parents of said kids who believe their kids are saints. But there is one moment which really stands out to me.
I was driving to an account in a pretty unsafe area. There was a storm the previous night, and a large branch rested in the road. It was nearly 11am and no one had went out to pick it up. There were several individuals sitting outside a small apartment building, smoking, shirtless, rippled bodies glistening under the summer sun. I was dressed up, shirt and tie, nice shoes, though my car was still the piece of junk I no longer own.
This neighborhood scared me. But I pulled over, got out of my car, and moved the branch off the road. One of the guys smoking nodded to me. I smiled, unsure, nodded back, and proceeded to get into my car again.
I pick this because it wasn’t just going down somewhere to feel good. It was legitimately these people wouldn’t know me. They likely don’t give a damn about that branch, as was evident that they were all of twenty feet away from it but wouldn’t remove it from the road. But I did it. Because someone had to.