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In the Circle of Support Group Sunday morning, we talked about Mother Teresa’s quote:
"We can do no great things. Only small things with great love."
The idea was that we can break the political inertia many of us are feeling by doubling down on small acts of kindness. I absolutely believe this. I started writing down things I thought I could do. Something about this made me tired though, as if I’d simply taken Mother Teresa’s beautiful words and created a to-do list.
But with one of those mysterious leaps for which our minds are made, I went from my list-making to thinking about my Great Uncle Carroll.
Uncle Carroll was a grizzled man who wore bib overalls every day. He and his wife Ottie lived on a hardscrabble farm with a few cows, a large vegetable garden, and a pond.
When my brothers and I were little, Carroll would have us tromp with him across the farm. Sometimes we’d take bamboo poles and go fishing. Other times we’d go to the garden and pick vegetables. But always with a glint in his eyes, Carroll would do something intended to surprise us. Like the time he pulled a turnip from the mud and took a bite—mud and all. Or the time he took a bluegill I’d caught for dinner and put it into the bib pocket of his overalls.
As a man with only a grade-school education and who lived in poverty his entire life, Carroll did nothing that could ever be considered “great.” But these small things I remember about him from my childhood are writ large with love—and delight.
Being the hyper-responsible person that I am, it’s the delight I need to remember. The gladness. Yes, I’m worried about our country. Yes, we’re in the somber season of Lent. But still, what does it mean to be a follower of Jesus, if not this:
A mud-streaked, fish tail, wide eyed joy.
Rev. Cindy McCalmont
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