I had an opportunity to lead a meeting this weekend. I had already had a rough, but productive and enlightening day of activities the day before. So, I almost didn’t feel like attending. I arrived to the location not a few minutes before the meeting. As I stepped out of my car, I noticed that there was a still of silence in the air. The temperature was a perfect 68 degrees. And the wind was sitting on a corner, as though it, itself, didn’t feel liking blowing today. Then my hope whispered that the conditions were just right for feeling like maybe no one else was coming. That statement was proving to be confirmed. While I waited, I decided to get a couple of top priority items on my list completed. I smiled my usual, it’s okay smile, to a couple of the workers that came into the room to see if there was anything I needed. I’m guessing they ventured in because I was the only one they saw walk into the room and because it was so unusually quiet for this regularly scheduled meeting group. (We often got the face with the finger to the mouth singling our need to quite down.) I found myself continuing to wonder off task as I couldn’t concentrate on the items that needed my attention. Thanks to the free Wi-Fi available, I did little surfing for luggage and other what-nots. Then I thought I’d search for something entertaining. I needed to look for something–anything enlightening. So I proceeded to type in my Facebook information. But upon my entrance, I was stopped by the message that it was temporarily down. Although the notice mentioned, “temporarily down for maintenance,” now I was really feeling discouraged. I mean really, if Facebook couldn’t even answer my need for enlightenment, then what else would? Right? Discouragingly,
I proceeded to pack up and get ready to go on and head back home. By this time there was no need to contact anyone. I proceeded to pack up and replace a few chairs that were set out before the meeting. I needed to get the room back to the way it was before the meeting. As I started my walk out of the door, all of a sudden I saw a tall gentleman come towards my way and asked if I needed any help. I just looked at him and I smiled and said, “No thank you. I have it.” But he didn’t begin to walk away. He seemed determined to help me. Then I reflected on something that I once heard–when someone offered to help you, accept it and be thankful for it. He stood there appearing as though he did not know what to do, and then his eyes glanced down at my rolling cart of items. I quickly countered, “Oh! You can help me with this,” in an appreciative tone. I reached for the mini-whiteboard and projector. Of course that wasn’t much and he probably felt insulted as he looked at the load of other gadgets that I had protruding from the cart. As we moved in sync out of the door, I stepped down the incline leading into the parking lot as he said, “What shall I say is the number of those who came?” This public location requires a count of participants after each meeting. That’s when I noticed the badge that he had pinned to his shirt pocket. He worked here. I said, “Just one. If you don’t mind letting the front desk know, just one.” I said that as though I had complete control and confidence of the situation. He either ignored my smile or felt my uncanny disposition as he said, “Just one? No problem, it happens sometimes.” I then turned my eyes towards him. “I’m glad you’re doing this. Because that’s a serious disease.” I maintained my glance and turned my head in that familiar curious puppy position as he continued, “I know. That Lupus is a serious thing.” After I was balanced and able to take the mini-whiteboard from his hand, he finished with, “Keep up the good work.” “Did I appear sad? I don’t think I did. I know I smiled attentively,” is what I thought to myself. I felt like I was giving my best smile. Yet, my cheerful body language must have misspelled a few words. I could have assumed that because he worked there, he knew what was on the schedule. Nevertheless, I choose to believe that he said what was on his heart. It was his way of suggesting that I be happy. I’m thankful, very thankful that I have the ability to move. I have the ability to lift myself out of my bed to walk, talk, and drive. I am happy. I am happy that I have the ability to count on this blessing of movement. I am happy and grateful that I have that gift. I am encouraged to remember that sometimes, everybody can’t do everything—not even me. I don’t have to be a superwoman, a superhero. No, that’s not in the cards for me. That’s not what I need to be. However, I can be happy! I choose to participate in happiness.