The Helper

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping”.

Those words uttered by Fred Rogers. If you don’t know who Fred Rogers is then you probably didn’t own a television growing up or you’re probably too young to have ever watched reruns of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood on public broadcast television. If you did, then you learned how to be a friend; a helper.

The scaries he saw as a youngster are nothing compared to the horrors that the world faces today. None the less, the sentiment still sounds of truth and hope. Look for the helpers.

I was reading my local paper. I am not sure why I still refer to it as “paper” because there is nothing paper about it. It’s delivered via technology nowadays and I am still sour about it. I want to sip coffee and hold a paper in my hands, smell the ink, and then fold it over on itself and into the recycle bin when I am finished. Gone are the days.

I was reading the local news on my electronic gadget. The ginormous need in my community and people filling those needs played with my heart. There were donation announcements. There were pleas from the sta

te government asking for volunteers to mentor high school students in hopes of getting them to attend community colleges and technical colleges. There were announcements about food pantries, clothing giveaways, and the Salvation Army’s Angel Tree. The utility company reminded us of their round up program and how one might qualify for disbursement. As Mr. Rogers says, look for the helpers.

Later that day, I scrolled through my feed on the book face and noted several “help needed” posts. One needed rent money. Another needed money to buy groceries. One single mother asked someone to help her get her car fixed. One needed a ride to work. Lots of people looking for jobs. Many needs. Many people filling the needs. Look for the helpers.

My heart was stinging a bit because these stories reminded me of a crooked toothed girl with stringy hair who kept to herself a lot. I wore hand-me-downs and loved the days when the commodity boxes were handed out. I was relieved if they remembered to put the big block of cheese in it. Because sometimes they didn’t and that meant I had to resort to dough balls. The neighbor’s kid taught me how to make dough balls by rolling a plain slice of white bread in your hands until it made a tight little ball of dough. It was a more interesting way to eat bread. Look for the helpers.

I survived those hards years by being a prisoner of hope. And you can too.

To the heart desperately needing help, the troubled soul longing for answers:

Lift up your face.

Close your eyes and rest in the warmth of a silent moment.

With expectancy, whisper a prayer.

“God, help me. Help me move from this hopeless wilderness into the greatness that you created me for and the generosity of your kindness. I need help today.”

And look to the helper.

PS 121:1 I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from where my help comes.