Take This Over Yonder

It is easy in trying times to think of yourself as one small cog in the machine, a spec in the wheel of time. What can I do? What influence will this meager bit make? Childhood memories of Southern family gatherings illustrate that impact is not just how much you pay for dinner.

My mission was clear and the duty assigned in no particular order. The qualifications amounted to being the closest child around and having your name called. Which was how I found myself walking with a colossal plate of food scraps, piled to the heavens as if in some offering to the most high and taking a not insignificant amount of effort to keep it from sliding slap off the plate. The last thing I needed or wanted was to have a shirt tie-dyed in the colors of Southern cuisine while smelling like a perfume of potlikker and squash with a splash of lard. So, you could say my focus was intense for a young child. Carefully, I navigated the three steps from the front door, across the wide expanse of the front yard, watched my step as I stepped over the curb of sandy dirt, made footprints as I crossed the dirt road, took another step over the opposite dirt curb, maneuvered my way around the ditch, and then found a spot sufficiently far enough away to suit the task at hand. Unceremoniously, the food was dumped onto the ground and I began my trek back to the kitchen from whence I was summoned.

We are not a wasteful people, then or now. A meal meant to feed the mass family gathering inevitably always had more food than could be covered in tin foil, bagged, or placed in already overflowing freezers. When you finished your plate, you did not simply place it in the sink or the trash can. Nay, nay. Everything on your plate you could not bring yourself to finish was scraped onto a designated scrap plate. This plate of many colors, textures, and smells was then either given to a family dog waiting dutifully outside or returned to the earth. Eventually, the stray animals, buzzards, and other scavengers would get to it, ensuring sustenance for an equally valuable part of the ecosystem.

Truthfully, it was this memory that rose to the surface after the end of a conversation with another that boiled down to How can we have an impact in this world with limited resources? The topic and discussion lingered as I sat in traffic.

Resources are often thought of as solely things with monetary value. If impact could only be measured on this alone, I would concede the point. But our ability for impact far surpasses what can be assessed for valuation.

Our words and actions go farther and longer than we have the ability to fathom. When we take actions large and small, they are not unnoticed. Others who may be oblivious to what steps to take in any given situation pause. They reflect. And sometimes, they are inspired to look at things a different way, to change behavior, or to join forces. The physical and the intangible each individual brings adds to the resource buffet.

Time is limited but our influence is not constrained to the years between our birth and inevitable death. The knowledge and values we pass on to coexisting and the succeeding generations compound; it lives on.

It is easy in trying times to think of yourself as one small cog in the machine, a spec in the wheel of time. What can I do? What influence will this meager bit make?

It will make a world of difference.

The cost incurred for you to make a dinner is a set dollar amount. The others who join you for that dinner and arrive with their own dishes add knowledge and resources. Finding a way to stretch those underutilized resources beyond the standard practice of leftovers is innovation. Involving the youth gives them responsibility and an understanding of the broader world at work; the memories of practiced values becomes a part of their life and who they are.

Our impact is not the cost we paid for dinner. It is who we brought together, what they contribute, how we imbed innovation, and how we empower others.

A single spark can set the course, grind gears to a halt, or birth a universe.

And sometimes, it all starts with a child being handed a plate and told to take it over yonder.