The other day, I was leaving Fed-Ex and a man coming toward me was pushing a metal cart laden with so many packages so inordinately tall I couldn’t even see him. I held the door and he thanked me profusely: Bless you! Bless you!

It makes me happy to help with overhead bags, let others go ahead in line, hold open doors. Then I read this poem. And flashed back to a long-ago night when our new-to-us dog escaped the house and dashed away, and two boys out on a cross-country training run witnessed this and said “Miss, we’ll find your dog! We’ll find him!” and took off.

And why reading this poem, and remembering that night, and those boys, and their kindness, and their instant unthinking action makes me choke up, I do not know. It feels good to help others. But maybe asking for help is the flip side of that coin, an unspoken benediction so they too can feel good.

Gas Station Communion Poem, by Paula Gordon Lepp  

It was a little thing, really,
this offer to fill my tire.
I was unscrewing the valve cap
and heard a voice behind me.
‘Here, I’ll get that for you”

“Oh that’s ok, I’ve got it,” is what I
normally say to such overtures,
this knee-jerk reaction to refuse.
I am the one who offers to help,
I am the one who serves.

Perhaps it was the eager spirit
in his face or his brown eyes
full of hopeful connection that
caused me to say okay.

I felt the vibration of
his unspoken benediction:
I can’t do much for you,
fellow weary traveler,
but I can do this. Lay
your burden down and
I will carry it for a bit.

And I couldn’t help but wonder
how many times I have denied
someone the blessing of serving
because I have been too stubborn
to accept their gift.

As I was standing there in
the sun drenched gas station
parking lot, the hiss and tick of
the air pump sounded very much
like a psalm. I watched his hands
filling more than just my tire with air,
while goodness and grace
swirled around us.

Click here for more information about Paula Gordon Lepp.

alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter