You Never Know

The other morning I put grits & eggs on the table,  each hot pan on a wooden trivet that lives most of the time in a nearby drawer.

I use these trivets every day, and rarely think twice about them.  But for some reason this time I thought of where they came from.  My brother Val made these after I was married, as part of a program (I think) called Junior Achievement. 

I’m sure my mom bought more than she needed to support my brother, and I was the lucky recipient of these two.

Here we are, probably 20 years later.  The trivets are still going strong.  They could use a little wood glue in a joint or two, but what can you expect after 20 years?

I’m sure that my brother never expected me to get this kind of mileage out of these trivets.  How could he have known that the trivets would stay with me; from BYU to Idaho, from Idaho to Durham, and from Durham to where we are now? 

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In 1979 my family lived in Iowa.  My dad had gone back to college just as the 9th child in our family was born; he graduated as a chiropractor a year or two after the 10th (and last) baby.

We were poor and I was insecure about everything; looks, clothes, social life, everything.  The only thing I felt confident about was my intelligence—and that’s not always the greatest social asset.

It was roadshow time, and we were practicing a dance number.  I only remember three things about that year’s roadshow.  It had something to do with the Flintstones, we sang a song to the tune of “Down By the Old Millstream,” and Brad Stinocher.

Brad Stinocher was at least four years older than me.  He was a terrific guy and everyone loved him.  And at some point during that roadshow dance practice while I was being silly, he looked at me and said

“You’re going to make someone a great wife.”

I know it sounds overly dramatic, but for just a moment in my little world, time stood still.

Brad Stinocher just said that I am going to make someone a great wife!  Oh. My. Gosh.  Brad Stinocher!  Said that about me!

And then I was caught up again in the craziness of the roadshow practice and I went my way and Brad went his way and nothing like that was ever said again.

But I never forgot it.  Never.

For years and years after that when things were hard and I didn’t feel good about myself, I’d say in my mind,

“Brad Stinocher said that I was going to make someone a great wife.”

And the thought that someone like Brad Stinocher had said that about me would help me through whatever was happening.

How could he have known that comment would stay with me; from middle school to high school, from high school to BYU, through uncertainty and sadness and heartbreak.

I haven’t needed to console myself with that comment for many years now, but it still brings tears to my eyes to sit here and think about what a difference that one moment of kindness made in my life.

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I told myself the other morning, as I placed the trivets on the table and then set the hot pots on them, that I need to be more careful with my words and my actions.  And that I need to be more kind and loving to those around me.

Because you never know how long something might last…

 

P.S.  Thank you, Brad Stinocher, wherever you are.  For the gift you gave me that you probably never even knew about.