John Wilkes Booth; I'll Be Your Groupie Forever...

So, there I was. Loaded down with Darfur bags, and sitting on a mall bench across from Chapters. One by one they came, these beaming women with goodness to spare. They claimed their bags, shared their wealth, their enthusiasm, and cemented my belief that there are many, many good people left in this world.

But inevitably, the conversation would wander, or speed, over to five-hundred-dollar-guy. Did I know him? (no). Did I come alone, or with my body guards? Did I wonder if he was a creep? a prankster?

We began simultaneously eyeing up every single man who wandered past us, checking for shifty eyes, bulgey pockets, or sinister laughter.

One by one, the bags walked away with their women, and I was left waiting.
My suspicions grew. I phoned home to ask my husband if anybody had left an e-mail about what an idiot I'd been to give that offer any credence. I began to form the post that I would write, what fun I would have with my tongue in my cheek, and my most slanted humour showcased.

But then.... There he was!
I can spot a Darfur person a mile away. Their eyes shine. Their hearts are located directly behind their eyeballs, with a grin just ahead of it. I was glad that I wouldn't have to take that banana bread home with me- looking like a housewife gone mad. The woman who brings her baking to the foodcourt in recycled ziploc bags....

But back to the million dollar man five hundred dollar darling.
Yes, he is real. Yes, he really donated a wad of cash for the people of Darfur. But he was also lovely, polite, appreciative, supportive, humble, gifted, and just a tiny bit forgetful. He took the bag, chatted about making a difference politically, gave that hug, drooled on that banana bag, and even posed for a headless shot of the mystery man with the Darfur bag. Then with a wave and a grin, he began to make his way down the corridor.

"Hey!" I shouted, my suspicions re-surfacing.
"You never paid for that bag!"

Sweet and sheepish he returned, mumbling apologies and embarrassments, and digging that wad out of his back pocket.

I feel a little ferkempt. A lot excited. Super-charged. Grateful.
Everybody does their part, and you know what? Differences can be made. God made us all different, but its like the bit in the Bible that talks about it being like the parts of the body, all working together, and scrapping the uselessness of comparing the eye to the knee; the ear to the nose; or the bernina to the fiddle.

Thank you, John Wilkes Booth. But just as much, thank you to anyone; anyone who does what they can instead of worrying about what they can't. The spillover effect is tremendous. It reminds me of a story my friend Rod told me about living with an open hand- to give is to receive. Just don't get it backwards, or I'll have to box you in the ears. You don't give because you want to get. That's as common as the day greed was invented.

We were born in North America and that geography becomes our destiny. Don't hold it to yourself, but use it as a launching pad to make a difference in your world.

Our world.