TIM E HOLDER

Albert Schweitzer once said, “The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion and the will to help others.” And I absolutely believe he’s right. In fact, if we are to follow the example of Jesus, that was His edict from heaven. Matthew 20:28 says, “That is what the Son Of Man has done. He came to serve, not be served – and then to give away his life in exchange for the many who are held hostage.” 

I have found in my life and in our culture that it is much more difficult to ask for help than it is to give help. Most of us jump at the chance, if we are able, to lend helping hands to those in need. But, we tend to feel we wear a badge of weakness if we are the ones in need of help.

The judgement error I, like many others, have made is not asking for help when It’s  desperately needed. Three years ago, my water heater went out. Rain flooded under my house and blew the water heater up. I prayed and asked the Lord to help me out. I only told a handful of people. A couple of those people even offered to help get a new one. But, I resisted, knowing the Lord would take care of the problem.

A full year went by. I took cold showers, in the dead of winter, feeling every bit the role of a modern day martyr “for the Lord.” The good news is that I NEVER left the house not feeling totally awake. Washing dishes and clothes in cold water. For a solid year. Waiting for the Lord to come through.

I didn’t accept the help offered because I didn’t ask for it. How stupid is that? 

Finally, my brother-in-law, Jim, called and said, “Go buy a water heater. I’ll give you my card number. Your sister can’t stand that you have been taking cold showers for a year. That’s ridiculous. This is your Christmas present from us.  And have someone else put it in. Do NOT, under any circumstances attempt to install it yourself.”

I went to Home Depot and bought a water heater. However, I did not have them put it in. The heater was only $300. Having them put it in would have cost over $1000. So, I finally broke down and called my buddy Cliff Peck and asked him who I could call. This was Christmas Eve. Within an hour, Cliff and his son Beaux were at my house, rolling out the old heater and putting in the new one.

But, something happened after they left and all the power to my whole house got knocked out. I called Cliff back and he gave me the number of an electrician friend of his. I called Larry, admitted I needed help and he said he would come out the day after Christmas. So, I was out of commission for a couple of days.

My whole house is electric, so I was out of water as well. But, I knew help was on the way. Larry came out and worked all morning the day after Christmas to get my electricity going again. The whole time, I was really nervous about the cost. And when Larry was done, I grabbed my checkbook and asked him how much. He grabbed my hand and said, “Merry Christmas.” He jumped in his truck and as he drove out of sight, all I could think of was, “And to all a good night.”

I wasn’t even sure what to do first. Cry or go jump in the hot shower. So I combined the two. Best shower EVER!

This year, the week before Christmas, the water heater, again, started acting up. The belt on my dryer broke, and Christmas morning, I began making desserts for Christmas lunch and found the bottom element of my oven burned out.

I called Larry and told him I needed help. He came to the house and crawled under and told me the bottom element was burned out and exactly how to repair it. Again, he wouldn’t accept any payment.

I went under the house to repair the heater and when I pulled out the old element, I could see a lot of something white. I realized that my well water dumped a huge amount of calcium into the heater and the chunks of white powder are what burned the element out.

I called Larry back and he gave me the number of a plumber. I called Mitch and told him I needed help. He told me he would leave a piece of pipe out by the gate of his business that I could tape to a dry vac and vacuum out the deposits. And he didn’t charge me for the pipe.

It took me a couple of hours, but I was able to vacuum out most of  the sediment and replace the element. I went to a parts store off of University and told the guy I needed help and I got a belt for the dryer. I replaced it and it broke in the first cycle, possibly because I put it on backwards. Maybe.  I went and got another one and a couple of other parts. The guy said, “I want to help you. I’m only charging you wholesale for these. I replaced those parts and at the same time, got a new element for the oven. So, all is well right now.

I’m learning that asking for help isn’t weakness, it’s wisdom. Seeking help is the best way I can take care of myself. And there are obvious consequences in not seeking help.

Back in the 80’s, I worked at a restaurant in Nashville called Dalt’s. It was THE place to be “seen” back in the day. Everyone hung out there. Country stars and contemporary Christian stars. It was the golden years. The restaurant is still there. And when I visit Nashville, I always stop by to see how it’s changed. Great memories. I could fill a book with the stories of our escapades. And fortunately, thanks to social media, I still get to be in touch with many of the folks I worked with.

One of my favorite memories is tied to the idea that it’s always a good idea to accept help when it’s offered.

We usually started the day with a 10 person wait staff. As the day progressed past lunch rush, or supper rush, we would OTLE. That stood for Option To Leave Early. The manager used this option to have servers leave, beginning with station 10 and working down toward section 1, which was always the shift leader. It was the shift leaders duty to make sure every person leaving did their OTLE duties, which included stocking and cleaning, getting everything ready for the next shift.

One particular night, we OTLE’d down to 2 servers. I was section 3 so I just finished my shift. It was about 10:30 at night. We closed at midnight. So that left only two servers on the floor, which was fine because at that point, on a weeknight, having a rush was a rarity. I, having just clocked out, sat down to order my late night meal and sat at our customary booth to sit, which was booth 10. It was directly across the aisle from the expediter counter where salads were made.

Steve Ford and Cindy Johnson were the only 2 servers left on the floor, Steve being shift leader. He knew everything was done so the last hour and a half would be smooth sailing.

It was one of Cindy’s first nights back after being gone for a few months. One night, after closing, Cindy was on her way home from work and was involved in a horrible car accident just a block or so from the restaurant.  Her jaw was broken, both bones in one of her arms were broken and her kneecap was crushed. She was literally pinned together. So, after being gone for several weeks, she was definitely proceeding on this night with great caution.

My food came out and I was enjoying my rest time when a party of 7 came in. They were seated at booth #14. And Steve decided to take the table.

Usually, when people came in that late, they just wanted appetizers and drinks, maybe a burger and fries. But, no. All of these people wanted full dinners, all of which included dinner salads.

Steve came to the front and turned in the order. He then turned around to the salad station and proceeded to make 7 dinner salads. I can’t remember what Cindy was doing at the time, so I told Steve I could help hm carry the salads to the table. Because we all took pride in how much we, at Dalt’s, could carry, and because Steve was tall with long arms, he said he could handle it.

I watched him prepare 7 bowls of salad, made up of salad mix, egg, cheese, bacon, tomato wedges and dressing, stack 4 of them all the way up his arm above his elbow, perch one on his other wrist and balance 2 others between his fingers. I was impressed.

Carrying them with great aplomb, Steve walked around the counter, past me at booth 10, whisk around between booths 11 and 30 and fell flat on his back. I was excruciatingly proud of myself for not guffawing.

This was salads 1-7.

Steve picked himself up and walked back to the counter. His face was beet red, so I chose to remain silent, for a second or two. A busboy was already sweeping up the piles of salad between booths 11 and 30.

Salads remade, I again asked if he wanted me to help him. It was now a point of pride for Steve. “NO. I got it.”

This is where my memory is a bit fuzzy. After talking to Steve and Cindy, they remember that Cindy was involved in this fall.  Steve gathered up what was left of his composure and the salads in the same arrangement as before, Cindy grabbed a couple of them from him and they walked around the counter, past me at booth 10, attempted the whisk between booths 11 and 30, and began the descent.

I think Steve thought if he bent his knees and went into a knee-dip position he would be saved. Even planting one elbow over the booth 30 railing, but to no avail. Unfortunately, gravity eventually won out and he sat squarely and, I’m sure, less gracefully than he imagined, on his rear end. Cindy continuing at a full gait, promptly sat right on top of him.

Cindy managed to stand up fairly quickly and Steve jumped up, salad hanging precariously from his apron pocket and stormed back to the counter.

This was salads 8-14.

He acquiesced to yell, “Help on a run.”  It really didn’t matter.  Cindy was already standing directly behind him.  She stood serenely and sweetly by as Steve prepared yet another 7 salads. It was obvious that he was getting help this time, whether he wanted it or not.

As soon as the salads were made, Cindy grabbed up 3 of them and Steve got the other 4, and off they went. They rounded the counter, Steve in the lead, Cindy, safely behind him, passed me at booth 10 and whisked around the corner between booths 11 and 30.

This time, this time,he appeared to be on a treadmill a few steps before he fell face first. And as he fell, his leg hit Cindy, who fell directly on top of him. There was a garden of salad in all directions.

My first feeling was horror because of Cindy’s injuries. So I jumped up and helped her to her feet as Steve, arms and legs flailing, startlingly good impression of an upside down turtle, trying desperately to right itself.

This was salads 15-21.

As soon as I knew Cindy was not hurt, I saw Steve, once again at the counter. It was no longer a look of determination, or even embarrassment, It was more resignation. Like he was caught in some Groundhog Day time loop, and was certain he would spend all of eternity making the same 7 salads.

But, finally, with salads in tow, he changed direction and carried the salads through the bar and around the host stand to get to booth 14 and safely deliver what became known as…

“The Night Of The 28 Salads.”

Just as soon as the bedeviled greenery was set in front of the now starving patrons at booth 14, booth 13 was set by the host with 4 new customers.

Steve, being as gracious as possible under the circumstances, took their order. They all wanted dinners…with dinner salads. Only because he was asked, Steve fearfully rattled off the different dressings, “French, Italian, Blue Cheese, Ranch, Caesar, Thousand Island and Vinegar and Oil.” One of the patrons innocently asked, “How’s the Italian?”

Without a seconds hesitation, Steve, I imagine chin quivering, muttered, “Slippery.”