That’s the Way Rumors Get Started
This morning at the church service attended mainly by those living on the streets, one of the guys told me about two recent incidents when he’d been told he was an inspiration. He began the story by saying, “I’m not telling you this to to be bragging.”
I’ve known him for about a year and a half. He wasn’t telling me to be bragging. He was sharing this development because such amazing moments require acknowledgement and respect.
To be minding your own business, going about doing what you feel you’re supposed to be doing, and to have someone tell you your action—or the very example of your life—helped them make a life-changing decision: how wonderful is that? Not only did you have an impact, but the person cared enough to take the time to tell you. In the sharing of such moments I can’t help but detect a certain amount of awe: can you believe I was lucky enough to impact another person in a good way?
Yes, if you’re a first grade teacher or a parent. For the rest of us, it’s a little surprising.
I know the feeling because in the last week, when three members of writing group had the chance to name someone whom they admire or who had a positive impact on their lives, they named me.
I am not someone who hears compliments well. I shrug them off, if they even penetrate my brain. Sometimes I think: well, they probably felt sorry for me and thought I needed a pick-me-up (don’t analyze my psychological (ill) health—it’s shooting fish in a barrel.)
The point is: the third time someone from writing group took the time to claim my influence on them, I heard it. I heard them say I was loyal and nonjudgmental and quietly assertive (how Southern is that?) and a follower of God and (hallelujah!) funny.
I share this with you with the same awe I saw in my friend’s eyes this morning. Damn, he seemed to be saying, isn’t this the coolest thing?
Yes, yes it is.
book by homeless authors, homelesness, homeless, homeless art, homeless church service, homeless writing group, homelessness and the arts, Writing, writing group
Marisa
We clearly share the same compliment-eschewing mental illness. Isn’t it grand? I am not at all surprised they named you. I would imagine there are a whole slew of folks who would, and probably more still who will someday.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
That’s one reason I fearlessly (okay, a little fearfully) share my faults and foibles in my blog: I learn others share them too! Thanks for letting me now. I feel less demented.
joe Hawes
Love the appearance of your new blogsite,much easier on the eyes. I think most of us have trouble accepting compliments, but we can try to take them in the spirit with which they are given. I know how much that writing group meant to you, so hearing from others that it mattered to them sounds genuine to me.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Now that’s a good standard, Joe: reciprocity. (and so glad you like the new blog!)
Joanne Corey
Glad you are getting practice in accepting compliments. Practice makes perfect!
Ellen Morris Prewitt
It’s that magic number of saying/hearing something three times, right? Thanks for visiting, reading, commenting.
Luanne
Don’t forget: I think you’re an inspiration, too :). Lots of us know what’s what.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Thank you so much, Luanne! It’s a mutual admiration society.
Joanne Corey
The third time is the charm!
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Yes!
menomama3
I think I would have wept. Happy for you and your friends.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
I did weep, twice: once when Tommy read and again when Cynthia read. Then I asked Cynthia if I could read her piece again so I could remember it when I got sad and blue about myself. She re-wrote it so I could have a copy. It was kind to me, and it was beautifully written (“You taught me to write beyond the margins and read between the lines”) I love my writing group.