If You Can Be Anything, Be Kind...or a George...or a Brandon.

This is a long one, but read to the end.  You won't regret it....I promise. 😘

Admittedly, I struggle with people who aren't routinely kind.  As long as I can remember, I've always been the "nice" one.  The kid that was friendly to everybody, the girl at a party you could talk to if you knew no one and felt out of place, the young mom you could connect to and find common ground with, the colleague you could ask help from who wouldn't judge you for asking a question, the sister/friend you could call when you needed encouragement after making a mistake.

If you're like me, the "nice" one, you may struggle with what I do: not having many people in your circle who are similar to you.  Don't misunderstand: I don't expect everyone to be like me.  I know that empathy is difficult, if not impossible, for some people, and that's ok.  I also know that the world is best with all different types of people in it.  It can be difficult for me, though, to feel like I live in a world where so few people are like me.  At different stages in my life I have felt lonely and/or misunderstood because of the differences that seem to exist between me and almost everyone else where "niceness" is concerned.  At a time in my life where this feeling was at it's height, I bought this and hung it in a collage on my bedroom wall, where it still hangs today.

"If you can be anything, be kind."

My story is marked by two different strangers who have shown me kindness at times in my life when I needed them the most.  I want to share their stories here, cheer them on, and encourage each of us to be a Brandon.  Or be a George.  

Let's take a walk down memory lane and start with George.  

In October of 2014 I had a 6.5 hour abdominal surgery to remove my last ovary (I had already lost one ovary and my uterus) and pelvic scar tissue from a car accident I had been in in 2009.  The nurse who prepped me for surgery at The Women's Hospital of Texas was a man....a man named George.  I was nervous.  I had never had such a long, invasive surgery before.  Well, not one I was awake and coherent for anyway.  George was phenomenal.  He made me laugh, told me about his life, asked me about his.  All the things a nurse does so well to distract a scared patient before surgery when she can't be with her family in pre-op. After surgery, when I woke up...groggy and confused, I was in an incredible amount of pain.  I started to cry because of the pain. I'm a tough girl but I wasn't expecting it to hurt so bad.  They asked me if I needed anything, and I told them I needed my husband.  They apologized and said he couldn't come back yet because I wasn't stable.  So I told them I needed George.  Please get me George, I said.  His shift is over, my new nurse told me.  I cried some more.  She gave me some pain medicine and I drifted off into what was surely an opioid induced sleep.  When I woke up, Jason (my former husband) was there, and so was a huge mylar balloon and a stuffed frog from the hospital gift shop.  I thanked Jason for the gifts and he said "Those aren't from me." I looked at my new nurse and she said "They're from George.  I found him for you but you were asleep.  He didn't want you to wake up alone so he brought those to you before he went home."  I cried like a little baby when she told me that.  I felt so loved in that moment, by someone I barely knew.  Someone who had made the effort to make sure a nervous 32 year old girl didn't feel alone.  To this day, I still have that frog.  That's how much my interaction with George impacted my life.  When I was diagnosed with cancer, I got that frog out of my closet and put him on my bedpost, and he'll come with me to the hospital. 

If you can be anything, be a George.

This is a picture of George and I.  I ran into him a few days after surgery when I was making laps around my floor.  I was able to give him a proper hug and a thank you.

Fast forward to last week.  This whole cancer thing is hard, and sometimes I have really stinkin bad days.  Well, not the whole day I guess, but parts of the day.  I had been having a pretty decent day, but started to feel pretty upset in the evening.  I was sad, frustrated and a little mad, and simply couldn't be at home any longer.  Could. Not.  I felt trapped, and so out of control of my life, and being in the car, driving sounded so freeing.  So I got my keys and my phone and wallet and went to the car.  It was about 9 pm and I just started driving.  I needed gas, so that was stop #1, in my jammies with my slippers on.  Yep, crying, standing there pumping gas in my jammies.  Fresh jammies I might add.  It could only have been more pathetic if it was raining.  Lord have mercy haha.  I got back in the car and drove some more.  I felt so alone (even though I'm not) and so angry.  The devil was definitely having a heyday with me in my jammies that night.  After a while of driving I decided I wanted some junk food.  Some yucky junk food that would most definitely feed my cancer.  I pulled into Jack in the Box and ordered breakfast at 10 pm.  The nice guy at the window looked intently at me and quietly asked "Are you ok?" He was so sincere and had such concern in his face.  I told him no, not really, but thank you for asking.  He asked what was wrong, and asked if he could pray for me.  I told him, sheepishly, that I had cancer, and he instantly began to pray there in the drive-thru window, rebuking cancer in the name of Jesus, praying healing over my body.  I thanked him for his kindness and told him I'd be praying for him too.  He thanked me for the same, and sent me away with free Jack in the Box.  He told me he'd be praying for me, and that my kindness had changed the course of his life.  Will that be the case for Brandon? I don't know.  What I do know is, God met Brandon and I in that drive-thru, and the kindness of a stranger made me feel a lot stronger that night.

If you can be anything, be a Brandon.