Ricky.
Every so often, I see the same man who’s down on his luck.
His name is Ricky.
Ricky walks around my gym and collects bottles and cans to recycle for the 10-cent deposit here in Michigan. Last Saturday morning, I bumped into Ricky as I was leaving.
He beamed a smile at me.
“Good workout?”
“Not bad.”
“Well, the sun is shining,” he said. “You really can’t ask for more than that.”
And he smiled again.
And he started to limp away.
“Did you hurt your leg?” I asked.
Ricky leaned down and rolled up his pant leg. An open wound the size of a steak knife covered his shin.
“Blood clots.”
Then he smiled again.
When I ran into Ricky that morning, I was feeling sorry for myself.
It was a Saturday and, like every other Saturday, I had work to do. I didn’t have a great workout. I was stressed, annoyed, and frustrated.
My life is a constant barrage of good, and I was fixated on the bad.
Ricky has had a rough go of things. But he was focused on the good.
You hear a lot of stories like this. People go on mission trips to Uganda or Guatemala or Peru and they come back full of perspective, marveling at how the locals they met have so little but give so much.
And I felt that when I talked to Ricky the other day.
But my interaction with him really got me thinking about strength. And character.
Strength and character have little to do with what we have. Strength and character have everything to do with how we face what we don’t have.
It’s easy to smile and ask someone how their day is when things are going well. It’s easy to do the right thing when life does the right thing to you.
But what about when the chips are down?
What about when you’re going through a valley?
What about when you can’t catch a break?
What does your character look like when you have every right to be selfish?
What does your strength look like when you’re taking a beating?
Hidden underneath his pant leg, Ricky was dealing with a nasty physical wound that must’ve blasted him with pain at every step. But if he hadn’t shown it to me, I wouldn’t have seen it. Without the limp, I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.
Ricky could hardly walk. But he didn’t say a word about himself.
He smiled.
He asked about me.
He talked about the sunshine.
That’s strength.
That’s character.
Every so often, I see the same man who’s down on his luck.
And every time, he reminds me that luck has nothing to do with who you choose to be.
Excellent reminder. Great story.
Such a worthwhile insight and awareness on your part, Adam. Reminds me of what I heard from so many Peace Corps volunteers I interviewed for a documentary. They all said that they received much more than they were able to give.