One Person

Some friends of mine just returned from ten days in South Africa. They visited a number of villages and homes for AIDS orphans, hoping to find some way to help alleviate the severe poverty and sickness that has invaded that region of our world. I don’t think any of them was prepared for the enormity of the situation. It was overwhelming.

We gathered last night to hear their stories. Several of them spoke of the sense of hopelessness they felt early on in the trip. What am I doing here? How can I make a difference? Who do I think I am?

How can one person make a difference in a world that is so full of pain and so void of resources?

My friend Scott is a big guy. He was walking in a village one day and saw 20 or 25 kids in a group not far away. Not knowing what to do but feeling like he had to do something, he ran toward the kids, waving his hands and yelling. They scattered and Scott fell down on the ground, pretending to be unconscious.

Slowly the kids began to creep toward him. Who was this crazy white man? He’s huge! He has red hair! When they got within a few yards he jumped up and resumed yelling and chasing. They scattered, he fell down. They crept back, he jumped up, they scattered, he fell down, they crept back, each time a little closer. Some of them were even brave enough to touch him before he jumped up.

The next morning as Scott walked back into the village the children shouted, “Big Show! Big Show!” Apparently American wrestling stars are popular in South Africa, too.

Survival of the fittest is a necessary ethos in that part of the world. If food is available, you had better grab all you can get because you don’t know when or where your next meal is coming from.

“We learned pretty quickly that if you give a little kid a plate of food you better watch over him,” Scott said. “Because the bigger kids will try to steal it from him.”

One day Scott handed a plate of food to one of the smaller children. The older kids ran toward him. “Big Show, take picture! Take picture!”

“They love having their pictures taken,” Scott said. “I had my camera with me, but I knew what they were doing. They were trying to get my attention away from this little guy so they could steal his food. I just laughed and said, ‘In a minute.’ My little friend ate very slowly, but I watched over him until he finished every bite.”

How can one person make a difference? One person at a time.

God knows what that little orphan will find to eat today. But at least on that day his belly was full.

Each of my friends’ stories shared a similar theme. It was the one on one contact that allowed them to make a difference. Solve the problem? No, that will take generations. But can one person make an impact? Absolutely. One person at a time.

A couple of years ago, Scott and I volunteered to serve at an arts camp for youth in Poland. He taught a drama workshop and I taught a guitar workshop, two 90 minute sessions per day for a week. Toward the end of the week Rafal, the camp director, encouraged us to share our life stories with the teens in our workshops.

The story of my teenage years isn’t very flattering. My heroes were the rock and pop musicians of the 60s and 70s. I emulated their behavior to the nth degree, including recreational drug use. At the end of a bad LSD trip I woke up in the hospital, my right ankle broken and my left shoulder blade shattered. Family, friends and faith helped me get back on my feet, one day and one relationship at a time. With the help of a translator I shared this story with my teenage guitar students. At the time it was hard to tell what they took away from that day's workshop (if anything).

Natalia was one of my students. She adored 70s rock and roll and each day she asked, “Can you teach me The Doors?” or “Can you teach me Deep Purple?” I obliged by showing her the chords to Road House Blues and Smoke On The Water. She worked diligently and I will never forget her squeal of delight when she finally mastered the progression.

“I play Doors! I play Deep Purple! I play Smoke On The Water!”

The last night of camp there was a huge banquet and bonfire. Scott and I were preparing to leave for Warsaw where we would catch our flight home when Rafal approached me. “Someone would like to share something with you.”

Natalia was with him. She handed me a letter she had written and said to me in her broken English, “I have friend in Warsaw. Each time I visit her apartment, she asks if I want to smoke marijuana. Before I came to camp I thought, ‘Next time I visit my friend I want to try it.’ But after I heard your story, I changed my mind. Thank you, Richard.”

“You see, Richard,” Rafal put his arm around me; “even in your fifties you can make a difference.”

“Thank you, Rafal,” I grinned. “I’m 46.”

There is a lot of pain and suffering in the world. Kids in South Africa steal food to ease the hunger pains. Teens in Poland (and America) take drugs to ease the emotional pains. How can one person make a difference? One person at a time.

One dollar at a time.

These trips weren’t financed by some big philanthropist or a foundation grant. The money came from average, middle class people who have modified their financial behavior in order to make a difference. One day at a time, one person at a time, one dollar at a time.

Ray Kroc was a struggling milk shake machine salesman when he stumbled across the possibility of duplicating the original McDonald’s restaurant. Years later someone asked him how he was able to build it into a multi-billion dollar international franchise. “One French fry at a time,” he said.

Imagine the impact we could have on poverty and homelessness if we applied the same principles to philanthropy. We could change the world.

Copyright © 2007 Richard M. Potter. All Rights Reserved.