Little Al

Little Al

Publication: The Lookout

Date: November 21, 2004

Column: First Look

Category: Gratitude; Loneliness; Significance

I never knew his last name. And his first name was as short as his stature.

Everyone simply called him "Little Al," and he didn't seem to mind. As a young boy I never questioned how that nickname must have made him feel. It just seemed perfectly natural—as if his first name were "Little" and his last name "Al."

Little Al would smile and nod when I spoke to him, but I never heard him say much. He lived with his mother in a farm house a half-mile from our family's farm in southern Ohio. He was short but his arms were strong, and local farmers hired him when they needed an extra hand baling hay or taking care of their livestock. And Al's legs were strong, because he didn't own a car and he rode a bicycle everywhere he went.

My parents were kind to Al. During silo-filling time in the summer, Al would help us on the farm and he'd join us around the dinner table eating hearty meals my mother served up—roast beef, mashed potatoes, sweet corn from our garden, home-baked rolls with butter, iced tea to drink, and apple pie for dessert. My family ate like that almost every day. I wondered what Little Al ate for dinner when he was alone in his house.

Count Your Blessings—While You Can

All of us benefit from little things we don't think about until we really need them. Did you ever wish you had one of those little screwdrivers and a tiny screw because you needed to repair your eyeglasses? Have you ever camped out and wished you had a can opener? Who says a prayer of thanks before drinking a glass of water? But if you ever visit a country where clean, safe water is scarce, you learn to be grateful for good old H₂O.

There are people—and precious moments—we tend to take for granted.

Francis Shaeffer wrote a book called No Little People (Crossway Books, 2003). Intriguing title. Indeed, there are no little people in our lives—but lots of people we don't appreciate fully until they're no longer around.

That's why encouragement needs to be a way of life. Don't wait till the day of your daughter's wedding to tell her how much you love her. Don't wait till your son leaves for the Army to tell him how proud you are of him. Don't wait till your parents are dying to thank them for all they've done for you. Don't wait till your preacher moves on to say, "Thanks for having an impact on my life."

A postal worker cheerfully delivered our mail for years, and then one day I noticed a young woman had taken his place. I asked her, "What happened to John?" "Oh, he retired," came the answer. I felt a twinge of sadness because I hadn't known John was nearing retirement, and I hadn't thanked him for his years of faithful service.

I experienced a similar feeling during a telephone conversation with my dad. He had some sad news.

"Little Al was riding his bicycle along the road," Dad said, "and there was a collision. He was killed."

It was a big funeral.