I remember walking along a busy road in the tropical costal city of Salvador, Brazil and wishing a truck would hit me. I was new on the mission, and the area I was serving in was called “The Staff House” because there resided the mission leadership, with the exception of the president and his wife. Our area was to be an example for the entire mission. If the Staff could not baptize, how could they encourage others to? It was the responsibility of my companion and me to fulfill their goals. On top of the already rigorous mission rules, they gave us grueling demands, such as extra fasting days, waking up early, leaving early, taking a 30 minute lunch with no brakes, and baptizing scores of people.

Besides all that I was slowly starving to death. There was a mission rule that you could only buy food one day a week; a rule I realize now probably granted an exception for starvation. But the one bit of advice you constantly hear for 19 years before you leave on a mission is, “Obey the rules!” On that one day a week I would go to the markets and buy expensive and delicious food: yogurt, cookies, guarana, and a wide assortment of Brazilian fruits. That day, and part of the next, I would feast like a king. But it took me a while to realize why the more experienced Elders put nothing edible in the communal fridge, because it was a free-for-all. The rest of the week I was forced to ration what little bread I bought.

That’s why I wanted a truck to hit me that day. I was exhausted, in every form and variety of exhaustion. I could only think about food. Add to that the fact that September 11^th was only a few months ago, and my Christmas was hot and lonely.  Suddenly, a drunk driver actually slammed into my companion’s left arm and sent his scripture case flying into the air. I watched the car in slow motion as it plowed into the group of people walking in front of us, scattering them over his windshield. I recall a woman who took the brunt of the hit appearing like a rag-doll, spinning and whirling in the air until she crashed on the pavement.

That next morning was the lowest point in my life up to then. My grandpa taught me from many summers on his ranch to work hard and never complain. Nobody knew what I was suffering. But I still got up early, studied and prayed, ate a quick breakfast, dressed in my white shirt and tie, and sat on the bench next to the door to put my shoes on. As I slipped on the black shoe I felt something substantial within. I took it off and found a piece of chocolate. It was cube shaped and wrapped in gold foil   That random act of kindness was like a steroid shot of happiness. There was no exhaustion or hunger that day because all I could think about was how nice and thoughtful someone must have been to place a piece of chocolate in my shoe. It was an answer to my prayers and motivation in sugar form. Some would argue that charity – giving something that is unearned – isn’t a good idea. But something as inconsequential and unsubstantial as a small piece of chocolate completely changing my life for ever is evidence enough to the positive results of charity.

New Years Day was that week, and my New Year’s resolution was to do a random act of kindness every day. It was one of the few New Year’s resolutions I actually followed through on. I recorded most of them every day on a calendar which I still have today. I thought if that small piece of chocolate could brighten my life as it did, then I was going to share it with others. I would leave chocolates in shoes, cookie packages under couch cushions, and candies under the newspaper. I like to think of that year long accomplishment as what will be the deciding factor as to whether I am admitted into heaven or not. The actual cube I found in my shoe on that morning I placed atop a stack of books on my desk, so that every day it could remind me to pass charity on to others.

Many months later I was doing ‘splits’ with a young man in the ward. My companion and his temporary volunteer were lucky enough to be in the area of our lunch appointment, so we had to eat in our apartment. While he began boiling water for some Top Ramen, I rested at my desk. Very hungry, I looked over at my trophy. My mouth watered. Whatever rationalization my mind conjured up, it wasn’t stronger than my stomach. I unwrapped it quickly and popped it into my mouth. I took a bite, made a bitter face, and spit it onto the table. It tasted like rotten and concentrated salt. It was brown like chocolate, but smelled like beef stew. Upon further examination I realized it was a cube of beef bullion. It then hit me that the stash of bullion cubes in Staff House was in a cupboard directly over the shoes. Most likely, someone had accidentally knocked it out of the cupboard and into my shoe. That whole year, that major turning point in my mission and life, was all due to a random accident.

Either God directed it in my shoe, or he was laughing when I began distributing chocolate like The Santa Wonka. Even so, the fact that an act (or accident) so small and easy caused such a positive effect is reason enough to substantiate the idea of charity, and inspire its practice.

By force of habit I pick the leaves or branches or little round things as I walk past trees and bushes.  Given time you can always tell which trees and bushes I walk past because of the bare branches within my reach.  Last night it was quite dark as my dog and I approached a random tree in the park.  I subconsciously raised my hand to snatch a leaf.  Like a Venus Fly Trap I closed my hand on the first touch of something, only I hadn’t quite made it to the tree yet; whatever I caught was flying, or suspended on a thin web.  It was substantial too, not like a gnat or mosquito; it was round as a small marble for the split second before I smashed it and juices spilled onto my fingers.  Either a black widow or large horse fly I thought.  It struck that in the millions of times I’ve been subconsciously picking leaves, nothing that crazy had ever happened.  I said, “Oh my gosh.”

As I was wiping the insect guts off I read the words on a laminated banner hung on the hedge to my right: “Will You Marry Me Danille?”  I turn to the left and there’s this guy on one knee proposing to Danille.  “Oh my gosh.”

I’m thinking, “How on earth could these once-in-a-lifetime events happen simultaneously?”  I turn the corner and begin walking east along the south end of Kiwanis park.  On the adjacent road a Hummer passes.  Not an H2 or H3, but an old respectable Hummer.  Part of me wants to catalog this Hummer with the other two bizarre events, but I decide against it.  The next car which passes is an Audi convertible.  You see plenty of these, but not when they’re screaming at 90mph in a quiet neighborhood.  Still these two ‘automobile occurrences’ weren’t enough to grant acceptance into “club crazy”.  Just then I said, “Oh my GOSH!”  A brand new silver Ferrari came from behind and cruised up the hill.  That solidified it.  This was without a doubt the most fantastical night.

I approached the two church parking lots which mark the extremity of my walk when I said without hesitation or premeditation, “Oh my gosh.”  I saw a couple walking toward me which I had seen at the first leg of my walk.  They had two small dogs making quite a racket in the simple act of breathing; probably young Pugs or British Bulldogs, but they were so loud and humorous I actually said, “Those dogs are loud” to the couple as I walked past.  They smiled and we parted ways, never to see each other again.  Because who on planet earth would choose the exact elongated rectangle path as mine, and walk it clockwise to my counterclockwise on the same night?  Yet there they were walking towards me in the parking lights.

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from the giant wooded lot south of the two churches.  “Oh my gosh” I said in fear.  I approached and stood silently, hoping to hear “Over here!” or “Help me!”  The couple with the dogs heard it too, but we both decided they must be kidding or dead, and we parted ways.  I smiled at their noisy dogs. 

Completely perplexed at the odds of such weirdness, I approach the final stretch before my house.  On the sidewalk between a patch of trees and a parked truck I hear this wild and ferocious hiss.  “Oh my gosh,” I shout.  A cat was under the car, and when my dog Allie approached, the cat attacked.  Not necessarily something crazy and rare, but another genuine “Oh my gosh” added to the tally. 

Thinking is conversation
Self-esteem is consensus