Send It
I walked into treatment with two suitcases: one packed with clothes, the other stuffed with judgments I didn’t even know I was carrying. Boon was the first target. He was older, weather-beaten, and carried a scuffed Bible under his arm. My first instinct was to keep a safe distance; humility was still an elective for me.
The turning point came a few days in. I bolted through lunch so I could catch the land-line before phone hours ended, only to find the cabin empty—except for Boon. His hand trembled as he dialed home. I heard him breathe, then soften:
“Hey Honey, I checked myself into treatment on the way to work—didn’t want to worry you. I’ll call my boss and see if I can get some vacation time advanced so we’re covered. We’re going to be okay. Jesus is with us.”
I slipped outside to hide my tears. Judgment turned to respect in a single phone call.
From then on, I noticed a pattern: if someone was anxious, Boon was already in the chair beside them; if somebody was down, he was at their door with a story about his own setbacks. He never asked for anything—no thanks, no halo, not even a seat at lunch. Yet the men kept orbiting around him. Love drifted toward the man who wasn’t trying to catch it.
Watching him rewired something in me. I’d spent years living as the résumé-self—the scoreboard watcher who wants credit for every assist. Boon lived from a quieter place, the character-self that invests in things nobody posts about: patience, presence, mercy. His whole life echoed the reminder that we keep what we have by giving it away. Boon shared compassion the way a campfire shares heat—steadily, generously, with room for anyone to warm their hands.
That’s when it clicked - when you chase for applause, it will sprint ahead; show up to serve and the applause will sneak up from behind. It’s not karma points or a cosmic vending machine. It’s the simple physics of the heart—tight fists repel, open hands receive. Send it, expect nothing. Send forgiveness, send gratitude, stay up late to listen when a friend’s world is tilting, show up unasked to help someone pack or paint or simply breathe. Expect nothing but the quiet satisfaction that you showed up as your better self. Ironically, that’s when life tends to mail you the very thing you stopped demanding—connection, peace, maybe even joy.
Recovery, I’m learning, isn’t a staircase we sprint up; it’s a trail we hike together, trading rations and stories along the way. When Boon copied the Serenity Prayer for me—letters wobbling like the ink was too heavy—he didn’t hand me paper; he handed me proof that grace travels through shaky hands and tired eyes. That gesture slipped a quiet ember into my pocket, one I’ve been keeping warm ever since.
So, here’s the creed: pour love into the world the way Boon reached for that phone—honestly, vulnerably, no strings. If recognition comes, nod and keep sending. If it doesn’t, you still got to practice being the person you were built to be. Send it, expect nothing. Good things will find you, but by then you’ll be too busy sending it to notice.