The Parable of the Trumpet Case

Written for United Way and the Combined Federal Campaign (CFC):

So I'm sitting at the computer reading email when a news link titled Astronomers Discover Oldest Supernova to Date lures me away from the page. The story gets me thinking about space, and before I know it I'm at hubblesite.org, browsing through the amazing photos taken from the Hubble telescope that orbits the Earth. Wow. The pictures are beyond beautiful, but the sheer size and distance of our expanding universe start making me feel dizzy. When I try to comprehend the distance of a galaxy "100 million light years away" and "50,000" light years across, I feel insignificant. I start thinking maybe my meager efforts to do something important -- leave my mark in the world -- don't mean much after all.

Even on our dust-speck of a planet, I'm little more than a molecule. How can anything I do matter in the long run? I can't change the world. If I feed one hungry person, ten more step in line behind him, and guess what? I just ran out of soup. Fresh paint ages, blisters, then finally cracks and peels. The universe is expanding, cooling and will eventually end up dead and iced-over, if it doesn't collapse back into itself first. "What is the point of it all?" I think.

Then I remember the parable of the trumpet case. It's an especially meaningful story, because it happened to me. Picture me, a skinny seventh grader fresh out of grade school and now the littlest fish in the big pond known as junior high. I'm in the band, and I play the trumpet. It's a really cool, silver-plated Olds model I have inherited from my uncle, but it's got one major drawback: the case. Unlike most easily identifiable instrument cases, my trumpet case is slim, tall and brown. It looks exactly like a briefcase -- the last thing you'd ever want to be seen carrying down the school hall. ("Hey look guys, there goes the nerd!)

So one day after school I'm already late for the bus when I remember I left my trumpet case in the band room. I'm carrying a bunch of books, notebooks stuffed with loose papers, homework etc. So when I get to the band room, I cram it all in with my trumpet and start running to catch the bus. But I forget one important detail: my trumpet case has the habit of popping open when too full.

As I emerge out of the building, I see my bus getting ready to depart the bus zone. With a burst of speed, I leap from the top of the steps down to the loading area. That's when my trumpet case explodes... vomiting books, papers, valve oil and trumpet parts at the feet of the entire student body. As I frantically gather up the mess, I am aware of loud laughter, searing heat in my face, and a pack of ultra-cool ninth graders standing nearby. And then something unexpected happens. One of those ninth-graders steps away from the crowd, bends over, and starts helping me get everything back in the case so I can catch the bus.

Just an insignificant thing, really -- stepping away from the laughing crowd, picking up a couple of books. I don't know his name. I don't remember his face, or if I managed to say thanks. I do know one thing -- he didn't save the world that day. But that day, he saved me... and it meant the world. It had nothing to do with the number of books he picked up. It had everything to do with restoring my dignity as a human being. He stepped away from the crowd. He shared my burden, and made sure I wasn't alone that day.

The world's a big place. The galaxy is huge. And the universe is enormous beyond comprehension. But the worth of a single person dwarfs them all. That unknown ninth grader taught me, is still teaching me, to step away from the crowd... because to the world I may be just one person, but to one person I may be the world.