Charlie

The first time I met Charlie, he was belting out "Happy Birthday" to someone in the church - in the church. And I remember thinking to myself that I hoped no one ever told that guy when my birthday was. 

But it didn't take long for me to actually meet Charlie, who was an elder and, I assumed, had been an elder approximately forever. He was an absolute staple in the church, and his hallmark was greeting absolutely everyone. 

Every Sunday, I would walk in the church doors, and there would be Charlie. He'd wrap me in a strong-armed side hug, say a cheery "Good morning," and tell me it was better because I was there. Then, he'd go off and strong-arm side hug someone else with a cheery "Good morning" and tell them it was better because they were there. 

These were not just words to Charlie; he was genuinely happy to see you and genuinely believed the church experience was better with you in it. 

He would stand in the back of the church, always on duty at the door so that no one could sneak in without one of his signature greetings, and he'd belt out whatever song it was we were singing. You could hear Charlie all the way across the auditorium. His joy in the Lord was simply infectious. 

In fact, when I eventually became separated from that church after decades of worship, Charlie was one of the first persons I missed. I would find myself looking around sometimes, just in the middle of nowhere, and thinking how long it had been since I had been greeted with joy. Since I had been strong-armed into a side hug and told in no uncertain terms that things were better because I was there. 

It still makes me sad.

The truth is that life has taken its toll on Charlie. Just like all of us. The changes that come with life in a broken world are tough, and in the last few years that I knew him, Charlie was quieter. He would sit in the congregation a lot more than I had ever known him to. Sometimes, the door would just stand there all by itself, looking almost empty without Charlie stationed permanently in front of it. 

But he never missed his chance to say good morning to anyone. Never. 

Charlie lives close - really close, especially in today's terms - and he drives down the street quite often while I'm walking my dog. He always slows down, blocking traffic sometimes in both directions, to honk his horn, roll down his window, and shout "Good morning" to me. Every time. Then, he tells me where he's off to, what lonely, shut-in, or sick person he's on his way to see. 

Always someone who needs to be greeted with joy. 

I've learned a lot from Charlie. I've learned to step out and say "Good morning." To make sure everyone, at some point in their life, gets greeted with joy. Pure joy. Infectious joy. To remind others that it's better because they're here. Because...it is. I understand what Charlie was saying. My life is more blessed because you're in it, and that's the truth. The chorus sounds better with your voice singing with it. The work is done better with your hands contributing. The joy is contagious because when you smile, someone else smiles back and suddenly, the whole room is gleaming. 

Hey, I even remember an absolute ton of birthdays right off hand. 

That's Charlie. 

So if you need to hear it today, if you aren't sure, let me be the first to tell you - Good morning. It's better because you're here.