Humility Without The Humbug

Elaine Marie Cooper

As I dropped off several of my novels at the bookstore before Christmas, I noticed a man that I assumed was a customer speaking with a young man at the desk. I waited my turn until the employee looked at me as though he was ready to help me.

Maybe he’s his friend and just stopped in to visit.

I proceeded to explain that I was dropping off books to sell on consignment when the “friend” said to me. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” I was confused by his question.

“Get your books in print.”

That was a loaded question that I didn’t have a lot of time to answer but I explained briefly that I’d attended writer’s conferences and connected with editors and publishers there.

He glanced at a woman sitting behind the desk and said, “Where can I find out about writers conferences?”

I saw the woman’s face and it was clear she didn’t want to have a discussion with the man. The situation became even clearer when he told the store employees that he had a great idea for a book and needed to find a publisher. “The book is called, ‘Tinkerbelle Joins the Army.’” He was obviously feeling inspired and excited by the prospect of seeing his story in print.

Fighting back laughter at the title, I said, “You can do a Google Search for writers conferences. They are held all over the country.”

“Oh, I need to find one in Des Moines. I don’t drive.”

I felt sorry for the man who obviously had some serious limitations in his life. But I was even sorrier that I had almost laughed at his book title.

Who was I to look down my nose at someone who I assumed would never make it in the publishing world? Who was I to laugh at a title that I thought was ridiculous? Who was I to snicker behind the man’s back, the way I’d seen others in the industry make fun of those who seemed unworthy?

I felt a definite check in my spirit that I was not to demean another with my judgment—or in my actions. When the man saw my name on my books, he held out his hand to me and said, “Can I shake your hand, Elaine Cooper?” I forced myself to smile and extended my hand to respond to his shake. “Nice to meet you,” I answered.

And it truly was nice to meet him. Because he reminded me that dismissing this simple man’s dreams was akin to dismissing the importance of the “surplus population” that Ebenezer Scrooge hated in Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” My initial lack of humility in looking down at this customer that everyone tried to ignore was akin to saying “Bah, humbug.” Instead I should have treated him with the warmth that Jesus would extend. I should have said in my heart and in my words, “God bless us everyone.”

And if you ever see a book entitled “Tinkerbelle Joins the Army,” know that I had the privilege of meeting the author and shaking his hand.

Merry Christmas!