Our Begining

About 17 years ago, I met a waitress while still in a wretched misery that I called ‘life.’ She was a nobody with an apron and a massive chip on her shoulder. That particular day, she had the good fortune of being the one who would be waiting on me in the diner where she worked.

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I was in a bad mood, but it was evident that her mood was worse than mine. I can tell you there were no niceties exchanged between us as she seated me at the far end of the diner (per my request). When she addressed me, my only responses to her were irritability and complaining; she retorted with snapping and grumbling. We were quite the pair.

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It was like two gladiators going to battle, and after about 30 seconds of conversation with this waitress, I realized there was only a gladiator and a mouse; I happened to be the mouse.

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After another 30 minutes of trying to converse with a lady with more Ph.D. in jerk ology than I did, I asked her if I could buy her a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. She told me what I could do with the pie and coffee, which was not eat or drink. I’m a very persistent person and would not give up. Finally, after about an hour, I convinced her to sit down. She looked me in the eye and asked, “Crybaby, what seems to be your problem?” I told her I had just found my father,r who had committed suicide,e and I felt like she should have been a little more compassionate.

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The truth is, I envision reaching over the table and choking her to death and refrained; I do not look good in orange. I asked her, “Well, tell me your problem; why are you such a jerk?”

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She told me that she and her husband moved to this small town two weeks before she died of pancreatic cancer. He never told her he was sick and dying. She found herself in a city she knew no one and considered the town to be as friendly as a porcupine. Her two children and grandchildren came home for the funeral; this was all the family she had in the world. They stayed for about a week and then headed home. Halfway into their trip, a drunk driver came flying through the median, hit them head-on, and killed all four people in the car. In a matter of a month, she had lost her entire immediate family.

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Then I said, “Check, mate, she wins.”

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I entered the café around noon and did not leave until around 10 p.m. During our conversation, I realized that things could be much worse for me than they were. I had such mixed emotions, but I knew I needed to leave a note to let her know her profound impact on a young man’s heart.

My bill was $17.49, but I left $100, a business card, and a note that said, “Thank you very much for your kind words. They changed a young man’s heart from sadness and despair to a heart filled with gratitude for the time I had with my father.”

I left and headed back to work. About two weeks later, I got a small box in the mail. I have to tell you I’m an avid watch collector, so I thought it was something I had ordered until I shook the box. It sounded like a battery. I opened the box and immediately had to admit I was still a jerk and did not continue reading the note she had sent me; I wanted to see the gift at the bottom. Much to my surprise, I reached in and pulled out a .45 bullet and immediately thought, “You nut, I don’t hunt with a .45.” In my over10-hour conversation with her, I told her I was an avid hunter. Paul Harvey says, “Here’s the rest of the story.” I returned to the note and began to read where I left off.

She said, “Ittle, do you understand the spark you gave an old woman’s heart today? It changed my heart from grief and despair to knowing I had a mission left to do until I draw my last breath.” Her mission was to spark (or spread kindness) to everyone who crossed my path.” She went on to say, “I searched long and hard for a gift that would be worthy of a spark you gave my heart, and the only thing I could come up with was the bullet I was going to use to commit suicide that night.”

I have to admit I was not a very emotional person at this point, but I found water leaking from my eyes that I later discovered were tears.

I never had another conversation with this waitress, but I promise her footprint on my heart will be there until I die. I would love to tell you I started sparking immediately, but I did not. It took over a year for this to sink in and for me to fully understand the mission that God had given me. I will never stop sparking and trying to improve the world for the next generation until I draw my last breath.

Since 1999, my passion for helping others has grown into a mission; others have also begun to catch the fire through this mission. It is from this fire that the 1 Spark Foundation has grown. 1 Spark is “doing something for someone other than yourself.” A kind word, opening a door for someone, paying for breakfast (my favorite!) or lunch, holding a door open, or letting a car in your lane during traffic. It doesn’t have to cost a dime.

If everyone would commit to doing 1 Spark a day, imagine how we could change the world!

I pray that you, too, will be moved to join the army of Spark Givers. I guarantee you one thing: if you start giving of yourself, you will be blessed more than you can ever imagine.

And remember, the best life will be lived serving others.

One spark can start a fire. The only unknown in this equation is whether your spark will ignite an inferno that no person can ever extinguish.

– David L. Hill