Once there was a man named Givent Ake. Givent had a life that from the out­side peo­ple might appear green with jeal­ousy. He had it all, one might say. A big fancy house with lush gar­dens and a swim­ming pool, fancy cars, and vaca­tion homes scat­tered through­out the world, which were often the gath­er­ing place of celebri­ties and high pro­file guests.

Givant was mar­ried with two chil­dren. His wife, Gabby, was very active in non-profit vol­un­teer activ­i­ties, and enjoyed mak­ing sure that her name was on sev­eral build­ings for her gen­er­ous con­tri­bu­tions to the com­mu­nity. She loved the spot­light. Gabby dressed impec­ca­bly, had her nails done once a week, and hired a maid to keep up around the house and help with the chil­dren, who were dri­ven to a pri­vate school daily.

Givent Ake was a busi­ness man. When he talked with peo­ple he drew them in with his charis­matic per­son­al­ity and easy con­ver­sa­tion. But there were ulte­rior motives. Givent hid behind his façade of kind­ness to pro­pel him for­ward finan­cially and to feel pow­er­ful. For the deep blue shad­ows in his eyes revealed that these acquain­tances, these “friends” were only being wooed because they had some­thing he wanted in the future when he needed to cash in favors. He lived by the motto “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.”

Now in a nearby town, there was a lady named Lotta Faith. Lotta lived a sim­ple life. She lived in an older house and lived below her means. Although she didn’t have chil­dren, she was a won­der­ful teacher and men­tor for trou­bled youth in an alter­na­tive school. Dur­ing the hol­i­day, instead of gifts, she would clean out her clos­ets and donate to the local char­i­ties for fam­i­lies in need. She would hand-make items and write deep, long, let­ters to fam­i­lies and friends thank­ing them for the gifts that they were giv­ing to the world through merely exist­ing. She was never long in face or short on a com­pli­ment, even to a stranger.

Lotta had no desire for recog­ni­tion. Often times she would per­form ran­dom acts of kind­ness. And each week, she would stop by the cor­ner park of Main Street and 10^th, where old Ernest claimed a bench of his own.

“How are you today, Ernest?” she would say.

“Same as ever, dear. Still tick­ing, God knows why,” Ernest would mum­ble, his hoarse throat barely a whisper.

Lotta would sit down next to the man with the twin­kle in his sad blue eyes and they would begin the famil­iar con­ver­sa­tion that had become part of their greet­ing rou­tine. She enjoyed his pres­ence. She always felt bet­ter sit­ting, lis­ten­ing to his sto­ries, telling and some­times ask­ing his advice about the trou­bled kids she worked with, with­out break­ing their con­fi­den­tial­ity. When it was time to go, Lotta would hand Ernest a brown paper bag, filled with his favorite turkey and cheese sand­wich, mus­tard only. And cook­ies. Two home­made choco­late chip. Ernest would smile, and say,

“Thank you dear. Not many peo­ple take the time to really talk. But every­one sure thinks they have impor­tant things to say! You keep the faith, now, ya hear?”

One week later, two days before Christ­mas, Lotta stopped by the park and Ernest wasn’t there. She asked the cor­ner shop­keeper, who allowed Ernest to warm up in his shop occa­sion­ally, if he had seen the old man.

“Ernest passed away last week. Appar­ently a heart attack. We didn’t know where to find you. His chil­dren wanted you to know he spoke of you fondly, and often.”

“I didn’t know he had fam­ily” she whis­pered, vis­i­bly shaken.

“Oh yes! Old Ernest was well-known around here. I thought you knew?!”

“Knew what?”

“Why, Ernest was once named Givent Ake. He had a beau­ti­ful wife, although she talked way too much…..” he paused.

“Well, they had two lovely chil­dren. He was a mil­lion­aire, you know.”

“Go on. Please….”

“Well, Ernest, or Givent, lived the high life. He didn’t have many friends. He pre­tended to be a friend to many, but he used peo­ple. He would only give to those whom he wanted some­thing in return.

His wife died in a tragic car acci­dent ten years ago. He changed his life after that. Vowed to appre­ci­ate every moment, and against his grown children’s wishes, decided to go incog­nito and start to walk the streets every day, only com­ing home to a mod­est home at night. He was try­ing to under­stand the human conditional.”

“The human con­di­tional?” asked Lotta. “You mean the human con­di­tion?”

“No. The human con­di­tional. Ernest said that most peo­ple he met had the ten­dency to only give on con­di­tional terms, depen­dent on what they could take back. He used to be that way when his name was Givent Ake. Said he was cursed the day he was born because of his namesake.

The last sev­eral years of his life have been filled with deep sor­row and regret, but also wis­dom and com­pas­sion. Why, he even helped me put my son through col­lege! And remem­ber that anony­mous dona­tion to your school? That was him! That was Ernest! I promised I would never tell….but, you know.”

Lotta stepped back. Then she under­stood the many con­ver­sa­tions she had with Ernest. And with her head held a lit­tle higher, know­ing she was blessed with her given name, she set out to con­tinue an Ernest jour­ney to change the Givent Akes of the world.

Moral of the story? You have to have a Lotta Faith, and for­get about Givent Ake. For life, my friends, is not about give and take. It is about being Ernest in your ges­tures of good will, giv­ing uncon­di­tion­ally, know­ing that as con­nected human beings the rewards will come in mys­te­ri­ous ways and through peo­ple and events that you do not expect.

Wish­ing you all the Ernest Spirit of Lotta Faith, Giv­ing, and Har­mony as we jour­ney through this hol­i­day season!

by Jen Slay­den