The Exchange Principle

Emile Locard was a French criminologist. In the early 1900’s he developed the theory that any person passing through a room will unknowingly leave something there and take something away. Duh. Of course they will. Any mother with small children could have formulated that theory in a heartbeat, if she’d had the time. All the mothers were too busy wiping up what the kids left on the floor and scolding them for the snack or the coin or the toy they filched on the way through. So that left Emile Locard to write the theory down.

Locard’s bit of wisdom became notable in the world of forensics¸ but it applies to human interaction more. When a woman walks into a church meeting, something changes. Four other women in the room notice her hair. It’s different; it’s flattering; maybe they’ll try something similar with their own hair. Someone across the room notes her arrival and sighs with relief because now she knows she won’t be handling those rowdy 2-year-olds alone. Yes! The reinforcements have arrived!

A small row of children turn around and grin; Mommy’s here. She said she’d be along soon. She’d said, Just get in the car with Dad and go! She kept her promise; another rivet in the armor of their security under her care. A quiet figure at the back of the chapel watches the woman walk in, looks down at her lap and smiles. A flood of warmth oozes from her heart as she remembers their little secret: she needed comfort, help and an ear; the woman was there for her—and she kept her confidence just as she promised she would.

We cannot walk among people without affecting them somehow. We cannot leave without being changed somewhat by them, either. Just as we unwittingly leave behind a piece of hair, a dab of dried mud, or a flake of skin, we leave a particle of our attitude, our expression, and our acts. Walking through the chapel, the foyer, or the parking lot, we pick up a bit of carpet fiber, a scrap of paper that adheres to our shoe, or a tiny helicopter seed blown our way on the wind. Just so, we pick up and take home small bits of where we were.

These exchanges are not conscious. We might not realize until later that we noticed the absence of a smile where we’d found one unfailingly before, or a sheen of tears, or a limp that had become more pronounced. A curt remark aimed at a friend might not register at the time, but it waits in our subconscious until that friend calls, voice choked with tears, needing reassurance. The subconscious mind is always recording, always taking note. What we do does affect others, and what they do does affect us. There is no escaping it.

What responsibility do we have, then? Jesus Christ said it in three tiny words that hold the answer to so much in our lives: “Feed my sheep”. Christ didn’t tell us what to feed His lambs, but it’s obvious that He didn’t want us feeding them poisons, or things they couldn’t digest, or amounts too tiny to sustain life. Surely the Master wouldn’t want us to give His sheep food, all the while belittling them for their need. Surely He would not want us to serve to His lambs a meal spiced with bitters.

Everywhere we go, in everything we do, we should leave the situation better than it was. This does not require an enormous outlay of time or thought or money. It simply requires the determination to make the change for good. A smile, a hello, a touch on the elbow as you pass—all these things transmit the warmth of an unspoken message: I saw you. I’m glad I did. I care.

As you pass through that room, you unwittingly leave your sweetness or your sour; and you pick up something as you go. If what you leave behind is pleasant and palatable, chances are that what you take away will be of the same ilk. The Ripple Effect of your actions and attitude will move across the lake of your world, so be certain that what you leave behind is worthy to bear your name!

Caring is contagious. Love spills out across a room, vaporizing, traveling, infecting all whom it touches. With all the toxins and the blather that float in our atmosphere, isn’t it worth the effort to leave behind something that will inoculate us against the World?

President Hinckley's Passing

Today I sobbed through the funeral of Gordon B. Hinckley, one of my heroes. I've been surprised at the depth of my pain over his passing. I'd thought I was prepared for it, since he was 97 years old; but it hurts. As President Eyring said, his passing leaves a hole in every heart. I'll be reviewing those services, taking notes and gathering to my heart those tidbits that healed me. It was an amazing experience! Despite my tear-swollen eyes, I'm glad I watched.

Auto-Tude

It’s odd. A car can represent so many things to different people. For some reason, we attach a great deal of meaning to the machine in which a person gets around town. Of course, looking at a person’s vehicle can give clues to their personalities, their lifestyles, and their priorities. We have to be careful, though; those leaps to conclusions can put us in the wrong place entirely! For some, The Car is the outward symbol of financial success. (That la-di-da logo on the back says, “I can afford this”—but maybe the engine specs or safety rating sold him on the car.) To others, the car’s condition demonstrates the determination to keep things neat and orderly. (Not a fast food wrapper or a tissue in sight!) An antique or a classic car suggests a love of bygone days, an investment in nostalgia, or a cherished hobby. (Or maybe it used to belong to Grandpa!)

Four-wheel drive suggests a love of outdoor life (unless you live in snow country or hills) and mud in the wheel wells tends to confirm it. Racks on top indicate an affinity for a sport or hobby. Car seats galore point to a young family, and dust on the tailgate suggests a rural home or workplace. Flags and stickers and things dangling from the rear view mirror give clues as to the politics, the subcultures, and the philosophical bents of the owners—or perhaps their teenage children.

Even the state of upkeep (or lack thereof) says something about the driver, but the clues can easily be misread as well. A spit-polish shine suggests that the car is a high priority, but perhaps that the owner simply has too much time on his hands. A crumpled fender can mean a lack of good insurance, or it could just as easily indicate that the owner hasn’t the time to spare to even get an estimate for repairs. The effluvia radiating from the interior could indicate indifference, but it could just as easily mean that the owner is overwhelmed, ill, or far too busy doing for others to bother doing for himself.

I don’t get too involved in judging a person by the vehicle of choice. Ever since my BYU days, when my roommates got all gooey because my date drove a Corvette, I’ve been amazed by the extrapolation from vehicle type to personality characteristics. Their “Hang onto that one, Honey; he’ll treat you right!” always left me puzzled and a bit unnerved. As it turned out, Mr. Corvette didn’t (treat me right), but another young man with an expensive car did—as did the guy with the well-worn VW Bug. Funny how the guy with the Bug is the one who’s still on my mind in my dotage.

For me, a car is something I climb into to get where I need to go and back. I want it to be reliable, fuel-efficient, and reasonably comfortable. I want the tires to stay inflated and I hope one doesn’t explode a sidewall on the freeway. I don’t want anything sticky adhering to my shirt when I get out of the car. Other than that, I don’t care. Oh, I’ll notice a pretty new vehicle zipping down the freeway, and the shiny newness is pleasant; but I don’t envy the owner the high tag fees, the killer insurance, or the payments. Still, I think, “Hurray for you!” and drive on with a smile.

My “auto-tude” frees me from a lot of unnecessary worry. Since a car is just transportation for me, I don’t get upset at a ding in the door. I might not even notice it, nestled as it is among friends. Having no emotional connection with the car’s make or model, I’m comfortable lending it out when someone needs a car, and I don’t worry if they happen to spill their Big Gulp on the seat. All I ask is that it be returned on time, in one piece, with gaskets un-blown and with fuel replaced in the tank.

I’ll always notice what you’re driving, but chances are, it will mostly be so that I can honk and wave at you as you pass me on the highway; and I’ll feel happy, not because I saw your car, but because I saw you.