Just One Person

The pouring rain matched my mood. The hospital information desk where I volunteered one morning a week had had only a couple of inquiries in four hours. With a sense of wasted time, I drove through the sodden streets to attend a noontime concert at our local library. I left my umbrella at the door . . . and stepped into an empty auditorium. The weather was bad, but was I going to be the only one here? As the flutist, in her long, green dress, walked onto the stage, I wanted to sink into the floor to spare her this embarrassment. Following her came a man and a woman. The man sat down at the piano, while the woman positioned herself behind him to turn the pages. Surely they weren’t going to go ahead with the concert—three performers before an audience of one! But the flutist, with a little bow, lifted her gleaming instrument and launched into a Mozart sonata. At its close, I discovered what a disconsolate sound two clapping hands make in an empty room. The flutist bowed again as the pianist set out a second score. The numbers were listed on the sheet I’d picked up at the entrance. They played the entire program. When they finished, I went forward to thank them. “To think you played it all for just one person! I wish a thousand had been here!” The soloist looked at me curiously. “Just one person?” she asked “But . . . if one person isn’t important, how could a thousand be?” One listener at a concert. One hospital visitor seeking directions. What if totals are a human concept . . . what if God counts always one by one? God, let me serve with gladness the individuals You love.