Two Sticks of Gum

It's Friday. I'm tired. It's been a long week, and I'd guess I'm not the only one running on fumes this morning.

In July 1948, a young U.S. pilot named Gail Halvorsen was running on fumes too. He was flying round-the-clock supply runs into blockaded Berlin, sleeping in snatches between flights. On a rare break, he walked out to the fence at Tempelhof airfield and found about thirty German kids watching the planes come in. They had almost nothing, and they asked him for nothing.

He reached into his pocket. Two sticks of gum. That was all he had. He handed them over anyway. The kids tore them into tiny pieces, and the ones who got none passed the wrappers around just to smell them. Nobody fought. They were grateful.

Halvorsen could have waited until he had enough for everyone. He could have waited until he was rested. He could have treated them like the enemy they were just a few years ago. Instead, he gave what was in his pocket, right then.

Notice the word "now." Not when the week slows down. Not when the tank is full. Now, with whatever is in your pocket.

Now as Paul Harvey says; the rest of the story: Halvorsen went back and told his crew. They pooled their candy rations and tied them to handkerchief parachutes. Then the squadron joined in. Then people back home. Before it was over, more than 23 tons of candy had floated down over Berlin. One tired pilot and two sticks of gum, multiplied by everyone he invited in.

There's an old proverb: A shared joy is a double joy, a shared burden is half a burden. That's real math. And when times are tough, that's exactly when to double down on it.

I don't know a better cure for a tired Friday. Get up. Hit the floor. Get in the Word. Get your mind and body right. Then go find someone to help, and bring somebody with you.

Let's go multiply some joy and divide some burdens today.