Little goes a long way; Remembering a poor-but-generous woman

Editor's note: This essay was written Feb. 22, 2011, following the death of Holly Little. Bob Towner, pastor of Christ Episcopal Church, remembers her.

Holly Little had been real sick for the better part of the year. Most of her friends started missing her months before. One day she was shuttling about in her Dodge van on errands for other people.

And then the bottom dropped out of her health.

We at the Red Door posthumously nominated Holly to be the first recipient of our Good Samaritan Award, a fairly new program at the church. In your Bible, you will recognize the good Samaritan as the unsung hero of one of Jesus' best stories. The ones who get all the credit for doing God's work are, like me, dressed in nice clothes and standing behind a pulpit or a podium or a lectern or a big desk. Lots of wonderful people receive lots of awards for being the best citizen or the best teacher or the best athlete or businesswoman or landscaper or club member or philanthropist. Where would we be without all their good works?

But he wanted us to notice those who are not recognized, who are overlooked, who may actually be despised, who are at any rate anonymous, without a name, without whom the world would be unbearable for the world's unfortunate, silent majority.

But when someone like Holly dies, all you get is the down-and-dirty. Because she doesn't have anyone to pay for her obituary. And she didn't have anything except her old van and the few simple clothes she wore.

Before she passes from memory, let it be known that Holly was a friend to the least and the littlest of our town. I got to know her because she came to every one of our free Red Door Community meals on the last Sunday afternoon of each month. She never came alone. She had six or eight or 10 regular customers she brought to the meals. She expected nothing in return. And she did the same thing on the last Saturday of the month for those who go to eat at Vincent's Vittles; she was always willing to drive you to the Salvation Army's Meals with Friends.

During the week, it was Holly who could carry you out to the wound clinic or the Senior Center or help you carry your groceries home from the grocery store. For about a year when the recession was at its worst, the Red Door hosted a small pet food pantry. It was a project of another one of the anonymous Samaritans who goes by the street name of Shadow. There are hundreds of poor or disabled people out there that live, not by bread alone, but also by the affection of a little pet. And they were having a hard time affording feed. Shadow talked up the store owners to get the donations, and Holly helped him pick up the food and deliver it in her van. I gave her a few bucks for gas a couple of times and she was embarrassed to take it.

I have missed Holly since she got sick. Lots of anonymous people miss her even more. Holly's earthly remains will be cremated, as she wished. Her friends will find another kind person to shuttle them around to some of Holly's favorite places in Cape to sprinkle her ashes. "She was an outdoor woman," said one, "and didn't want to be cooped up." The other truth is there was no one to pay for a funeral. She made her friends among the little people.

She had one more friend, and I have it on pretty good authority that in the twinkling of an eye she will hear him say, "Come, you that are blessed by my father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me." I guess that will be better than getting the reward we never got to give her.