Grandma Vera wasn’t much taller than the organ she loved to play that sat in her living room. Grandma seated at the organ is a recurrent childhood memory.
She’d been playing the organ since she was a young girl, and even as an adult her hands were so small she had to stretch to reach the chords she loved. She played the organ at home all the time, but it was her service in her church that is a hallmark of her life.
Over the years, her music became the soundtrack of people’s grief and remembrance. I think the final count was seventy-two funerals. Seventy-two families that wept while she played, her music sustaining them in their loss. She never asked for thanks. She just showed up, sat down, and played.
Cancer finally took Grandma’s ability to play, but not before her final arrangement. At her own funeral, her recorded sounds played for the seventy-third time.
My grandma was never famous. She never really even sought recognition. Yet thousands of people left those funerals feeling comfort, peace, or just the warmth of grandma’s gift as she sat behind the organ.
For some time before she passed away, I had the privilege of living with Grandpa Tom and Grandma Vera. They, like their son (my dad), are some of my heroes.
Applause doesn’t typically accompany the music at funerals, but Grandma’s music was never about applause; it was about showing up for the people who needed her. That’s really the power of ordinary lives: their influence is rarely seen, but never insignificant.
The Power of Unseen Influence
Quiet, unassuming people, like Grandma Vera, are often the ones whose unseen efforts hold the world together. They give, serve, and love without expectation of recognition, yet their quiet influence supports almost everyone who has accomplished great things.
In Middlemarch, George Eliot wrote:
…for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.
The Myth of Monumental Achievement
We remember and celebrate the names that fill history books, but they aren’t the only ones who shape the world. It’s also built by the millions “who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”
If you’ve ever stayed to watch the credits of a blockbuster movie, you can see that thousands of people work to make those movies a success. In a movie like Avengers: End Game, people are going to remember the performances of the major on-screen characters, but nobody outside of Amanda Akins’ family and friends will remember her role as dimmer tech on that film, yet important aspects of the movie’s lighting would be off without someone filling her role.
Multiply Ms. Akins’ role almost 3,000 times and you have the crew required to make Avengers: End Game a reality. Great as the actors may be (or not), the movie wouldn’t exist without the efforts of thousands of mostly anonymous people.
The world loves a hero’s journey, and because the stories appear to involve relatively few people, they’re easier to remember, but perhaps we’ve had it backwards all along. The world, for the most part, doesn’t run on heroes. It runs on ordinary, faithful lives, and always has.
The Ripple Effect of a Hidden Life
Now, just because most people won’t be remembered by millions (or even hundreds) doesn’t mean their influence disappears. Just like ripples in a pond, their quiet contributions extend far beyond what they or we ever see.
Grandma Vera had a profound impact on me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been dutiful about making my bed, but Grandma Vera taught me how to really make a bed. She could easily have taught a masterclass to hotel staff about how to make a bed look crisp.
I also learned a lot from her about quiet, anonymous acts of service. Apart from the time she spent playing to organ for so many funerals, Grandma was active in the community and could often be found taking her aging friends to this or that doctor’s appointment.
Grandma V died just two days before Christmas in 2006, but I think about her all time. I think about how much she loved all her grandchildren. Her love extended far and wide, but so many of the people she touched never even knew her name.
Redefining Success and Legacy
Like him or hate him, I’m impressed by what Bill Gates has accomplished in his life. I’ve just started reading his memoire Source Code. While I admire him, I’ve never met him nor do I suppose I ever will. Bill Gates probably won’t ever know my name and he certainly wouldn’t mourn for me when I die.
It’s fine to be influenced and inspired by the accomplishments of great people, but I think it’s time for us to refocus our energy on remembering the people who have made the biggest difference in our lives. When I consider the depth of impact, the influence of Grandma V on my life reaches broader and deeper than any celebrity ever could.
Looking forward, perhaps it’s time to realize that success isn’t about how widely known we are, but about the profound influence we have on others. Success is also in remembering the sacrifices that were made by others, our own unsung heroes, to get us where we are.
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