The Unknowns by Patty LaRoche

Do the names “Fortunatus” and “Achaicus” and “Stephanas” ring a bell? How about Epanetus, Andronicus, Junias, Ampliatus, Urbanus, Stachys, Apelles, Aristobulus, Herodion, Narcissus, Tryphaena, Tryphosa, Persis, Asyncritus, Phlegon and Hermes? Probably not names you considered naming your child.

Hint: they have to do with Paul in the Bible. You’ve got it? Great.

These are people in Paul’s life who assisted him in his ministry and were thanked by Paul for their contributions. They were little-known men and women who came alongside him to help where there was a need but known enough for Paul to give them recognition in his letters to Jewish converts.

For most of us, we probably have hundreds of “unknowns” with whom we have crossed paths who have made our lives better, those who without fanfare were there for us when we needed them most. I am blessed to have those people in my life. My brother David was one of them.

I remember the time my car was in the shop, my husband away on a baseball trip, and the only person I knew I could call was David. “No problem” was his answer, a familiar expression he used the many times I needed him. He pulled up in his junker truck, told me I needed to sit right next to him because there was a hole in the floor under the mat on the passenger side, and when I told him I thought that was weird, he said, “Suit yourself, but if I slam on the brakes and we come to a screeching halt, you might find yourself under the truck.”

I sat next to my brother. Better safe than weird, I guess.

To see what was behind him when he was driving, David reached under his driver’s seat and pulled out the side mirror that had broken off his truck. He proudly held it out the window, moving it to get the right angle. He thought nothing of it. I cracked up but knew, Beggars can’t be choosers.

David stopped for every hitchhiker and traveler in trouble. One day, he picked up a bicyclist, drove him to his farmhouse and let him sleep on the couch while David fixed his tire. He loved coaching and would call his players “French fries” if they messed up. Every player mattered to him, sometimes enough to discipline harshly so they would learn a valuable lesson. Countless nights, the lights would come on at the baseball field across from where we lived. There was David, working with a player who couldn’t sleep and asked for extra batting practice.

Not surprisingly, he died from a chain saw accident, sawing wood for widows who depended on him for their home’s heat. I never knew how much he did for others until his funeral when people shared endless stories about his sacrifice to improve their lives.

I have a feeling that we are going to be shocked at the people we see in Heaven, those “no-names” who spent more time on their knees than on their feet, those unsung heroes who never were about accolades or praise but, like Paul’s pals, were there at the right time to make others’ lives better. I pray I am one of those people. I hope you do too.