Last night we started watching the 2012 documentary on Ethel Kennedy. This afternoon we learned she just died at the age of 96. Eerie. While giving thanks for my heroes working for justice and racial equality during my childhood, I also thought of being a patrol boy; weird; here’s why.

A week after being chosen to be a patrol boy, during my training in June, I heard Sen. Kennedy had been shot; the news wouldn’t sink in for several years. When I started my year serving as a patrol boy, I was given the responsibility of helping Chenoweth Elementary kids safely cross Brownsboro Road — the four-lane state Highway 42 in Louisville’s east end. 

I liked the power and prestige that went with being chosen to be a patrol boy. When I felt like it, I could push the cross button to change the light and stop all the traffic on Hwy 42. I would tell the kids when to cross. I loved the sense of control over others I had. I loved the look of my patrol boy outfit with a white belt across my waist and shoulder and a silver badge with AAA on it. (I thought it was something super cool like A plus plus.)

Soon enough I learned that being chosen is not easy. The few sunny fall days became the many rain, sleet, snow days. I had to get there early, stay late, and be responsible. But at least I wasn’t alone; I always had the other patrol boy assigned to that crossing by my side.

People of faith often talk about being chosen for their spiritual journey. I now know that being chosen isn’t easy. It isn’t about the control, the power, the badge, or the certificate in the end. We are chosen to serve —  to do our part each day to make the crossings of others safer and better with our presence.  We are chosen not because we are better, but to be better.

When have you experienced the honor of being chosen before learning how much responsibility you would have? How have you helped others cross dangerous paths on their journeys? What rewards do you receive in loving and serving others with empathy and compassion?