Opportunity Knocks

By Jamie Howard, Idaho Falls, Idaho

As appeared in

Door to door. That had been my life as a vacuum salesman for two years. I went into neighborhoods and demonstrated our product by cleaning people's carpets. If they liked what they saw I did my best to close the deal. 

The company I worked for was a good one for a family man like me, with a wife and three children to provide for. I was lucky. Still, I wondered if there was something more I could be doing. Something important. I believe there's a greater purpose for my life, I thought one afternoon in May as I drove to the next house on my route. I just don't know what it is. 

Maybe I needed to look out for ways to make a difference with the job I had. I challenged myself right then and there. Every house call was an opportunity to put a smile on someone's face—whether I sold a vacuum cleaner or not. I pulled up in front of a neat brick ranch. At the very least, I'm going to brighten this person's day. I walked to the front door and rang the bell. A blond woman answered.

I introduced myself and explained my business. "Are you the lady of the house, as they say?" She said her name was Andi, and I gave her my sales pitch. At the end she invited me in to demonstrate. "So, what do you think?" I asked when the demo was over.

She hesitated. I'd been a salesman long enough to know that look. She'd let me in because she was too polite not to. She had no intention of buying a vacuum from me. "It did a great job on the carpet," she said, "but we can't afford it now. Medical bills are wiping us out."

"I totally understand," I said quickly. I packed up the equipment. Medical bills were more important than vacuums. I turned to go, but something made me stop. Maybe you can make a difference here. I couldn't imagine how. "Who's sick?" I blurted.

Andi's eyes filled with tears. "My boyfriend is in full renal failure. Paul's been on dialysis waiting for a kidney transplant for three years. If he doesn't find a donor soon he won't make it."

I knew what it was like to lose a loved one. My sister, Cassie, had died when we were both in our teens, and I still couldn't say I was over my terrible loss. "But can't he get a kidney from someone in the family?" I asked. 

Andi shook her head. "His brothers were all tested, but their blood types don't match. I tried too, but Paul is O positive."

"I'm O positive."

She stared at me. What was she thinking? "Would you consider giving Paul a kidney?" she whispered.

For the first time in all my years as a salesman, words escaped me. I didn't know what to say. Just give a complete stranger a kidney? That would be crazy! "That's, uh, something I'd have to think about," I said. I thanked her for letting me perform the demonstration, and left.

My head was swimming as I walked down the driveway. How could she ask such a thing? Donate my kidney? I didn't even know the guy.

I got into my van and tried to prepare for my next demonstration. But all I could think of was my sister, and how I felt when I lost her. I would have done anything, asked anyone—for anything—if I thought it might have saved Cassie. I saw that same desperation in Andi's eyes when she asked me to help her boyfriend. 

What were the odds of my going to that house on this day? Or of this topic coming up during a sales call? Or of me sharing this blood type? My help could make all the difference. Could this be the greater purpose I've been praying about? I called my wife from the van.