This past week, I’ve once again been hanging Ben’s Bells (see http://www.bensbells.org). I’ve twist-tied them to tree branches on median strips, in parks, and in parking lots. I’ve tied them to UPS mailbox handles and public phone receivers. I’ve twined them around bus stop poles and bike stands. I’ve placed them in beautiful spots and ugly ones, hoping to offer the opportunity to find one to as wide a variety of people as possible.
Last May, when I hung bells for the first time, I wrote about how challenging it was to leave them in unattractive places or where I felt the recipient might not be “worthy.” I reflected on how God’s sun shines indiscriminately on both the wicked and the good and on how hard it is for me to do the same. I wanted to give only to nice, grateful people who would use the gift well.
I’ve battled my judgmental nature this time, too, while adding new struggles, for to my puzzlement, many of the bells I have hung have not been taken. When I revisit the sites days later, I still see the bright thongs of glazed beads and brass bells dangling where I left them. I’ve even moved certain bells to new, more obvious locations, hoping to entice finders. Sometimes this has worked, and the rehung bells have disappeared. My husband tells me not to worry, that each bell will call its destined recipient, and that the bells probably even make themselves invisible until the “right” person comes along. His is a lovely, magical notion that I wish I were of a temperament to accept.
Instead, I’ve found myself wondering if most people just aren’t very observant. For example, to see a bell hung in a tree, one has to look up. These days, many people turn their eyes downwards towards their cell phones, texting as they walk. Or perhaps they are strolling with friends and facing them as they speak, thus turning away from any lavender, red, blue, and green flashes in the trees.
It could be that the bells are so beautiful that, no matter where they are located, people assume they are private property. This is heartening, given that in the past I’ve had so many things stolen from around my house—a bench, a baby stroller, a scooter, various basketballs, even a bike or two. The bells bear a tag that says, “Congratulations! You have found a Ben’s Bell. Take it home, hang it in your yard, and remember to spread acts of kindness.” However, even so, people may never take the trouble to read the tag.
I’ve wondered as well if many people in Portland have elected not to take the bells even with the written encouragement because they have such a strong sense of civic pride. Perhaps they would rather leave these beautiful objects in a public place for everyone to enjoy. If so, this makes me proud to be from such a city, for I have visited others where houses were compounds surrounded by broken-glass-topped fortifications, and public spaces were desolate, garbage strewn, and degraded. The bell I hung in the park blocks has been swaying there all week. Many homeless folk rest and chat around its tree, and I like to imagine them enjoying this bell without needing to claim it.
The tag on the bells includes the web site mentioned above. People can learn the story behind the bells, donate to the organization, and enter their own accounts of finding the bells. For me as a bell placer, this is a mixed blessing, for after hanging them, I log on to the site repeatedly to discover if anyone has found one of the bells that I have left. When it’s clear they have, I feel a thrill of joy. However, conversely, if the bells disappear and no one writes about having discovered one, I feel let down. Perhaps the recipients tear off the tag first thing because it mars the natural beauty of the bell. Perhaps they don’t have internet access. Perhaps they lack the confidence to write their story in a public forum. Or perhaps they’re just emotionally overwhelmed—One woman wrote last May of how it had taken her eight months to say thank you because when she had found the bell, she had been going through such a devastating time in her life that she was only just then regaining her footing. In other words, there might be many reasons behind the silence.
While my excitement at knowing one of my bells has found a home and my disappointment when they disappear without a trace are understandable, they are also an embarrassing indication of my own lack of disinterest. Clearly, I want proof that “my” gifts have been received. I am not yet to the point of sending forth ripples of kindness with no thought of whom those ripples touch. Giving, even by choice, challenges me. How hard it is for me to love in a disinterested way! How hard it is for me to give without expectations of something in return, even if it’s only a thank you. This wish for recognition echoes in my teaching and in my parenting. I want my students and my children to acknowledge my efforts on their behalf. I want to hear that my contributions matter. For me, unlike the bells, it’s not easy to be left hanging.
