He means well. He does worse.
Most folks in Piedmont had learned that if Jimmy Matthew Cartwright ever uttered the words “I can help,” they needed to gather their valuables, alert next of kin, and place a call to whichever emergency service was offerin’ a spring discount.
But Miss Bertie Mae Hollansworth, bless her soft heart and short memory, had forgotten all that. She was in charge of the Piedmont Methodist Women’s “Help Thy Neighbor” Clothing Drive. Her volunteers had thinned like hair on an old rooster. So, she made the tactical mistake of askin’ for help out loud, in public, within earshot of Jimmy Matthew.
That boy perked up like a beagle hearin’ refrigerator hinges.
“I’ll do it!” he hollered before the Lord or Miss Bertie Mae had a chance to intervene.
Jim Leroy, who had been slurpin’ a grape Nehi, choked hard enough to launch soda through his nose. “Miss Bertie, if you put Jimmy in charge of anything more complicated than breathin’, we’re gonna make the newspaper.”
Bertie Mae’s eyes twinkled behind her spectacles.
“Oh, hush now, Jim Leroy. The boy’s got good intentions.”
Jim Leroy muttered, “Hmph; Aunt Mary said the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
But it was too late. Jimmy Matthew was already carryin’ donation boxes to Bertie Mae’s old fellowship hall like a hero marchin’ into battle.
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Problem Number One: The Sorting System
The idea was simple.
Clothes in good shape went to families in need.
Clothes in rough shape went to the quilting ladies.
Anything beyond redemption went to that great heavenly thrift store in the sky.
Jimmy Matthew decided to improve the system.
Instead of sortin’ by size, use, or cleanliness, he sorted by:
- Clothing he believed was “cool.”
- Clothing he believed was “not cool.”
- Clothing he described as “mysterious,” which included anything made before 1970 or possessing more than two buttons.
When Miss Bertie Mae walked in, she found the “cool” pile stacked high as a mule’s withers, the “not cool” pile empty, and the “mysterious” pile buzzin’ with the frightened cries of quilting ladies demandin’ their flannel back.
⁂
Problem Number Two: Inspirational Signs
Bertie Mae asked him to make posters that said “Give What You Can.”
Jimmy Matthew, takin’ creative license in a direction nobody asked for, made:
“GIV WHAT YOU AIN’T GONNA NEED WHEN THE RAPTURE COMES.”
“CLOTHES YOUR SINS CAN’T FOLLOW YOU IN.”
“THE LORD SEES YOUR DONATIONS. ESPECIALLY IF THEY AIN’T MUCH.”
One passerby fainted clean away.
⁂
Problem Number Three: The Fashion Show Incident
Bertie Mae wanted to display a table of “still good” items to show donors what sorts of clothes were most helpful.
But Jimmy Matthew, inspired by a National Geographic magazine he’d read once, decided that what Piedmont needed was a runway-style charity fashion show featuring himself, Jim Leroy, and two unwilling farm dogs named Buckshot and Daisy.
Jim Leroy, tryin’ to reason with him, hissed:
“Jimmy, dogs don’t model.”
“Well, they never tried,” Jimmy said with quiet authority.
The show didn’t last long.
Buckshot wore an old Easter dress that caused him to run sideways into the lilac bushes.
Daisy refused to walk at all.
Jim Leroy threatened to testify against Jimmy in court.
And Jimmy Matthew, struttin’ proudly in a sequined women’s jacket from 1984, spun too fast and fell directly into the “mysterious” pile.
One old lady clapped for him anyway.
⁂
Problem Number Four: The Great Mis-delivery
Bertie Mae told Jimmy to deliver three boxes to Miss Collins over on Hood Street.
He delivered:
- One box to Miss Collins
- One box to Mr. Burbage, who thought it was a political statement and hung lingerie in his azalea bushes
- And one box to the funeral home, which caused Reverend Claypool to ask whether the Methodist Women were suggestin’ somethin’ about modesty in the afterlife
By midday, half of Piedmont was callin’ Bertie Mae askin’ if she’d taken up “aggressive evangelism.”
⁂
But Then Something Unexpected Happened
Late that afternoon, Jimmy Matthew was sulkin’ outside the church, sittin’ under the pecan tree, when an old man walked up. Thin, bent, coat too light for the weather.
“I heard y’all got clothes,” he said softly.
Jimmy Matthew brightened like a struck match.
“Yes, sir. And we got some real cool ones too.”
He rummaged carefully through the boxes he himself had scrambled, pullin’ out what he thought would help the old fella most. A warm coat. Clean trousers. A shirt without holes. Socks that matched.
The man took them, eyes wet.
“Thank you, son. Folks been overlookin’ me for a while.”
Jimmy Matthew nodded.
“Well, I overlook people, too. But today I am on a charity mission.”
When Miss Bertie Mae came outside and saw them, she stopped right in her tracks. Her eyes softened in that way saints’ eyes do when they catch a glimpse of Heaven peekin’ through the cracks.
She put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.
“You done real good today.”
And he did.
Chaos, confusion, mislabelin’, fashion shows, mis-deliveries, and livestock protests aside…
Jimmy Matthew had given something real.
Something kind.
Something that stuck.
⁂
Epilogue: Bertie Mae’s Verdict
That night at church, someone asked Miss Bertie Mae whether she would ever again allow Jimmy Matthew to volunteer for something so important.
She thought long, sighed deep, and said:
“Yes. Because sometimes the Lord works in mysterious ways. And sometimes He just works through Jimmy Matthew Cartwright, because nobody else would have thought to help that man under the pecan tree.”
Jim Leroy nodded.
“Also, because Jimmy’s misadventures are the only thing keepin’ this town from dyin’ of boredom.”
And they all agreed.
Jimmy Matthew means well.
He does worse.
But every now and again…
He does exactly right.
olbigjim 