I went to Oxford (England) by train early one morning. Outside the train station was a double-decker tour buss. It was a little tour to orient you to the town and later you could get on and off where you like throughout the day. It seemed like a good idea to me, so I bought a ticket and went to the upper deck for the best view. I was the only one there.
Then, out of nowhere, about 25 to 30 young school children hurried up the stairs of the bus and filled the remaining seats. They were a bundle of energy and excitement as they spoke and laughed. There
were a few boys among them but most of the group was 12 to 13 year old girls. Tagging along behind were a few exhausted parents trying to keep up. I learned from one of the parents that they were a coral group from Sweden and that they were going to sing Swedish folk songs in a concert later that evening.
Then, out of nowhere, about 25 to 30 young school children hurried up the stairs of the bus and filled the remaining seats. They were a bundle of energy and excitement as they spoke and laughed. There
were a few boys among them but most of the group was 12 to 13 year old girls. Tagging along behind were a few exhausted parents trying to keep up. I learned from one of the parents that they were a coral group from Sweden and that they were going to sing Swedish folk songs in a concert later that evening. The young girl behind me asked me if I would speak with her so she could practice her English. We exchanged greetings and off we went. Soon, the other kids wanted to join in and practice there English too. Before long, I was speaking with each of the kids. What a great time it was. Then, all of a sudden, the buss stopped. It was their hotel and they had to get off. All the talking came to a stop. The greetings which came so quickly, soon became goodbye’s as each person queued up to leave. My new found friends were about to vanish into the hustle and bustle of the Oxford streets. I decided that I wanted to give each person a small gift. I pulled a bunch of Monkey’s Fist zipper pulls from my backpack and gave each choir member one as they left the upper deck. I receive a wonderful encounter from each of them and they received a small token of appreciation from me. A fair exchange I thought.
Then, ju
st as the bus began to pull away, I heard someone yell my name. I looked over the side of the upper deck and saw the children waving to me. I waived back with a smile. They began waving more vigorously. Then I realized, they wanted me to get off the bus. So I went down the upper deck stairs quickly and jumped off. One of the parents came up to me and with a smile in her eye, asked me to follow the group across the street. As we dodged cars on the busy street, I heard a faint tone from a pitch pipe. The children quickly transformed themselves from a bundle of excitement and random energy into a little structured choir right there on the street corner. Shoulder to shoulder, backs straight with their eyes focused on the outstretched hands of their director. Then came the most beautiful hummmmm I have ever heard. Then stillness and silence filled the air. People on the street began to stop. I asked a parent, “What is going on?” “ You have become a special guy to them. They like you and want to sing you a folk song”, was her reply. And then they began to sing. It was a beautiful song about spring. I didn’t understand a word but the meaning was clear and my heart pounded. What a wonderful gift. Then, off they went to practice for their concert. The entire encounter only lasted about 30 minutes but the memory will last a lifetime. And so began my day in Oxford.
st as the bus began to pull away, I heard someone yell my name. I looked over the side of the upper deck and saw the children waving to me. I waived back with a smile. They began waving more vigorously. Then I realized, they wanted me to get off the bus. So I went down the upper deck stairs quickly and jumped off. One of the parents came up to me and with a smile in her eye, asked me to follow the group across the street. As we dodged cars on the busy street, I heard a faint tone from a pitch pipe. The children quickly transformed themselves from a bundle of excitement and random energy into a little structured choir right there on the street corner. Shoulder to shoulder, backs straight with their eyes focused on the outstretched hands of their director. Then came the most beautiful hummmmm I have ever heard. Then stillness and silence filled the air. People on the street began to stop. I asked a parent, “What is going on?” “ You have become a special guy to them. They like you and want to sing you a folk song”, was her reply. And then they began to sing. It was a beautiful song about spring. I didn’t understand a word but the meaning was clear and my heart pounded. What a wonderful gift. Then, off they went to practice for their concert. The entire encounter only lasted about 30 minutes but the memory will last a lifetime. And so began my day in Oxford.As I have grown in knotting and shared that growth with others, hundreds of experiences like this one have come my way as I travel the globe. It is not just giving gifts. It is making something personal with your own hands. It is the story behind the knot itself. It is connecting with other people. You can have these experiences too. Make something. Tell the story. Then give it away.


