It's a Wonderful Life: The Ripple Effect We Never See

Every year, without fail, I find myself curled up on the couch, Christmas tree twinkling in the background, ready to watch one of my all-time favourite Christmas movies, It's a Wonderful Life.

Yup. The old black-and-white one.

Funny enough, I remember my parents watching this movie when I was growing up, and I couldn't for the life of me understand why anyone would voluntarily sit through an entire movie in black and white.

Seriously. Of all the Christmas movies out there, THIS was their choice?

Yet here I am, all these years later, getting cozy on my couch, watching the exact same movie and loving every minute of it.

Apparently, I've officially become my parents.

There's something incredibly nostalgic about watching a movie made so many years ago. I often find myself wondering what life must have been like back then before cellphones, social media, endless notifications, and the constant pressure to keep up with everyone and everything.

The funny thing is, the more I watch it, the more I realize that maybe we aren't all that different.

We're still chasing the next thing. The bigger house, the better job, the promotion, the bigger paycheque. We're still convincing ourselves that once we reach that next milestone, we'll finally feel like we've made it.

We spend so much of our lives trying to become somebody, make something of ourselves, and leave some great big mark on this world.

If you've never watched It's a Wonderful Life, first of all, what are you waiting for? Get past the black and white. I promise it's worth it.

The movie follows George Bailey, a man who spends much of his life dreaming of something bigger. He wants to travel, see the world, and accomplish everything he imagined for himself.

But life has other plans.

Sound familiar?

Through a series of circumstances, George finds himself living a life that looks nothing like the one he'd dreamed of. When everything starts to fall apart, he becomes convinced the world would have been better off without him.

Until he's given the opportunity to see what life would have looked like if he'd never existed.

Suddenly, all those ordinary moments, the little decisions, the people he'd helped without thinking twice, become anything but ordinary.

I've watched this movie more times than I can count, but the older I get, the more its message hits home.

I was thinking about this recently, and my mind wandered back about twenty years.

At the time, I was in university studying nursing. I had big dreams of becoming a nurse, helping people, and making a difference in the world.

I had it all figured out.

Well, at least I thought I did.

As life would have it, those plans didn't quite work out. I never became the nurse I thought I would be.

But there's one moment from those university days that has stayed with me all these years.

I had to give a presentation in front of my class.

Now, I wish I could tell you I confidently walked to the front of that room, delivered some spectacular presentation, and sat back down feeling like I'd just conquered the world.

Nope.

I was shaking in my boots.

Minutes before that presentation, I was wondering how on earth I was going to get through it. I'm fairly certain my heart was beating loud enough for the entire classroom to hear.

But somehow, I got through it.

Afterward, one of my professors approached me.

She looked at me and said something along the lines of, "Wow, Stacy. You're gifted at speaking and have an incredible ability to connect with people. Maybe you should have my job."

I was completely caught off guard.

Me? The same person who had just been standing there trying not to fall apart completely?

I don't even remember that professor's name.

I'd be willing to bet she doesn't remember that conversation either.

She probably went on with her day, taught another class, went home, made supper, and never gave those words another thought. But I did. For twenty years, I've carried those words with me.

Every time I've been asked to speak in front of a group, every time I've questioned whether I was capable, every time that little voice in my head has tried to convince me I couldn't do it, I've thought about that professor.

Fast-forward twenty years.

I was asked to sit on a speaking panel at an international Hereditary Angioedema (HAE) conference, sharing my experiences in front of hundreds of people.

Let me tell you, the thought of speaking in front of that many people was enough to make me question my life choices all over again.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I could still hear that professor's words.

Words she probably forgot twenty years ago.

Words that gave me the confidence to say yes.

After the conference, several people approached me.

They thanked me for sharing my story. Some told me that something I'd said had given them courage. Others shared that my words were exactly what they needed to hear at that moment in their lives.

I couldn't help but think about that university classroom.

Then another thought crossed my mind.

I'll probably never know.

We spend so much time measuring our lives by the big things. The careers we've built, the money we've made, the places we've travelled, the accomplishments we've collected along the way.

Don't get me wrong, those things can be wonderful.

But what about the ordinary stuff?

What if those are the things that matter most?

What if those are the things someone else is still carrying twenty years later?

I think about George Bailey and how desperately he wanted to live some extraordinary life, never realizing just how extraordinary his ordinary life already was.

I think about that younger version of myself, sitting in a university classroom, dreaming of becoming a nurse and making a difference in the world.

Life certainly didn't unfold the way I thought it would.

Funny how that happens, isn't it?

We make all these grand plans, convinced we know exactly how our lives are supposed to look.

Then life comes along and reminds us that we're not actually in charge of the whole production.

But maybe making a difference doesn't always look the way we imagined.

Maybe it doesn't require a fancy title, a huge audience, or some grand accomplishment.

Maybe sometimes it looks like a university professor taking thirty seconds out of her day to tell a nervous student she has a gift.

Maybe, twenty years later, that same student finds herself standing in front of hundreds of people, hoping her words might make a difference for someone else.

It's such a small thing in the grand scheme of life.

But isn't that the whole point?

Our lives are made up of hundreds of these little It's a Wonderful Life moments. Most of the time, we just don't recognize them.

Unlike George Bailey, we don't get an angel to show us what the world would look like without us.

Although, there are days when I wouldn't mind someone showing up to explain what on earth I'm supposed to be doing.

We don't get to see all the lives we've touched or the moments we've changed, but that doesn't mean they aren't happening.

Which brings me to something else I've been thinking about.

Why do we so often wait until someone is gone to talk about the difference they made in our lives?

We stand at funerals and share beautiful stories about the people we've lost. We talk about their kindness, their generosity, the things they taught us, and the ways they changed our lives.

We send flowers. We write heartfelt messages. We tell everyone how much that person meant to us.

I wish I could go back and find that professor. I wish I could tell her that a simple comment she made twenty years ago has followed me through so many moments in my life.

That she saw something in me before I saw it in myself and that her words are still making a difference today.

So, as we head into this Christmas season, I have a little challenge for you. I want you to think about someone who has made a difference in your life. Someone who said something that stuck with you, showed up when you needed them most, or believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself. There's a pretty good chance they have absolutely no idea just how much they meant to you.

Tell them. Pick up the phone, send the message, write the card, buy the flowers. Don't wait until their funeral to share all the wonderful things you wish you'd said while they were still here to hear them. Why do we wait until someone is gone to tell the world how wonderful they were when we could be telling them right now?

I also hope you take a minute to think about the difference you might be making in someone else's life without even realizing it. Think about the conversations you've had, the encouragement you've offered, or the kind words you've shared without giving them a second thought. Something that seemed so insignificant to you could be something another person carries with them for the next twenty years.

We get so caught up trying to do all these big things in life that we forget just how much the little things matter. We don't always get to see the difference we're making, but that doesn't mean it isn't happening right in front of us. After all, aren't we all just ordinary people trying to figure out this thing called life?