Waldo is different. And he's hard to find. Sometimes he's in a crowd at the beach. Sometimes he's in a crowd at the mall.

And sometimes he's hidden away in a little church amid a small group of believers. When that happens, he changes his name. In fact, he may become a completely different person. Instead of Waldo, it's Welma, George, Tim or Sadie.

Whatever their name or gender, they are different from everyone around them. They are exceptional people. They are the kind of people you like to seek out. They are the people you are glad to find. And they are happy to be found.

Happy is the church that has one or two of them.

They tend to be quiet, unassuming people who go about their work without fanfare. They are loyal, trustworthy and dedicated. If there's a floor to be swept, they don't feel it is beneath them to pick up a dustpan and a broom. If there's a Sunday school class that needs a teacher, they don't mind giving up an hour for the children and a couple more to prepare. If a door hinge needs oiling, they don't complain, but instead bring an oil can. And usually no one ever knows who fixed the problem.

But most of all, they like to encourage others, particularly their corps officers and pastors.

Over the more than 40 years that I have been a Salvation Army officer, God has placed a number of such people in my life. In my first appointment there was Willis. He was a retired officer with a great sense of humour and a twinkle in his eye. As a 21-year-old lieutenant, I was glad for his words of encouragement. I had no car or driver's license so Willis drove me to the places too far to walk. I loved that old man. To show my appreciation I sometimes washed his car for him in his driveway.

Then there was Stan. My wife and I met him in our first corps after we were married. Stan had medical problems that prevented him from working full time, but at the corps he took on the responsibility of the young people's sergeant major. He loved kids and had a family with about a dozen of his own. The corps was on a small island, accessible only by fishing boat. In fact, we had to pick up our groceries by boat on another island. Stan became like a father to me, teaching me how to operate a 30-foot Newfoundland trap skiff and navigate it around rocks and shoals. He got many a laugh at my expense but never had a discouraging word, and his smile remains forever in my memory.

After that there was Sadie. Those who attended the Atlantic Congress and Commissioning weekend in St. John's, N.L., this year (see report) will remember that a quiet, grey-haired woman was called to the platform by General Shaw Clifton and Commissioner William W. Francis, territorial commander. Looking almost as young as she did 38 years ago when my wife and I first met her, she stood there at centre stage with three thousand pairs of eyes watching her. I walked to the front of the auditorium to get a picture. Instantly there were almost a dozen other officers doing the same thing. We'd all served in Sadie's corps in Trout River, N.L., at different times. We'd all been recipients of Sadie's grace. We'd all been encouraged, prayed for and uplifted by her. We'd all eaten at her table. She was the “instrument of God's peace” that St. Francis of Assisi wrote about. Hidden in the great cloud of witnesses, she had been found and recognized, and for a brief moment had been lauded, justly and deservedly.

I could go on to talk about others—Llewellyn, Marion, George, Aubrey—some who have gone to Heaven now, but others who continue their work unsung and unrecognized by all except those to whom they ministered in the spirit of Jesus.

I don't know if I'll ever find Waldo in those cartoon drawings, but I am grateful that I found Willis and Sadie and all those others along the way. God bless them every one.

Major Fred Ash is the corps officer at Burlington Community Church, Ont.