It all goes back to the beginning where all good stories start. Back to the State of Oregon, said Organ by those that live there and wrong by everyone else, back to a mom a little boy and a single me learning.
We had errands to run for Thanksgiving. With her teenage daughter at school I followed around in my sister's wake. She was doing the official Mom Walk of Purpose. You know the one that marches through store doors with the family following behind, hurrying them by the sheer determination to get the task done. Kind of like a speed boat with a tube of people being pulled behind. A train engine with cars. A duck with her ducklings. You get the picture. My sister somehow managed to get herself and her toddler son shoed, out the front door and in the car before the rest of her family had even hit the sidewalk. I watched in awe and amazement. Every transition, done with joy and verbal instruction, seemed to take a cheering squad of one, namely my sister. We entered the store kind of like the sliding doors sizzling open. We whizzed through the grocery store using a planned route of Fed Ex proportions. And then we hit the lines. Oh dear. They were rather long. My sister in the midst of stocking the cart, placating her son, and listening to me natter had eyed up the lines and chosen the longest.
The longest line. We had already been in three stores, dropped off her daughter and avoided a toddler meltdown. Nope we were where my sister wanted to be, in the line of her friend. My sister had her usual day of shopping and her usual time and her usual clerk. She knew this clerk by name and knew things about her life. My sister's faith, her life, her hope all in Christ. At the same time my sister had been listening and praying for specific things in the clerk's life. We did not hold up the line but the two of them held a constant stream of talk. My nephew greeted her by name. It was a moment of learning for me.
I've never lost my wonder over the intentionality of my sister's shopping decision. Never lost my wonder over her care and concern and real love for her clerk that extended to faithful prayer. What an example.
Here in Kenosha we shop Aldi which is this mad dash at the end of shopping items flying into a cart and people lined up behind. I have yet to have the same clerk though I go at the same time each week. So much for my dream to, while my children are climbing all over me and the breakable eggs, share the gospel faithfully with someone who I relate to on a weekly basis outside of my neighbors. Too bad so sad, Aldi has it all but that and meat.
So we shop for meat at Piggly Wiggly. In part because of prices and in part because the name alone makes my children's day. We go to this hybrid Piggly Wiggly that can't quite decide if it is Piggly Wiggly or Kenosha Market. It sells vegetables I have never seen except in a literary rendition of Cinderella set in Mexico. Delightful. I ask questions in English and we have to go find an interpreter. Pricelessly Wonderful. We are known by first name by the one and only clerk who seems to work there 24/7. Divine.
Anne, lets call her, might be coming to church with me on Sunday. We did hold up the line as I gave her my number to call if she wanted me to pick her up. We know about each others' kids. We know about our pasts. She knows about my little sister in India. I know about a shelter in a low season of life. She knows about my church setting up my home. I know about her mom's church helping her set up a home. I know she needs a church family. She knows I need lots more patience with my kids. We talk about Jesus, faith and struggles that He sustains through. For the the time being our interactions are seeds, including a busted watermelon all over the floor by a four year old of my very own heart, planting a garden of growing trust. I am thankful for Anne, for my sister's faithful example, for a Faithful God who lets mommies of little ones be part of building His kingdom in their home And in the world.
We had errands to run for Thanksgiving. With her teenage daughter at school I followed around in my sister's wake. She was doing the official Mom Walk of Purpose. You know the one that marches through store doors with the family following behind, hurrying them by the sheer determination to get the task done. Kind of like a speed boat with a tube of people being pulled behind. A train engine with cars. A duck with her ducklings. You get the picture. My sister somehow managed to get herself and her toddler son shoed, out the front door and in the car before the rest of her family had even hit the sidewalk. I watched in awe and amazement. Every transition, done with joy and verbal instruction, seemed to take a cheering squad of one, namely my sister. We entered the store kind of like the sliding doors sizzling open. We whizzed through the grocery store using a planned route of Fed Ex proportions. And then we hit the lines. Oh dear. They were rather long. My sister in the midst of stocking the cart, placating her son, and listening to me natter had eyed up the lines and chosen the longest.
The longest line. We had already been in three stores, dropped off her daughter and avoided a toddler meltdown. Nope we were where my sister wanted to be, in the line of her friend. My sister had her usual day of shopping and her usual time and her usual clerk. She knew this clerk by name and knew things about her life. My sister's faith, her life, her hope all in Christ. At the same time my sister had been listening and praying for specific things in the clerk's life. We did not hold up the line but the two of them held a constant stream of talk. My nephew greeted her by name. It was a moment of learning for me.
I've never lost my wonder over the intentionality of my sister's shopping decision. Never lost my wonder over her care and concern and real love for her clerk that extended to faithful prayer. What an example.
Here in Kenosha we shop Aldi which is this mad dash at the end of shopping items flying into a cart and people lined up behind. I have yet to have the same clerk though I go at the same time each week. So much for my dream to, while my children are climbing all over me and the breakable eggs, share the gospel faithfully with someone who I relate to on a weekly basis outside of my neighbors. Too bad so sad, Aldi has it all but that and meat.
So we shop for meat at Piggly Wiggly. In part because of prices and in part because the name alone makes my children's day. We go to this hybrid Piggly Wiggly that can't quite decide if it is Piggly Wiggly or Kenosha Market. It sells vegetables I have never seen except in a literary rendition of Cinderella set in Mexico. Delightful. I ask questions in English and we have to go find an interpreter. Pricelessly Wonderful. We are known by first name by the one and only clerk who seems to work there 24/7. Divine.
Anne, lets call her, might be coming to church with me on Sunday. We did hold up the line as I gave her my number to call if she wanted me to pick her up. We know about each others' kids. We know about our pasts. She knows about my little sister in India. I know about a shelter in a low season of life. She knows about my church setting up my home. I know about her mom's church helping her set up a home. I know she needs a church family. She knows I need lots more patience with my kids. We talk about Jesus, faith and struggles that He sustains through. For the the time being our interactions are seeds, including a busted watermelon all over the floor by a four year old of my very own heart, planting a garden of growing trust. I am thankful for Anne, for my sister's faithful example, for a Faithful God who lets mommies of little ones be part of building His kingdom in their home And in the world.
So inspiring! i love u. L
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