A Simple Solution

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One of the things I love about children is their innocent assessment of any given situation. Three and a half years ago, when my oldest granddaughter was six, our conversation turned to storms.

"Grandma, are you scared of thunder?"
"Nope."
"Were you scared of it when you were a little girl?"
"No, because you can't have thunder without lightning. And I really, really liked a big lightning storm, especially when the electricity in my house went out."

I explained how my mom would gather plain white candles from the cabinet above the refrigerator, light them and place them on a high shelf at each end of the living room. Shadows would dance across our faces as the candles flickered. We'd huddle together and tell stories or munch on snacks, and after each lightning flash we'd count to see how long it took the sound of thunder to reach our ears.

I sighed at the memory, because my mother had passed away recently. "But then the storm would pass and suddenly all the lights would pop back on. I was always disappointed when our together-time had to end."

My granddaughter's blue eyes brightened. "Well Grandma, why didn't you just switch the lights back off?"

"Simplicity is the glory of expression."--Walt Whitman

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Turning Life's Corners

Have you ever sensed that the road of life has turned a corner? It's a knowing, the way you know when you've witnessed something beautiful, or met someone special who touched your heart, like the shopkeeper in my last post.

Sometimes our corners are sad, and catapult us down the road a ways on a grief detour. Sometimes they're introspective, and help us to evaluate our priorities and goals. Sometimes they make us grin, for the sheer joy of grinning.

And sometimes, like the corner I rounded recently, they make us realize that time marches steadily on. Maybe we're not as young as we think or feel.

I was coming out of a store, about to head across a parking lot entry lane to my car, when a boy stopped me. I'd chatted with him briefly just seconds before, as I checked out with my stuff. He was about to turn ten, and I patted him on the back and said how I remembered my first double-digit birthday.

So he steps up to me and says, "Let me help you across the street."
Excuse me?

The kid wanted to help me across the street, as in, "May I help you cross the road, you sweet little ol' lady, you?"

Yep. That's what he meant. And he took it a step further. He actually stepped out into the road, held up his hand like a well-trained Boy Scout, and stopped traffic. For me.

So I did what any little old lady would do (did I mention I'm still in my fifties--not exactly ancient, but not in the hoola hoop stage anymore). I slipped my hand around his carefully crooked arm and let him lead me to my car. Thanked him profusely, wished him a happy birthday again, and collapsed in a hysterical heap behind my steering wheel.

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Everybody Has Stuff

I met someone new yesterday, at a little bead shop where I stopped to have a look around. I've been designing jewelry lately, combining elements from vintage pieces (circa 1930's) with new beads and charms that fit in well with the overall look I hope to achieve. I hoped to find some unique beads to work into future projects.

So I met a woman there at this cute corner shop. She appeared to be in her early forties, and her smile was so contagious, I'd have never suspected she was wrestling with sadness. She greeted me with a friendly handshake, introducing herself by first name the moment I entered.

As I wandered around the shop, I saw her handing out the gift of time, lingering over customers as if each person were the only one there. One lady had a question about a broken pendant, and she showed her how to fix it. Another admitted to knowing zero about jewelry crafting. The shopkeeper encouraged her with, "Everyone starts somewhere. Let me see if I can teach you something simple to begin with." And she did.

When it was my turn to check out, we chatted about gardening and life and family and beading. In a brief few minutes, I learned that she'd lost her dad and her best friend all in the same week, just last month. I shared how I'd lost both parents within a couple of years, and how it sent my life into a tailspin as I worked through my grief.

As I drove home with my package of pretty handpainted beads, I felt as though I'd made a new friend--an unexpected sparkle that God had dropped into my day. And with that sparkle came a thought that has stuck with me:

Everyone carries a load of secret Stuff.

It's true, you know. Too often people go about their day, shouldering a secret burden so as not to dampen someone else's mood. We've all been there, haven't we? We become experts at wearing a happy face and we greet each other as if we're fine, just fine. And when we hear the same from people around us, we accept their words at face value.

Once in a while, though, we experience an invitation to step into someone's real world. That's what happened in that little bead shop on the corner, and I left feeling as if I'd been handed a rare gift.

It's a beautiful thing when we're the target of someone's trust. Wouldn't it be wonderful if every day held a sparkle like that?

Seedplanter

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