Earlier this week as I searched for a parking spot at one of Lancaster’s DIY stores, I stopped to allow two pedestrians to cross in front of me on their way into the store. I couldn’t help but notice how nicely dressed they were. My grandma would say they were “all dolled up” which I suppose explains why they caught my eye. One simply doesn’t expect to see smartly clad people shuffling in and out of a home improvement store. But my glance quickly bounced from the ladies to what appeared to be a prime parking space very near the entrance and, like a bird dog on point, I focused my full attention as I raced for the best parking space on the lot. As I passed the smartly dressed duo, one of them called out in a clarion voice, “Hey! Man! I like your truck!” Not “Hey man…I like your truck…but HEY! MAN! I like your truck!” She wasn’t using “man” as an adjective, but rather a noun, identifying me as a man. Like “Hey, you…yes, you mister!”
My window was down, due to the welcomed warmth of early spring, making it only polite to return her compliment with a smile and a “Thank you!”
Having parked and entered the store, I saw the same two ladies had stopped at the first display. As I passed, the quiet one browsed the household cleaners section while my fellow truck lover stood with her back to the merchandise and smiled broadly at each customer as they passed. She greeted each passerby in a larger than life voice. “Hi you…” she offered to one particular shopper. “I see you voted today…” noting the sticker on their lapel. “Hey…” she called out to the next, “…did you see how my friend just dropped that bottle of soap?” She squealed with delight and her voice careened off the concrete floors and echoed across the store. She snickered and covered her mouth like a coquettish little girl.
It seemed apparent she was of diminished capacities—what we awkwardly refer to as impaired…or was she? I nodded in her direction as I quickstepped past, hoping she wouldn’t engage me directly as she had the others. Safely distanced, I stopped and leaned against my cart in order to study the reaction of those with whom she interacted. I was quietly pleased to see she was not spurned by a single customer, but rather, she was engaged by several. One person in particular asked what she kept in her backpack, to which she replied, “Oh, just stuff…my stuff. You have a nice jacket,” she offered.
It quickly became apparent she was excited to be out and about. All of her interactions were kind-hearted, and for the most part, even uplifting.
As a person of faith, I look forward to the promised afterlife in which we will experience a sin free environment—a place in which each of us will be kind and considerate as we defer in love to one another, always considering others more important than ourselves. To that end, I often look here on earth for those qualities in the here and now—a glimpse into heaven.
As I watched the young woman’s uninhibited personal interactions with whomever wandered into her force field, I was caught off guard by a strange consideration. I somehow knew I was witnessing a little bit of heaven. Her innocence was beyond question. Her concern was for those she engaged—never once considering her own appearance; Unlike myself who was feeling uptight and hoping against hope no one might see me as foolish or over concerned for the wellbeing of others.
At first her over-familiar approach to strangers was off-putting, even embarrassing, and I struggled as I empathized with those she openly engaged. Her gregarious interactions were outside the range of so-called public acceptance. But as I balanced her limited capacity for social athleticism with her genuine desire to interact kindly with other human beings, it touched my heart and I thought, “I wish I were more like her…just a little more like her.”
How often do I set aside my own desires or comfortability to let others know they are seen and loved by God? 1Corinthians 10:33b says:
“…For I am not seeking my own good but the good of many, so that they may be saved.”
See you at the store. ~RG
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.