I live in a fairly rural area where getting to the nearest store is almost a 30-minute drive. So whenever I'm in town running errands I make it a point to pick up a few necessary groceries. Today was one of those days. As I pulled into the parking lot of our local market I had to slow for an elderly woman making her way to the entrance. She was slightly bent over and used a cane to assist in what was clearly a laborious effort. After parking my car, I walked past her, still moving slowly toward the door. I wondered how I would feel if my body slowed to that pace.
After canvassing most of the store aisles and filling my little cart with what I needed, I found myself at the checkout counter in line behind this same woman. As I waited, I now had time to observe her more closely. She was dressed in neutral tones--pants and a long sleeve shirt. Her thinning hair was a salt-and-pepper mix, neatly pinned up in back. I watched her meticulously writing out a check for the three bags of goods she had purchased and then gradually lifting each one into her cart. Eventually the long process was complete and she was on her way to the exit. Once again I found myself pondering what it would be like to have such small tasks require such a big effort. Nonetheless it was my turn to pay for my groceries and so I did.
I approached my car in my normal, vigorous gait, popped open my trunk and set my groceries inside. But before I opened my car door, I couldn’t help but notice my elderly friend nearing her own car. I felt God nudging me to speak to her so I ran over and offered to assist with her bags (it was the least I could do after the provocative impression she had made on me). She was grateful for the help and informed me that today was her birthday! Suddenly the tone of our interaction shifted into utter delight and I asked if she would be willing to share her age. "89," she said without hesitation and I detected a hint of pride in her voice. Despite her body’s obvious limitations, I could find no impatience in her attitude. She seemed undaunted by her circumstances. On the contrary, you only had to look in her eyes to see she was brimming with more life than most people I know.
Our exchange wasn't long. She told me she had a busy day planned and thanked me for my assistance. I wished her well and we smiled, in a way that was genuine. Then I turned, pushing her cart toward the corral, and we parted ways.
I wish now I would have asked her name. I would have loved to have been able to thank God for my meeting with “Dorothy” or “Margaret” or “Helen.” Thankfully, He knows precisely which lovely woman I have been referring to (I’ve taken to calling her Helen now). Nonetheless, I realized as I drove home that somehow she left a little piece of herself with me in spite not knowing her real name.. She reminded me that every person has a story and the one we quickly observe from a distance is only the dust cover—a tiny glimpse. The real treasure is found deep within the pages of the book.
My grocery store encounter with Helen was somewhere around chapter fifty-four, Her 89th Birthday. I hope her day was a happy one. Mine certainly was.