Comfort in our alone-ness

God is always teaching me something it seems.

Yesterday began with a bang–dropped coffee grounds on the floor,
started making a cake and when I turned on the mixer, the chocolate concoction hit the walls, refrigerator, my clothes.

Later, as I was making Muddie Buddies to take up to my son’s school, the bag of powdered sugar popped open and covered the floor.

My dog was looking hungrily at the mess—but I grabbed him and put him in his crate so I could clean up the mess.

My husband was working on a paper for our class and complained that he didn’t have enough time to finish.

At that comment, I lost it.

Being disabled, he naturally has more time than me for such things and I wasn’t too charitable towards him, though I understand how much pain it takes him just to make it through the day.

However, I blew, I cried and became angry because he does have more time. I have deadlines, housework, and so much more to do around here that finding time to finish my class assignment was just over the top. On top of everything, he was going to lunch with a friend and I was stuck going to the grocery store.

As I filled up my water jugs at the store, I noticed an older woman–white haired, looking down, and a grimace on her face. ‘Crabby woman’ I thought to myself.

After the jugs were filled, I rounded the corner towards the milk. She was standing in front of me trying to hoist a gallon of milk into her cart, but seemed to be having great difficulty as one arm was clutched to her side, as if in pain.

I went up to her, took the milk from her arms and asked her if she needed more help. Three more gallons later, I asked her if she was ok. She stuck out her swollen arm to me and said that it hurt.
When I suggested she go to the doctor, she burst into tears–telling me that her son had died the day before.

She sobbed as I held her in my arms, like a mother to a child. I stroked her hair in the middle of the dairy aisle and let her cry. I didn’t care how it looked and neither did she.

I learned that her son was only 50 and died of a heart problem. We talked for a while and I learned that the supplies she was purchasing was for all the family members coming to her home for the funeral.

She remained on my heart for the whole day and is still part of my intermittent prayers.

We were strangers, but God brought us together and for a short while–there were three of us, Bev, me and God.

My day was nothing compared to hers and however odd it seems now, God put her in my life and me in her life for a reason.

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