In The Checkout Line

Do you ever think about the fact that we walk around on autopilot?
Take for instance the question we hear and ask about a hundred times a day.
How are you?
The question is innocent enough except few of us wait for the answer.

How are you? Has become the greeting of choice.
It is similar to, It looks like rain.
It is said without really expecting a response.
It is a nicety, a courtesy; it is our go-to question.

What if we changed it up a bit?
What if we asked, How are you, and actually waited for the answer?
What if we asked, How are you, again to make sure we really know how the person is doing?
It may confuse some people; it may delight others.

It happened at the grocery store, in the checkout line.
All my groceries went down the belt to be bagged at the end.
A sweet woman was bagging with me.
She and I talk whenever we see each other.

How is your grandson, I asked her wanting to know.
Oh, he’s fine; he’s trying to figure out what he wants to be for Halloween, she told me.
I think my daughter will just bring him to the store and let him pick something, she explained.
For some reason, I added, I was never a big fan of Halloween.

I always have candy and enjoy seeing all the children come to our door.
My four older children used to trick or treat.
The only stipulation was there were no scary, gory, or evil costume allowed.
Their costumes were football players, doctors, brides, and cheerleaders to name a few.

It was my youngest for which Halloween was a problem.
Her oldest sister took her out to a few houses in our neighborhood on Halloween night.
At one house there was a large, stuffed gorilla outside the front door.
When they approached to door to ring the bell, the gorilla came alive and roared a terrible roar.

My youngest daughter was terrified.
She did not want to go out trick or treating after that.
I thought of this when the woman mentioned her grandson.
Sometimes those costume shops can be a bit scary for small children.

It was then the cashier spoke up.
Halloween is like my Christmas; I just love Halloween, she said.
I love Christmas, I said, and can’t wait for it to come each year.
I used to love Christmas, she said as her lip quivered.

I wanted to ask her about her comment but thought I would wait a minute.
She began again.
My mother died and Christmas has never been the same again, she said sadly.
I’m so terribly sorry about your mom; when did she die? I asked her.

Two years ago, but it is still so hard, she admitted.
I miss her and things are just not the same, she said.
The woman who was behind me in line looked annoyed that the cashier was not moving faster.
I do understand about your mom, I said as she searched my eyes.

I wondered if she thought I was just saying those words.
I wondered if she thought I was just being nice.
I added, My mother died when I was fifteen so I really do understand.
Whew! She said emphatically, that’s young!

There is no set amount of time to grieve, I reminded her.
If your mother loved Christmas as much as I suspect, I said, she would want you to go on.
I am sure that she would want you to make new traditions, I suggested.
Now her tears were flowing freely and she reached in her pocket for a tissue.

The other woman had finished bagging the last of my groceries and was watching the two of us.
The woman waiting in line behind me still look annoyed.
I reached out, forgetting all propriety, and grabbed her hand with both of mine.
I really do understand, I told her giving her hand a little squeeze.

I walked to my car thinking about God-ordained appointments.
I thought about our go-to greeting of, How are you?
What if that question was asked of the cashier only once like most of us usually do?
We would probably have gotten the obligatory, I’m fine, as her response.

But what if we asked twice?
How are you, really?
Oh, the depths of the answer we might hear.
Maybe we intuitively know that and that is why we only ask once.

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. (Romans 12:15)

I was so grateful to God for our brief conversation.
I was so privileged to witness her tears.
I was so humbled that I was allow to minister to her in the smallest way.
It was a simple gesture: her hand in mine and an affirming, I understand.

As I was driving home, I realize that I missed an opportunity.
Yes, I held her hand in mine and listened to her crying heart.
However, I failed to give her hope.
I failed to tell her the reason I love Christmas, the reason for the hope that I have.

I didn’t tell her about Jesus.
I didn’t make sure she knew the reason for the hope that I have.
I would like to tell her about the One who was born on Christmas.
I grabbed her hand but I did not point her to the One who will wipe those teas away forever.

I pray that I have another opportunity.
I pray that someday I may be able to tell her why Jesus is so special to me.
I pray that I might be able to explain how I am standing through pain and loss.
Taking her hand in mine was only the beginning.

As I wrestled with that while unloading my groceries, God seemed to reassure me.
A seed was planted, was the thought that was firmly etched on my heart.
A relationship was forged despite the annoyed customer behind me.
A trust was begun since her tears were seen and accepted without judgment.

I can pray for the woman who lost the meaning of Christmas in her heart.
I can pray for the woman whose tears are collected in God’s bucket and never fall in vain.
Record my lament; list my tears on Your scroll – are they not in Your record? (Psalm 56:8)
No tears are wasted.

It was a God-ordained appointment.
The rest of the story is in God’s hands.
I was privileged to have even a small role in sharing her sorrows.
God does not waste anything; He uses it all for His glory.

God can use us even in conversations about Halloween.
God can use us even in brief encounters in the checkout line.
God uses us, even in the smallest of ways.
Then the glory goes to Him and not us.

Amen.