Written Jan. 13, 2011
Lettered with simple scribe's tools found in purse, a Uniball pen and 2HB pencil.
There are angels among us.
Today I was walking to my car in the Lowe's parking lot, juggling two gallons of paint, rollers and stir sticks, a purse that was much bigger than it needed to be, and a styrofoam cup of coffee that was much smaller than it needed to be. A kind, older gentleman saw me struggling and offered his assistance. As he walked away I wished him a wonderful day. He simply said, "It's one of a kind, isn't it?" I turned around and stared at him. Could it be? An angel sent to me -- placed in my path to wake me up to this day? His words were so simple, so profound, so necessary they could have only come from one place. I have been running too fast, allowing fear to control my priorities and uncertainty to order my day. I have forgotten to make room for joy. It's easy to do that, isn't it? To get sucked into a certain type of day, week, month that if it was your last you would weep at all the loss. My parking lot angel spoke so loud to me today he could have been screaming.
We are moving to New York. I haven't had time to blog, to create, to sing, to read to my children. Soon I will be driving away from everything that is safe and familiar. I have to admit that as we prepare our house for sale and pack up memories that came from this special place, I am not making room for joy. I am only making room for fear. My days are all about holding on to any shred of peace I can find. And because of all that holding on, I'm not finding any. I have completely forgotten how to live and love this day in my frantic pursuit of creating a perfect "tomorrow" for my family. But this day is one-of-a-kind, my parking lot angel reminded me. One-of-a-kind. Unique. Pertaining to a singular example. Never to be repeated. And certainly not to be wished away.
I hesitated to get in my car in case he had more words for me. My angel had stopped and was looking in amazement at a souped-up truck parked next to my minivan. Chuckling, he pointed to the truck and repeated, "It's one of kind, isn't it?"
Though my parking lot angel ended up being just a man who appreciates a nice truck, my God remains a God who speaks to me in unexpected ways when I need it most.