The Saturday Journal: A Small Glimpse

There was only one cashier--and my buggy was filled--close to spilling over. That's what happens sometimes--at this store. I won't mention any names but the initials are HL and they are closed on Sundays.

This early morning my supply list was long--shopping for an upcoming art class of kids making junk journals--prayer boards for our Women's Bible Study group--and of course a few skeins of yarn to finish up a birthday gift.

She was standing behind me--this lady dressed in a bright orange flowered dress--the sleeves puffy--the top of the dress was smocked. The dress flowed below her knees. She was an older lady and draped around her arm was her small shopping basket.

You can go around me, I quietly said. I have a lot more items than you. She smiled, 'Oh, I probably have as much as you. Look, my items are smaller.' I reassured her I had several items at the bottom of my cart she could not see.

She walked around me--glancing down into my buggy. 'Yes, you probably do have a little more than me.' And she laughed, adding--my husband and my dogs will appreciate you letting me go in front of you. They are out in the car waiting on me.'

This woman dressed in summer, her black hair tipped in gray around her face and hung loose down her back. Around her neck--she wore the most beautiful pendant. It was big--oval shape and on her wrist she wore a bracelet of colored stones.

Did you make your pendant? It's gorgeous!

She said, 'Oh yes!'

And she reached down and lifted it so I could get a closer look.

The artistry in the work--the intricate beading was something as I have never seen. And I just had to ask, 'Are you a Native American?

Her smile grew bigger, 'Yes, I'm a Mohawk!'

She then pulled another small pendant out of her purse. It was the glow of a darker--more vibrant shade of orange. And in the center was a black sword.

'See this,' she said as she held it close to my face. 'A dear friend makes these and gave one to me. That's what I'm buying today--beads to make a chain so I can wear it.'

She went on to tell me the story of her friend--her son loved dragons and several years ago--sadly her son took his life. And his mother--my friend--she makes these pendants sharing her son with others as a memorial--a way to remember him--remembering his life mattered--he mattered.

The cashier--she carefully emptied this lady's basket--touching carefully each set of beads. And before she took the lady's cash she noticed her watch--the one with the orange diamond shaped stones shaping the band. 'Did you make your watch?' she asked.

'No, another friend did. Those orange stones--those are made out of oyster shells. Look closely at the face of the watch--you'll see a bear!'

And she looked back at me--her countenance beaming. 'If you ever go to Cherokee, there are bears painted everywhere. You look for them.'

I smiled back at her and looked away--biting my lip. Pain can often times put an end to the tears when they well up--unexpectedly.

Truthfully, I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't seem to stop these tears from coming as of late. But then again--maybe I do.

It was not by chance this gifted, kind, and beautiful woman was in the checkout line--behind me-- on the same day at the same time as me. She was not randomly there--because of my good fortune--my good luck. You see, I wasn't supposed to be there on this day. I was supposed to be shopping at the same store in another location on a different day. It was by God's goodness I was there at that exact moment on an ordinary Wednesday morning. And it was by His goodness I was blessed to hear a little of this lady's story--witness her smile--take in just a small glimpse of her heritage--her delicate and beautiful artistry.

Before she left, I asked--do you sell your jewelry at festivals or shows and she answered no. 'Each one of my pieces are different and unique as the person I am making them for.'

And she smiled once more and walked out the door.

I could have talked to her all day.

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All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.