The Saturday Journal: Missing You

Lord, I scared myself--I'll be honest, I did. My thoughts--my pen was moving faster than my hand and fingers--my brain could keep up. My fingers were like a runaway train--I could only hold on--words were shooting out like bolts of fire from a dragon's mouth--but the page--the pen would not burn. And the flames kept spreading--wider--higher--the ink like blood from an open wound--it kept flowing.

Anger--frustration...we all have these negative feelings at times--we allow "things" of "too much" to pile up like trash in an overflowing trashcan that is in desperate need of emptying. This was me---"too much" and "not enough". Too much of "allowing the thief of joy in enter into my life--steal my time--my purpose" and not enough of "Look, I am here"--"See Me instead".

There are two stores, if we are truthful--we have to visit often. One--the employees wear a blue vest and the other--a big yellow sign with black bold letters. A necessity to go and shop at these stores--there are things a household needs--like pet food--cleaning supplies--food--among buying other junk we don't need--or I'll just say it--junk I don't need.

I visited the store with the "blue vest employees"--one of their billion locations, this one location--I rarely shop. This one--a little further from my home. I needed fabric paint to help my oldest grandson make a shirt he needed for a special event at school. When I walked into the store, there she stood--she was small--thin--her hair, the color of snow with a few gray strands. She had her blue vest on--leaning on a shopping cart. I smiled--she smiled and then I noticed it--her shopping cart provided a place for her to store her cane--while she stood and greeted customers. This lady--if I had to guess--she was close to celebrating eight decades of birthdays--maybe more.

My mind went into full-blown--storytelling mode--wanting to know more of her story--How old are you? How long have you been working here? Are you having to work to make ends meet? Where is your family? I wanted so badly to say, please tell me more about your life--but I didn't.

And the other store--bold yellow sign with the black letters--there was only one other customer on this early morning--she was at the register and I only saw this lady's face for a brief moment when I walked through the doors. Her face--it was happy--but her eyes--tearful. I heard her say to the cashier--'Why wouldn't I share this with someone--with everyone I talk with? What He has done for me.'

The cashier, he said, 'You should. You never know who needs to hear about your blessing.'

The tent of burgundy was up--wooden chairs all in a row and a mound of dirt freshly dug nearby. The gaping dark hole in the earth open and the sun beat down in what was left of the morning hours. And under that graveside tent sat one man, alone--on the back row. Waiting. Had he come early--come to pay his final respects? Say his earthly good-bye? Was he sitting quietly in prayer? Or maybe his hands were the hands which touched each chair--or was it his hands that labored--still stained with soil--preparing this sacred resting place.

Her face was at a distance, but her words rang loud against this mountain of rock. "Heaven!" Her voice yelling out in praise. "This is absolutely heaven!" And there's birds floating effortlessly in the air above and around the rock mountain-- their shadows--close in tow. Yes. Heaven. So close.

She came bouncing on the sidewalk walking--heading to the ocean. She wasn't hard to miss. Tall, lanky--an older woman with a morning mission. I would say she's a five-miler every morning if I had to guess. The introvert in me wanted to look the other way as she got closer, because of her less than friendly before 7am "beach time" face. There was just something about her. And as she got closer she glanced my way --her eyes locked to mine. And then it happened. She threw her entire arm up in the air and greeted me with the biggest of smiles, followed by a pleasant good morning!

I did the "self-checkout" at the store with the blue vests and as I walked out the door--there she stood again--leaning on her shopping cart. 'Have a wonderful day, dear'--she said with the biggest of smiles. And I did--because of her--because of Him.

Dear God, for every time I have allowed others to steal my joy--for every time I have missed seeing You in others--for every time I have looked the other way or chose to busy myself rather than taking the time to truly see You in Your most loved creation--I'm sorry.

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I am grateful for each of you--more than you will ever know.

 And I pray, the stories shared in this space will encourage you--

bring a smile or remembrance, and bless you in some small way.

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All stories copyright and owned by the author, Tathel Miller,

photographs copyright and owned by Tathel Miller,

unless otherwise credited to another photographer.

Soli Deo Gloria

Tathel

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The Saturday Journal Book Club

coming soon!