Christmas stories happen in
the most everyday places. I was part of one not long ago at the grocery
store. I hope I never forget it, though the memory is bittersweet.
I had been shopping for almost an hour by the time I got to the checkout
lines. My two youngest sons were with me, the four-year-old refusing to
hold onto the cart, the two-year-old trying to climb out of the basket
and jump down to play with his brother. Both got progressively whinier
and louder as I tried to keep them under control, so I was looking for
the fastest lane possible. I had two choices. In the first line were
three customers, and they all had just a few purchases. In the second
line was only one man, a harried young father with his own crying baby,
but his cart was overflowing with groceries.
I quickly looked over the three-person line again. The woman in the
front was very elderly, white haired and rail thin, and her hands were
shaking as she tried unsuccessfully to unlatch her big purse. In the
other line, the young father was throwing his food onto the conveyor
belt with superhuman speed. I got in line behind him.
It was the right choice. I was able to start unloading my groceries
before the elderly woman was even finished paying. My four-year-old was
pulling candy from the shelf, and my little one was trying to help by
lobbing cans of soup at me. I felt I couldn’t get out of the store fast
enough.
And then, over the sound of the store’s cheery holiday music, I heard
the checker in the other line talking loudly, too loudly. I glanced over
as my hands kept working.
“No, I’m sorry,” the checker was almost shouting at the old woman, who
didn’t seem to understand. “That card won’t work. You are past your
limit. Do you have another way to pay?” The tiny old woman blinked at
the checker with a confused expression. Not only were her hands shaking
now, but her shoulders too. The teenage bagger rolled her eyes and
sighed.
As I caught a soup can just before it hit my face, I thought to myself:
“Boy, did I choose the right line! Those three are going to be there
forever.” My mood was positively smug as my checker began scanning my
food.
But the smiling woman directly in line behind the elderly lady had a
different reaction. Quietly, with no fanfare, she moved to the older
woman’s side and ran her own credit card through the reader.
“Merry Christmas,” she said softly, still smiling.
And then everyone was quiet. Even my rowdy children paused, feeling the
change in the atmosphere.
It took a minute for the older woman to understand what had happened.
The checker, her face thoughtful, hesitated with the receipt in her
hand, not sure whom to give it to. The smiling woman took it and tucked
it into the elderly woman’s bag.
“I can’t accept …” the older woman began to protest, with tears forming
in her eyes.
The smiling woman interrupted her. “I can afford to do it. What I can’t
afford is not to do it.”
“Let me help you out,” the suddenly respectful bagger insisted, taking
the basket and also taking the old woman’s arm, the way she might have
helped her own grandmother.
I watched the checker in my line pause before she pressed the total key
to dab at the corner of her eyes with a tissue.
Paying for my groceries and gathering my children, I made it out of the
store before the smiling woman. I had made the right choice of lanes, it
seemed.
But as I walked out into the bright December sunshine, I was not
thinking about my luck but about what I could not afford.
I could not afford my current, self-absorbed frame of mind.
I could not afford to have my children learn lessons of compassion only
from strangers.
I could not afford to be so distant from the spirit of Christ at any
time of the year—especially during this great season of giving.
I could not afford to let another stranger, another brother or sister,
cross my path in need of help without doing something about it.
And that is why I hope never to forget the Christmas hero in the grocery
store. The next time I have a chance to be that kind of a hero, I can’t
afford to miss it. |
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