.01 "sense"
I had to run to the local hardware store today to retrieve some bolts for Hunter's bike that Peter accidentally left there over the weekend. I stopped in their garden area and searched for some easy flowers, since my thumb is not exactly green.
I picked out a flat of flowers, examining each one and carefully picking the ones that would produce the largest, most beautiful flowers. I have been consciously trying to spend a little time regularly in our flower beds, not just for the production, but for the therapeutic time of hands in the dirt. But let's face it- I didn't pick the most expensive flowers. I actually picked the cheapest, because I wasn't confident that I could keep them alive.
I brought the flowers to the checkout, and mistakenly stood at an unopened register. As I realized my error and walked around to the other side, a gentleman stopped me and told me he would assist me back at the original register.
He rang up my purchase, and asked if I wanted to round it up .01 cent for Children's Hospital. I immediately said yes, and he replied, "It's a great organization to donate to."
I nodded my head, and told him, "We spend a good deal of time at Children's."
He repeated, for the second time, what a great organization it was.
I told him that my son had extensive medical needs, and said, with a little laughter, "we have given a great amount of money to Children's on a regular basis for my son."
He replied, "We spent a lot of time at Children's as well. Well, we did. My son passed away. He was 8 years old."
"My son is 8 years old as well," I replied as my eyes met his.
I fumbled for my credit card as I let him continue with my total purchase amount, and he said, as he helped me gather my things, "Those are beautiful flowers."
My easy, simple, inexpensive begonias were complimented by the man who sees every flower come through the cash wrap. It was if he knew my careful selection had caused me a good amount of anguish.
We walked out together, and I tried to decide if he wanted to continue to share about his son, or if he was closed off to the subject. I asked him if he used to visit the same campus we did, and he replied, no, that he lived in a different area of town.
I apologized for his loss, and he replied, "You just never know what someone is going through, right?"
Then he thanked me, three times. One for my purchase...
and twice for my condolences.
I sat in my car as I watched him walk back into the store, and I couldn't believe his 8 year old was gone. My 8 year old has extensive needs, and our lives are not easy...
but he is here.
As soon as I got home, I walked out back and found an area that used to be Peyton's digging spot. It was now covered in rocks, weeds, and old dirt. I took out the trowel and began to beautify the ground. I uncovered the claylike dirt under the top layer, and I vowed to myself to keep these begonias alive. I would make them beautiful, in honor of his son, and all of those carrying invisible crosses.
This weekend at Mass, we heard the parable of Jesus curing the blind man with claylike dirt, from John 9:6. Our priest told us that our blindness, whether it be doubting, questioning, unforgiving, or just only seeing misfortune in our eyes-- it is taken away, and we are led to see the light.
We go weak, and we come away strengthened.
We find ourselves doubting, and we come away satisfied.
We turn to mourning, and come away rejoicing.
We go blind, and come away seeing.
My .10 cent donation, which initially seemed insignificant, was the greatest gift I could have ever given.
It was also one of the greatest gifts I have received.
I picked out a flat of flowers, examining each one and carefully picking the ones that would produce the largest, most beautiful flowers. I have been consciously trying to spend a little time regularly in our flower beds, not just for the production, but for the therapeutic time of hands in the dirt. But let's face it- I didn't pick the most expensive flowers. I actually picked the cheapest, because I wasn't confident that I could keep them alive.
I brought the flowers to the checkout, and mistakenly stood at an unopened register. As I realized my error and walked around to the other side, a gentleman stopped me and told me he would assist me back at the original register.
He rang up my purchase, and asked if I wanted to round it up .01 cent for Children's Hospital. I immediately said yes, and he replied, "It's a great organization to donate to."
I nodded my head, and told him, "We spend a good deal of time at Children's."
He repeated, for the second time, what a great organization it was.
I told him that my son had extensive medical needs, and said, with a little laughter, "we have given a great amount of money to Children's on a regular basis for my son."
He replied, "We spent a lot of time at Children's as well. Well, we did. My son passed away. He was 8 years old."
"My son is 8 years old as well," I replied as my eyes met his.
I fumbled for my credit card as I let him continue with my total purchase amount, and he said, as he helped me gather my things, "Those are beautiful flowers."
My easy, simple, inexpensive begonias were complimented by the man who sees every flower come through the cash wrap. It was if he knew my careful selection had caused me a good amount of anguish.
We walked out together, and I tried to decide if he wanted to continue to share about his son, or if he was closed off to the subject. I asked him if he used to visit the same campus we did, and he replied, no, that he lived in a different area of town.
I apologized for his loss, and he replied, "You just never know what someone is going through, right?"
Then he thanked me, three times. One for my purchase...
and twice for my condolences.
I sat in my car as I watched him walk back into the store, and I couldn't believe his 8 year old was gone. My 8 year old has extensive needs, and our lives are not easy...
but he is here.
As soon as I got home, I walked out back and found an area that used to be Peyton's digging spot. It was now covered in rocks, weeds, and old dirt. I took out the trowel and began to beautify the ground. I uncovered the claylike dirt under the top layer, and I vowed to myself to keep these begonias alive. I would make them beautiful, in honor of his son, and all of those carrying invisible crosses.
This weekend at Mass, we heard the parable of Jesus curing the blind man with claylike dirt, from John 9:6. Our priest told us that our blindness, whether it be doubting, questioning, unforgiving, or just only seeing misfortune in our eyes-- it is taken away, and we are led to see the light.
We go weak, and we come away strengthened.
We find ourselves doubting, and we come away satisfied.
We turn to mourning, and come away rejoicing.
We go blind, and come away seeing.
My .10 cent donation, which initially seemed insignificant, was the greatest gift I could have ever given.
It was also one of the greatest gifts I have received.
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