My emotions got the better of me this week.
Yep, there I was this past Saturday morning, calmly walking down the aisle at a local store when I heard a young mother fussing loudly at the two little girls in her shopping cart. As I slowly pushed my buggy down the aisle, closer to this obviously flustered momma, I saw that one child
was barely a toddler, maybe even still in diapers, and the other was a preschooler.
The ruckus only got louder the closer I got, and I honestly intended to push my cart right on by and let this woman deal with her kiddos in her own way. But then, it happened.
I saw the look on her oldest baby’s face – and I was stopped in my tracks, staring at the absolute brokenness I saw spilling from that little girl’s eyes.
Maybe her wounded little heart cried out to my own broken one. Who knows! All I saw was her tear-stained face, and it was like a STOP sign right there in the middle of Aisle 5. That sweet face called out to me, so I stopped and stared.
No, you don’t get it. Like, I really, really stared.
I could not help myself. I looked at that exhausted, impatient mother and her two priceless treasures for what seemed like unending moments.
Now, I am sure she thought I was crazy (And maybe I am a little cray-cray at this point on my grief journey.). But after retrospection, that young mom probably just thought I was an old lady with no kids and no clue, just another busybody being awfully judgmental.
But that was the farthest thing from the truth. Well, alright. For a moment or two, I did want to judge the situation with a bit of self-righteous smugness.
But in an instant, that sweet little girl’s face took me straight back to days when I had two little boys crammed into a shopping cart, too. I suddenly recalled the complete battle it took to even get my sons fed, dressed, and loaded into a car for much-needed grocery shopping.
Not to mention that we only had one semi-reliable car at the time. Consequently, all four of us had to get up and get on the road before daybreak to get my husband to work so we could use the car for our daily errands. Two sleepy, crying little boys and a husband anxious to not be tardy to work made for some glorious morning rides.
Back then, there was no such thing as online shopping or grocery pickup and delivery. Even if there had been, my almost non-existent budget demanded that I travel across our city to the discount grocery store and shop for the best bargains and the day-old clearance items with my handy-dandy savings “poo-cons” as my oldest son called them.
But that was only the beginning!
First, we had to find a safe parking spot, far enough away from traffic so I could carefully unload two rambunctious little boys, one of whom could bolt in a heartbeat. It took the patience of Job to get them unstrapped from the car and cautiously make our way into the store. Don’t even talk about wrestling two human tornadoes into one shopping cart.
Sweaty, tearful, and highly tempted to forget and forego the whole ordeal, it was finally time to actually start shopping.
Sounds like the worst part was over at that point, right?
Well, keep in mind that I come from generations of teachers, so it’s second nature to try and make everything a learning experience. On my best parenting days, I had the boys help find things by looking for letters of the alphabet as I started spelling out items. Also, I encouraged them to do simple math problems, like which product had a 3 in its price tag or which product cost more. We even talked about where products came from, such as the fact that sweet potatoes were grown in my Mississippi hometown.
I also tried to teach my boys to be mannerly and respectful by being courteous to other shoppers. In fact, I will never forget the day an older gentleman rounded the corner, bumped head-on into our buggy, practically knocking me down in the process, without a word of apology.
My oldest son said loudly, “That man was just rude, wasn’t he, Momma?”
I agreed but assured him (also a little loudly) that we all have bad days and maybe that man was going through something we could not understand.
And I was right, really right. We all have bad days.
Those bad days back then seemed insurmountable at times, especially when my little boys got tired or did not feel well. Other times, they couldn’t understand why things were always too expensive or why they could not touch and taste everything they saw. Or why they couldn’t race each other down those enticing, long aisles.
Yep! Some days were just hard.
They were tough back then as a momma of baby boys, and they still are hard today as a momma of a grown son who just went Home to be with Jesus a few weeks ago.
And that … that absence of our beloved son … was exactly what I ultimately thought about as I stood there in front of that young mother fussing at her sweet girls.
I was thinking, “Oh, Little Momma, calm yourself. Take a deep breath and count to ten. Then, stop and look at the treasures in your buggy. Nothing you are going through right this moment is worth more than your girls. Not one single moment will ever matter more than the times you spend with your babies. And take it from me, nothing you could ever buy or ever do in life will be more valuable than what you see and have right in front of you. Absolutely nothing at all.”
To be honest, I simply wanted to hug that frazzled momma so hard. I kept thinking that she was just about the same age as our son who had recently died – the son I will not get to see or hug again till I go Home as well.
So, I just wanted to hold that young mother and reassure her that every hard moment right now was really a piece of coal that God was helping her refine into a shining diamond of a memory.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t … because that flustered momma saw me stop and stare – and she took off like lightning. Her embarrassment and protective instinct kicked in, and she made sure to get away from me – and stay away from me.
I blew it.
In that moment of opportunity, I missed an assignment God had for me – and possibly, a blessing for her and those two sweet girls. Very much like that momma, I did not see the sparkling gleam of the hidden gem of that moment quick enough.
But next time, I will.
Next time, I will be ready to share reassurance and hope with any frustrated momma I encounter. I will be ready to love her and love her little treasures. I won’t miss the moment next time.
In the meantime, all I could do was pray.
I prayed that somehow, someway, that tired, stressed-out momma gets it right next time as well. I prayed that God’s mercy and grace would flood her heart and mind – and her exhausted body. I prayed that she would really understand the priceless value of her children.
Most of all, I prayed that she and her two little girls would know Him and serve Him all the days of their lives because Jesus truly is the greatest treasure of all. Of that, I am sure.
I am also certain that where my treasure is, there will my heart be also.
And ultimately, that thought is the one truth that helped my hurt and grieving Momma heart pick up my treasured memories of my two rowdy boys and our harried shopping days of long ago and move on to Aisle 6 – before the store security team came to check on me.
