It was a Monday night when I escaped for a little while. The grocery store was quiet as I entered through the automatic doors. Quietly the grocers stocked the shelves. This is one of my favorite times, to go grocery shopping when away from the demands of three children, walking along with a grocery list and a plan.
I walked down the milk aisle, glad I had a light jacket on. It is always cold in this section of the store. The neon lights make the five varieties of milk look appetizing, but I walk past them to grab an Almond Milk and jug of orange juice instead.
I have often joked that it is in the milk aisle at the grocery store that I “feel the Lord.” Although it sounds funny it has happened many times, and on this particular night, I was again encouraged. As I strolled down this aisle not quite to the egg selection yet, I thought about how blessed I am. At home, my husband had the task of homework duty. Each of my three children’s faces flashed through my mind. All the hopes I have for them lingered as I eyed the yogurts. Their age span of 6, 8, and 10 declared them officially out of the diaper stage, we were moving on.
“Thank you, God that you have been faithful!” I whispered as I spotted the eggs.
For a brief moment, I thought of Brad’s Grandfather Singleton with bib overalls sitting in his favorite chair in the front room of his little house. A cane in one hand and a light-hearted smile uplifting his worn features. A tuft of white hair coming down almost to his brow didn’t make him look disheveled but handsome as he took a rest from his work.
“All I know is it is good to serve the Lord,” He would tell us as he sat down for a moment. Into his late eighties, he still chopped his own wood and harvested his own garden of vegetables.
“Yes Grandpa, I would agree,” I thought as I loaded two dozen eggs into my cart.
It had been 7 years since we had laid him to rest. Still, his gentle face lingers in moments like these as I walk the lonely grocery aisles. I also remember the first time I saw him as Brad drove me down their country road. His parents had purchased an acre of land from them when they were first married and had built a house a cornfield down from Grandpa and Grandma Singleton. Arriving at home meant driving past his grandparent's home first. Off to the right of his yard near the road, Grandpa stood in the truck patch garden. A hoe in hand he straightened to wave as Brad blew the horn. In appearance, he was a strong man even at eighty years of age.
I knew then that I would love him. After we were married, we would stop by to say hello on every trip back to Phlox, Indiana where they lived. In that front room, we would gather to hear the few but wise words of Grandpa Singleton. He was a medic in World War II because he avidly believed in serving his country at wartime, but didn’t want to take other's lives. Miraculously he served four years without injury. In the stillness of our visits, he would recite those war days in story form. He always highlighted the funny stories that happened on the base. Grandma Singleton was always nearby to help him get the timeline straight. He looked to her lovingly and referred to her as “mother.”
Every encounter made me wish I could have a marriage like theirs. It was a simple life they led in their little house on a wide piece of land. They spent their lives farming and attending the First Assembly Church of Elwood. They were faithful to God and kind to others. They had neither flash nor flair, but a deep beauty gleamed from them all the same. Inside my young heart, I desperately wanted to have that beauty more than things or achievement. It was the deep peace of living under the grace of God.
I missed them as I continued down the grocery lane to the paper products. I was alone and yet I felt God reminding me that I was never alone. This treasure he had stored up in my heart seemed full to overflowing as I pushed the cart down the organic aisle. Finally, I made my way to the check-out lane nearest the florist corner. As I lazily put my items on the conveyor belt I heard them.
Looking up over my shoulder I locked eyes with a mother trying to unload her groceries as her children acted up behind her. In that moment I saw the shame in her downtrodden features. That glance communicated to her that unlike me she wasn’t feeling restful or blessed. I looked away quickly feeling the condemnation exuding from her.
“Your total is $83.98,” the cashier declared as I turned back around. Fumbling through my wallet I found my debit card to pay. Handed the receipt I pushed my cart away from the troubled little family still arguing behind me when the Lord spoke.
“Go encourage that woman, Dianne.”
I stopped by the flower arrangements hoping I was just hearing things.
“Go encourage that woman, Dianne.”
As I stared at the pot of daisies I reasoned with the Lord. “But God she is obviously having a bad day and I don’t want to make her feel worse.”
As the feeling pressed I looked up to see her leaving through the opposite doors.
“Ok I reasoned I will leave and if I see where she is parked I will go to her,”I said pushing my cart through the automatic doors nearest me.
Outside the air was warm and damp on this early fall night. I saw her pushing her cart at the other end of the parking lot, so with a determination to be obedient I pushed my cart across the parking lot after her. The van door was open when I arrived. Just as I was about to speak I heard her swear and slap her middle-school aged child across the face. She noticed I was standing there as her hand drew back.
There was silence for a long moment as she realized I had just witnessed her rage. Again I felt bad that I had to lock eyes with her, but I proceeded anyway not at all sure what I would say.
“Hi, I’m Dianne I’m a mom too and I just wanted to come over to encourage you to hang in there.
Can I pray for you?”
The frazzled mother came out of the van visually embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, I don’t usually act like this. It’s just been so hard lately with my daughter…”
I put my hand on her shoulder as I told her how God had stopped me and told me to come over to encourage her.
In that moment her countenance changed. Hope started to break through the cloudy discouragement she felt. I began to pray for her and her children in the quiet of the dark evening in the lonely parking lot of the grocery store. In that moment the peace of God surrounded not only the mother but her three amazed children as they watched from the van.
With tears in her eyes, the mother hugged me and thanked me for taking the time. Gone from her face and posture were the stress and torment I had seen on her features. She instead looked rested and at peace, ready to mother her children again.
As I pushed my cart back to my van, I thanked God I could help her in her most desperate moment. I thought of all the times I wished someone had been there when I felt my patience give way to fury with my own children. I thought about Grandpa Singleton again and how he freely loved me and made me feel like I belonged. As I unloaded my groceries in my van it became clear: God wants us to feel like we can come just as we are, He wants us to sit down close to his knee like Grandpa Singleton, so He can tell us all the stories of his faithfulness.
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