Caring People Do Exist!!

As I was driving home from a meeting today I found myself very hungry and after scrounging through my wallet I found the grand total of $2.25. I pulled through the drive-thru at McDonalds and asked the man on the other end of the monitor how much a fish sandwich and medium fry would cost. He responded, sounding very confused, "You want to know how much it costs?!" I politely told the man that I only had $2.25 and need to know if I could afford the extravagant purchase. He told me that the meal would cost $2.17 and I drove to the first window happy that I would not again be eating left over meatloaf.

When I reached the window he had an odd and confused look on his face and he leaned out and asked me if I wanted a drink. I, surly looking as confused as he was, asked him to repeat himself. He told me that the man behind me in line had asked if I wanted a drink. I was dumbfounded. Here was some complete stranger who heard that I was poor and offered to buy me a drink.

Matthew 25:40 says, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me" and that has been ringing through my mind ever since. I think God was honored tonight in that man's actions, specifically because he reminded me of a need that I have for other people and the mercy that God offers and others can also.

I find myself questioning what is the correct response in a situation like that. I turned the man down, even though my mind and body was really craving a good Coke. My pride told me that I didn't need anyone else, and that the polite thing to do would be to say no. But maybe the correct answer was to say yes. It is the more humbling and challenging response, and perhaps it was too for the man behind me. I don’t know what I should have said, but perhaps I’ll think twice before turning down a free drink again and maybe even offer one instead.

The Importance of Wrinkles

I remember as a child being fascinated with the wrinkles on my mother and grandmother’s faces. Being a perceptive little one, I noticed that their faces had a different, smoother and softer texture than mine, which was largely due to the influence of wrinkles. I loved touching their faces because of the way their skin felt- wrinkles were a cool thing then.

This evening I looked at my face in the mirror and experienced a rather disheartening feeling as I noticed the changes that have slowly been taking place on my face.

I read in one of my textbooks this semester that our faces and bodies are constantly changing, even after we become adults. If you haven’t seen someone for 10 years, they look different than the last time that you have seen them. That change is deeper than just a new haircut or color or even the addition of new wrinkles. Their face is different.

Tonight I noticed subtle changes in my skin texture; the addition of fine lines that I’m sure will mature in to very obvious wrinkles someday, sooner rather than later. I know that as I prepare to graduate from college, there are some people whom I love that I will not see for a couple of years. I hope that when I see them again, more than just my face has changed. I hope that the change that is occurring is much deeper than skin.

What makes women’s wrinkles so attractive to me still (I like them on other people, not me!) is that each of them stands for a story or a trial that was endured and overcome. They are a testament that hard times do not last, they can be survived, but they still can leave lasting marks. The marks that these events leave aren’t always a bad thing, they are a reminder to ourselves and to others that there is more to life than current circumstances. (I need to see this more clearly in my own life and skin)

Paul wrote in his letter to the Philippians “I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances” (Phil. 4:11). I pray that as wrinkles are defined and new ones are added that learning to be content would be the lesson learned, for my own life and yours.

Chocolate Pie

I stood in the kitchen this afternoon trying to find some sort of snack that I could eat while my meatloaf baked. I stumbled upon all the fixin's for homemade chocolate pie, and I thought that would compliment the main course just fine.

While preparing to make the desert I found that my mind began to wonder to the topic at hand and without even a second's pause my grandmother's face appeared. I realized that the last time I had a slice of chocolate pie was June 5th, 1999. My grandmother entered and left life on June 5th and 1999 was the last of her birthdays that we openly celebrated. I had no idea that summer would be the last I would spend with her and that a year from that date, we would lose her presence in this life.

Chocolate Pie was one of Maw's favorite deserts, and every year for her birthday my mother would make enough for everyone in the family to eat. There was no cake, only pie. It stuns me how one simple desert can bring back a flood of bittersweet memories, and a feeling of innocence that is now years gone. It is something that is simple and easy but full of meaning and symbolism.

Today, almost seven years since my last slice of pie, I'll celebrate the birth of my father, her son, with a slice of chocolate pie. As I sit in my college apartment hundreds of miles from my family I have realized that even those who have gone on to heaven are closer than they really seem. It is in the things like chocolate pie we remember them and celebrate life and death because this world is not all there is. I just hope in heaven there is chocolate pie.