Yesterday I decided to haul not only my four youngest
children along on the big weekly grocery shopping trip, but to break out the stash
of green reusable grocery bags I used to take along on trips to the commissary.
Seriously, they’re GREEN, as in green in color, not just because they’re
reusable. And it isn’t that I have any serious conviction about recycling,
although my upbringing conditioned me to save and reuse and generally be
thrifty, anyway—and with our family size, we can accumulate an alarming amount
of plastic bags in a very short amount of time. But they’re durable, handy for
carrying, and can hold so much more than plastic.
After two months of living in a new town, one without a
commissary, I knew taking them along would proclaim as little else that
“we’re not from around here.” I also suspected it might throw some unsuspecting
bagger off his groove, if he wasn’t used to reusable bags.
Did it ever, on both accounts.
This just topped off what is invariably a
memorable-but-I-wish-I-could-forget shopping trip with the youngest four of the
Barbarian Horde. I think half of Jamestown shops at this particular grocery
store at that particular hour on a Wednesday afternoon, to begin with. Then
imagine my four tall-getting-taller ducklings, packed out in heavy winter coats
and boots, tromping around behind me, in front of me, beside me ... milling
when I’m trying to stand out of the way of other shoppers and examine what’s on
shelves that aren’t yet—quite—familiar. Since the move, they’ve had this habit
of standing just wayyy too close whenever we’re out in public, like I might
disappear at any minute.
I suppose, after moving 1800 miles away from all they’ve
ever known, I can’t blame them. But they make it awfully hard to maneuver when
out shopping.
After 45 minutes or so of trying to direct them in and out
of traffic—calmly—while searching said not-yet-familiar store for various
needed items, we arrived at the checkout, and I broke out my bags.
Watching the bagger fumble with them, I felt compelled to
apologize. Repeatedly. Then between curious glances from another bagger who
came over to help (apparently the first one dropped one of our items and had to
run back for a replacement) and the cashier, I felt compelled to explain. This
led to questions about which base we were located near, and our move, and why I
like the bags. While the second bagger received our thanks with a grudging nod,
the cashier said it was nice to meet me.
Well. Nothing like being memorable, I guess.
Which leads me to think, for probably the thousandth time,
about how God has told me that He’s placed our family as a “spectacle” before
the world. Yes, that exact word. And it’s in regards to several areas of my
life, from the fact of our being a large, noisy family, to the large, bright
birthmark I can mute with makeup but I can’t ever quite cover.
I’m not sure how I feel about being a spectacle. I’m not
comfortable being the center of attention. I wouldn’t mind being an example, I
suppose, especially if I knew I was a good one—but really? A spectacle? For
what purpose?
At some point I turned to the kids yesterday and asked them
if it was necessary for us to always be a traveling freak show. They flashed
bright smiles (beautiful and intelligent, every one of them), and answered a
hearty YES.
Sigh.
But you know what? I suppose that’s exactly what God
intends. We are indeed freaks. Not just flawed human beings, but cracked and
sometimes broken, off balance at times in ways we cannot control. Headstrong
and prideful. Desperately in need of redemption.
Good thing I’m personally acquainted with the Redeemer, yes?
And there’s the heart of it. I wonder, while catching
glimpses of amusement and annoyance, and sometimes just avoidance, on the faces
of my fellow shoppers, do we reflect Him while we tumble around in our big ball
of chaos? Am I just a crazy, frazzled mom of way too many in their eyes, or can
they see flashes of grace in us? Are we His instrument for challenging and
stretching others, as I’m so often challenged to not respond in annoyance?
I may never know, at least not this side of eternity. But in
the meantime, it’s something that makes me press deeper into God’s mercy and
grace.
My daughter, even at 22, always seems to be at my side for the first several days when she comes home for a visit. I turn around in the kitchen and there she is in my face. I think it's wonderful that even at advanced age(s) our children look to us as an island and rock of security. And we miss you here in freezing wet cold rainy windy South Carolina. If only it would snow...
ReplyDeleteWell, it's nice to know it isn't just mine. :-) And thank you so much! We're missing SC too ... well, some aspects, anyway. We're wishing it would snow *more*--how weird is that!?
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