paying it forward in a parking lot

A woman came running toward me in the Walmart parking lot as I was pushing my cart to the cart corral. I was aware at that moment that I had left the door on the driver’s side of my vehicle ajar since the battery on my key fob had yet to be replaced and I had to use the key to open that door, thus opening all other doors. I also noticed this woman was not alone and the other woman she was with were parked on the opposite side of my vehicle, closest to my open door. Doing a quick mental inventory of my purchase, I wondered if one would distract me while the other snatched my chips and beer, among other less exciting necessary items.

“You will never believe what just happened to me,” the woman said as she stopped to talk and possibly distract me for nefarious reasons. I feigned interest while remaining alert to my surroundings. She said she was at the check-out and could not find her card to pay for her groceries. I thought she was going to ask for money and I had no cash with me other than some change that I was not going to mess with and take my eyes off her or her accomplice. She said the person behind her in line offered to pay her bill, telling her, “Pay it forward.” “My bill was $88! It is a miracle!,” she excitedly told me as I wondered if someone would be driving off with my car at any moment.

She then did something even more unnerving. She stepped forward and reached around to hug me! This sincerely excited woman said she was paying it forward in the best way she could by showing me kindness. She said she would pray for my miracle, wished me a blessed day, got in her car and left with her friend. There was no robbery, no malicious intent, just most likely a God-fearing woman of faith sharing the good news of her blessing with an unsuspecting stranger. A couple of nice church ladies going to Walmart.

A Walmart parking lot is the last place I would expect something good to happen. I made the mistake of going there one night when police cars had been summoned to arrest the person who had just broken the law. I have had people knock on my window before I could get out or just after I had gotten back in, asking for money. I have seen people in cars in the outer reaches of the lot apparently waiting for someone to do who-knows-what. It is the kind of place one needs to look confident and not carry a big purse.

The only good thing that ever happened in a parking lot was years ago when I was about to go into a grocery store with $20, making a mental list of what was needed, crossing off items and recalculating what was really needed, as my oldest son bent down and handed me two twenty-dollar bills wadded up, asking me if this would help. I would like to think the person who lost the money did not need it as much as I did that day. That was my parking lot miracle!

The worst part of this story is that I did not trust this woman. At all. It makes me wonder how I will ever receive a miracle if I am always thinking someone is going to do me in. What if an angel actually came down from heaven to extend a blessing? Would I turn away, thinking the worst? Sadly, it is the way life is down here. I want to be open and trusting. My sense of self protection, however, outweighs those thoughts and I run away almost every time. And when I don’t, I regret it. It reminds me that we should not judge those who figured prominently in those Bible stories. Even out in the fields tending the sheep, a stranger with a message is rather off-putting to say the least.

Miracles can be tricky to identify sometimes, but I still believe in them. Was the miracle receiving kindness and a blessing in a Walmart parking lot, or is there something yet to come?

Facebook, six years later

When Facebook challenged users to post their profile photo from ten years ago alongside a recent one, I could not participate. Today marks my sixth year on Facebook.

I was reluctant to join for several reasons: 1) I am a private person, and 2) I don’t have much of a social life, probably because I am a private person. It isn’t as though I do not have friends. It is just that beginning in the 90s and well, still now, I have been raising children and friendships have had to wait for me to be a soccer mom, a band mom, a cross-country and track mom, and the wife of a teacher, a man who fortunately is also my friend. Whenever I had the chance to get in touch with other friends, time and distance kept that from happening. My best friend from high school strongly suggested I join Facebook so we could stay in touch. I didn’t like the idea of putting out information that I would lose control of, but reasoned that is what it means to publish writing, so this idea of going on social media finally won me over.

The vast array of articles and interesting posts on Facebook overwhelmed me. I wondered why I had come so late to the party. There everyone was, drinks in hand, waiting to find out about my life, so I started a blog. I would recall stories from my past, offer daily life experiences, and write the column I was always meant to write. Then, following the lead of another friend who had been a mentor to me, decided to start posting daily quotes with art that would speak to me some truth with which I was grappling or offer advice that I would want to share with the masses.

Regardless of what I would post, I always got the most likes when posting photos of my sons or my husband and I. Even profile photos of myself would get friends from far and near to press the “like” button. It felt good, but like the buzz one gets at a party after a tad too much wine, it never lasted long.

With so much information being exchanged, I would experience great joy in seeing friends I could only see online and deep sadness seeing celebrations in which I was not included. Someone once said it was easier to tell the truth than to lie because when you lie you have to remember too much. (It was probably one of the quotes I have used.) I would see discrepancies in where someone said he or she was, versus what was posted on Facebook. My mother used to say that we shouldn’t do anything we didn’t want on the front page of our small hometown newspaper. She was right. Facebook has become the place where all we have done is presented, whether we are ever ready for it or not.

Well-meaning friends have posted on my page items I frankly have not wanted to be there. Sometimes I have had to delete them, hoping the friend would not take offense even though I had. It is all a delicate balance. Like many in my generation, we were raised to believe that we were not to talk about sex, politics or religion at the dinner table, to alleviate indigestion, perhaps? But at our collective dinner table on Facebook anyone can say anything and they have, sometimes to the detriment of us all. Yet I am a proponent of free speech and believe we should be able to share what is on our hearts. Somehow this does not work as well in practice as it does in theory.

I then started to wonder why I never saw the posts from certain “friends” and realized they had relegated me to a different category in which I wouldn’t see their posts. So I did this as well. I have only been unfriended once, as far as I can tell, and this caused me such sadness that I have never been able to bring myself to unfriend anyone though I have thought long and hard about it. It has given me pause to consider who is a friend and what friendship means. I actually know almost all of my “friends” to different degrees. Possibly as many as a handful actually know me.

Then something mystical happened with the algorithm and I could only see a limited number of posts. I would search far and wide for something interesting to read and would spend too much time searching. Facebook users were getting frightened that their information had gone out into different places and would never return. Our lives were up for grabs to the highest advertising dollars. We have done this to ourselves.

I would also get pushback from my blog writing; one particular blog. I had written about how I had experienced my youngest son’s final senior assembly at his high school: seeing him in his cap and gown, knowing he would not get any awards that day, dealing with overdue books and office ladies who didn’t seem to know who I was, even though my sons had been going to that high school for almost a decade. A well-meaning person had taken offense, deciding that this was my way of seeking revenge on the hapless school employees. This was not what my story was about and I countered her comments with my side of the story. She would then delete her comments causing me to fill in the gaps, for whom? I had no idea. I was pretty sure most people do not pay as much attention to nearly anything as I have a tendency to do.

This response did not teach me my lesson, however, as I would continue to share my life and my heart with my readers. I would hear from a former employer that I had written something else to make someone else look bad. If someone looks bad from my point of view, it is still only my point of view. Recently I heard that yet someone else did not appreciate that point of view. I’m not sure what to do with this information. I am me. I have a point of view. You are you. You have one, too! (I have suddenly become Dr. Seuss!)

We are now in the era of whatever does not spark joy, get rid of. For me this includes Facebook, but like other things that do not necessarily spark joy, I keep them for other purposes. Facebook is still the best place for me to publish a blog, whether or not it is the best audience for my writing. Facebook is the best place for me to post photos of my art, especially on Saturday mornings to let those who can come to see me know that I am at the Market. Facebook is the most convenient way for me to wish that high school friend a happy birthday, which I did yesterday. I enjoy seeing photos from those I cannot see any other way. The memories on my daily post have given me a glimpse of my life, like nothing else, except my blog.

Yet I still wonder if the fact that we are Facebook users should not wake us up. Users, like drug addicts, hate what they keep going back to but continue to go back day after day. The ten-year photos were not as bad as the timeline meth photos they reminded me of, thank goodness, but what are we doing with our lives? Am I living a better life six years after being a user of Facebook? I’m pretty sure I don’t want to answer that.

the deep breath

Every now and then reevaluation of one’s life is a good idea. There are probably tools for measurement of this sort of thing available in the corporate world, created by those who enjoy spreadsheets and data. I, however, am not a part of that system. Because I have returned to spending my days caring for the youngest students at a small private school, I have decided to base my self-evaluation on the expected social competencies for preschool children, as listed in an article posted by a preschool teacher.

Playing well with others. 

If you’ve read my previous blog posts, this idea may be up for discussion. Because I am fiercely independent and hold to my own way of doing things, I can correctly be categorized as not playing well with my peers on occasion, and yet it is at the core of my being to attempt to create harmony and peaceful environments wherever I go. If by playing well with others it means allowing anyone to say or do whatever he or she wishes to me without any response, well then no, I have failed at this. But if it means cooperation among equals toward a shared goal, count me in. We are all invited to participate in life. We each have our own voice.

Problem-solving.

I am one of the most resourceful people you will ever know. I learned this skill from my mother who taught me to make the most of whatever I had, even when I didn’t have much. Especially then. In this way I have been able to solve all sorts of problems. I knew from the start of my business that the materials would direct my creativity, and this has been the case for the past 12 years. When fabric, buttons, and thread, often given to me by those cleaning out closets, meet my thought processes about what is possible, art happens. Solving problems by thinking through them first and taking action second is generally a good idea. Unless you are an artist, and the thinking and the doing merge.

Labelling and recognizing feelings.

Most of the time I feel pretty good about life, although I will admit to needing a good cathartic cry every once in a while. Seems to bring things back into balance. I often hold back my truest feelings if I am uncertain about whether the expression of those feelings will mean that I am not playing well with others or that I should be solving my problems a different way. As a child I learned that expressing my feelings was best done in my journal. As a grown-up I would rather communicate through writing than in person. That way I can let the words do the talking while I drink coffee and look out the window.

Being helpful.

My earliest memories have to do with helping others. I had two younger sisters to look out for and being helpful was expected in my household. It isn’t just doing a task but in having an attitude in which one is willing to help anyone in need. I’ve always done whatever I could to help those around me. I’ve tried to instill this value in my own children as well as in the children in my classroom. It encourages a child when someone notices a helpful act. It helps grown-ups, too. I know what it is like to feel that there is no one to help me and I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone. We are helped by helping.

Controlling my impulses.

This is a time and place issue. In public I have learned to behave myself in order to be an upstanding member of society. In the privacy of my workroom, however, my impulses are set free so I can express myself wherever my writing or art takes me. I take risks I would not naturally take. I explore my feelings and thoughts. I allow myself to feel the emotions I cannot share with others if I am to play well with them, and I solve whatever problems are before me. Those who are not able to control their impulses end up in rehab or as writers or artists. Whatever works.

As I take this deep breath before plunging into a new blog, I hope my words will reflect whatever is on my heart in a truthful, thoughtful way and that you may then give your response, as you are able. We were not meant to navigate this life alone. We do better in community, upholding each other in all of our differences–together.