Do You Hear the Bells?
I saw her from a distance, body hunched over in an awkward position that every mother assumes at some point (many points) in her busy life:
Right leg drawn up and upper body bent down -- she was balancing her purse on her leg, trying to hold it steady with her right hand, her bag of purchases swinging back and forth on her arm as she dug into the depths of the purse with her left hand.
Before her stood a little version of herself, ponytail and tendril curls, bellbottom pants with three rows of ruffles. The child stood there, watching her mother, patiently.
And him. He was there too. He was watching them both. It was Hobby Lobby, it’s Christmastime, and he was the Salvation Army man on duty.
The mother, I knew, was digging for money so her daughter could place it in the red Salvation Army bucket. Watching her struggle touched my heart. Why not just bustle by, telling her daughter not-today-mommy-doesn’t-have-any-money-in-her-purse-maybe-next-time? Why take the time? I quickened my stride. I wanted to SEE. I wanted to see it happen.
I wasn’t the only one.
By the time I joined the mother and daughter, there were FIVE other people gathered round…and they were ALL digging in purses and pockets for money to give to the little curly-haired girl. Each one found a dollar, leaned over to the little girl and asked her to place it in the bucket. She did so, slowly, solemnly, like Something Important was happening.
I was last. I’d dug around the great abyss (that’s what I call my purse) until I found the five-dollar bill I‘d been saving for the Starbucks baristas. (I forget to tip during the week, hence Five-Dollar-Fridays, when I tip a five and say this-is-for-the-times-I-forgot-this-week.)
I leaned down to the little girl and asked softly, “Can you help me? Can you put my money in?” She looked up at me, and I caught my breath – big brown eyes, perfectly formed pink lips – lips which moved to form a little smile. A smile for ME. She nodded her head.
The five-dollar bill was wadded up (of course it was - I’m a purse slob), and as the girl struggled to fit it into the opening in the bucket, big black hands came down and gently guided the little white ones until the wad slipped in. I glanced at mother, standing quietly by, then stole a look at the man. And I caught my breath for the second time that day, for the man smiled at me too.
He had no teeth.
But I didn’t catch my breath over the absence of teeth. I caught my breath because the smile was wide and joyful, and the large dark eyes made direct and intentional contact with mine. Everything about the man’s demeanor radiated strength and – Love?
I felt it wash through me. It was the man. It was the little girl. It was the mother. All of it. It was like they were generating some sort of holy force field right there in front of Hobby Lobby, and I honestly didn’t want to leave it.
I let it hold me for a few seconds, then reluctantly withdrew my gaze from the man and turned to the woman and her daughter.
“You’re a good mother,” I managed, and then I slipped away because I was pretty sure I was going to cry.
I finished my shopping, still thinking about the events out front. As I exited through the sliding doors, I heard the sound of the bells. The Salvation Army man looked at me as he lifted his arm up and down, up and down, and he smiled that joy-filled, toothless grin, his eyes dancing.
“You have a good day now, miss,” He said.
“You too,” I said automatically.
Then, thinking of the little girl, the mother, and Him, I blurted, “And it was, wasn’t it? It was a good day?”
A feeling came over me…I KNEW the man knew what I was saying, He knew EXACTLY what I was trying to say. He beamed at me, saying firmly and exaltingly,
“Yes. Yes, it was. It certainly was.”
Call it a Random God Sighting.
Call it Jesus-in-Disguise.
Call it what you want,
but I saw God at Hobby Lobby (again).
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He is forever ringing holy bells, bells calling us to remember our True Nature. The young mother remembered that day, and she stopped her world to teach her daughter. It was a very good day.
(Photo courtesy of SalvationArmySouth.org)