It’s me again!
I’ve been told often in my life that I talk too much. You know, by the usual people—librarians, funeral home directors, people meditating, surgeons, dog trainers and people at weddings.
Since I’ve not written an article in a while, I’ve found out my popularity is based on the things I write in this column—which is simply me talking in written form, right? A few enjoy my articles on the young adventures of growing up on a small farm, like the one where I obeyed my mother and took my driver’s license to show a state trooper; my mother had previously told the trooper she’d left hers at home and she’d go get it. ‘Getting it’ meant getting me to bring my license, since she didn’t have one. That was a very popular article. It turns out I wasn’t locked up, just terrified.
The people who say I have a weird sense of humor might not have had such an entertaining mother as I did. I am my mother’s daughter. Her teachings have served me well throughout my life. She taught me how to survive on my own. She taught me common sense, to never give up, and that laughter is the best medicine. She taught me to always help those who are in need. I also learned to smile and make people wonder what you’re up to.
I encountered someone recently who would have given me the use of a life lesson my mother taught me. She wanted me to look at the inward person, because it sometimes told more about who they were. I saw both sides this time, but the outward person told me more.
I had parked to go into Burke’s in Russellville on a very cool day. I was wearing my boots; that’s probably the only reason I like the cold. I love wearing boots. As I was putting on my shawl, I glanced up and saw a lady walking by who was bare-footed. She was wearing a summer skirt with a side-split and a thin, long-sleeved shirt that she kept tugging together for warmth.
I can’t explain the sadness that overwhelmed me at that very second. I told myself I was going to buy her some shoes. Whatever I’d intended to buy was of no importance any more. As I entered the store, she was telling the employee she needed some socks and a pair of shoes “real cheap.” She had looked over the shoe selection but couldn’t find any cheap enough, so she began looking through house shoes.
She was holding a boot-type, plush-looking shoe and saying how warm it would be, but she saw the price and put it back. The employee handed her a pair, but the lady said they looked too small, and she had no socks so she couldn’t try them on. I watched her, and I even felt her pain. The emotion I felt was so powerful. I wanted to buy her shoes, but I was telling myself I didn’t want to embarrass her. It’s like a struggle was going on inside me, so I decided I’d watch from a distance and purchase them before she left the store. I felt like pride was probably all she had left, and I didn’t want to take that from her.
I’d at least had a solution. I could help her. So, I watched. When I looked up again, she was gone. I panicked. I looked inside and outside. The last time I saw her, she was holding a shoe. Now, I don’t even know if she bought a pair.
A sadness overcame me, and, as of today, I still wonder why I didn’t do my act of kindness when I’d been given the opportunity. As I reflected on my thought process of not wanting to embarrass her, I realized her last embarrassing moment was when courage fought through embarrassment and she walked into that store bare-footed. She stood taller then than anyone else.
Inside the store were people who smirked and stared while holding their designer purses and wearing a heart of stone. I was ashamed of them, and of myself. Their “better-than-thou” attitudes and my good intentions accomplished nothing.
I pray that she is wearing socks and warm shoes and that someone has done the good deed that I should have done. I failed this time, but if God gives me a similar opportunity again, I will do what I should have done.
Besides that, God gave me my ability to talk. And I feel so blessed to use it.
God-given talents. Aren’t they sweet?
