Glances

Someone once said, “Don’t wait for someone to be friendly, show them how.” I think that frames life nicely, and is often the calling card of God.  

I spend a lot of time at Servatii’s, a local bakery near my house, especially on Tuesdays. It’s like my second office. It’s quieter and less crowded than the Starbucks across the street, and it usually yields better conversations. Freshly baked pretzels are 2 for $1 on Tuesdays, too. I give myself permission, from time to time, to feast on a little warm gluten, preferably with mustard. 

It was one of those mornings. I had a warm pretzel in hand with five minutes until my next meeting. I was fiddling with my phone, savoring the smell and taste of my pretzel, when I caught the glance of a woman sitting off to my left. She sat alone, looking out the window, eating a Danish. I’d seen her before — sometimes at Kroger, sometimes here, and once while walking her dogs in a park nearby — but she was always alone. 

We’d smiled at each other in the past while walking our dogs, but today I glanced away, just as our eyes caught. I smiled, of course, but looked back at my phone. I played it off by sniffling a little and wiping my eyes, a symptom of allergies that were truly bothering me.

I thought nothing of it, and kept eating my delicious pretzel and listening to the music being piped into the dining area. Right then, “Hey, Jude” by the Beatles came on. It’s a gentle tune, and I glanced over at the woman again. She was looking out the window and wiping her eye with a napkin. She must suffer from allergies like me, I thought. And before I could look away, she again caught me looking at her. That felt a little awkward, since I knew she saw me, but I simply smiled and moved back to my phone.

She was probably in her mid-seventies, dark black but greying hair, petite and with big green-blue eyes, which drew my attention at first. She was finishing a cup of coffee, but obviously dabbing her eyes. 

I had an inclination to go over and ask her, “Is everything alright? Or do you have allergies like me?” 

I can’t do that, I thought. My next meeting will be here any minute, I had just received a text saying he would be right there.

With Paul McCartney singing melodically in the background, I figured, what the heck. So, I got up and walked to her table smiling. “Is everything okay? Or do you suffer from allergies?” 

She smiled and wiped her eyes, while pointing to the speakers. “It’s the song, it was one of my mother’s favorite ones. It’s nearly her birthday, and though she’s been gone many years now, it still hits me sometimes.”

I empathized with her a bit, and asked her if there were anything I could do for her. She smiled bigger and said, “You’ve got something special on you, young man.” (At my age, I like when someone calls me young.) “I somehow knew you were going to come over here.” That caught my attention. We spoke a few minutes about her mother. She seemed lonely. “You’re so nice, you’re a spiritual person, aren’t you?” she said. Again, I smiled and nodded. “You talk with people a lot, don’t you? I think I’ve seen you talking with others before.” I confessed that I did like this little bakery. 

I shared how my wife had lost her mother several years ago and that it was still very hard, and how we may have seen each other in the park several years back walking our Aussies. That made a connection and she shared all the more, but not before she said, “You’re a pastor, aren’t you?” “I am, of sorts,” I said. “Yes, I can tell, you’re very special.” It was encouraging and sweet, but just then my appointment came and we broke conversation. I told her I’d be looking for her in the days ahead, and moved on.

She smiled and continued to eat her last bites but, in a few minutes, she sheepishly slipped up to my table to tell my friend how kind and nice she thought I was. Again, it was sweet in a grandmotherly sort of way, but she went on and on. She must be alone in the world, I thought. That little bit of kindness went a long way.

In the course of that exchange she mentioned that she was Jewish—reformed, that is. I asked her what synagogue she went to, but she said that her mother was the religious one, and then she trailed off into more kind words.  

Again, I told her I’d look for her on the walking trail and she thanked me once more while walking out.

I’ve not seen her again, but I’m sure I will. That chance meeting was too much of a setup. I have been praying Psalm 68:6 whenever I think of her:  
 

“God makes a home for the lonely; He leads the prisoners into prosperity, Only the stubborn and rebellious dwell in a parched land.” 

It’s funny how much God can accomplish with a glance. Who are you glancing at these days?