Small Things
Some of the temperatures this summer have been impressive. I think my tolerance is up as I’ve worked long hours in the yard, but it’s a shock to the system when stepping into a climate-controlled space, especially in my drippy condition.
On one recent hot day, I rode my bike to Kroger, hunting for a bag of popsicles to fill our freezer. Parking my bike, I sauntered through the breezeway, whistling a happy tune as I began my search. I have a theory: I think it’s nearly impossible to whistle without a joyful spirit, and it shows in the smiling faces that often greet me.
Lord, is there anyone You want to engage with here today? I asked.
I did my normal circuit, finding a giant bag of colorful popsicles just waiting to be frozen. That made me happy, and while I got a few smiles walking the aisles, none ended in meaningful conversations. Sometimes it’s like that, which doesn’t deter me in the least.
Bag in hand, I head back through the breezeway, where a car had pulled up just outside. The passenger’s door was open, and a woman slowly struggled to lift herself out. I saw the handicapped tag swinging from the rear-view mirror. Her driver, I assume her husband, waited patiently for her to position her crutches to where she could pull herself up and out. They had obviously done this before.
“Can I help you ma’am?” I asked as I exited the store, moving to give her my arm to lean on. “Why, thank you, it takes me a minute to get these legs working, bad hips and knees, you see.” In a few moments she was standing tall, and she shuffled slowly inside, while her grateful driver went to find a parking place.
“Thank you so much,” she said again, “I can take it from here.” Smiling, I wished her a good day, and with a spring in my step headed for my bike and the sweltering ride home.
But no sooner had I arrived at my bike than I had the sense that something was unfinished with that woman, so I walked back to look inside the breezeway.
She was sitting in an electric chair/cart that wasn’t functioning. Someone had forgotten to plug it in. So, without missing a beat, I said, “Let me see if I can find another one for you. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back.”
Just outside I found another, fully-charged cart, and drove it in to her. “How’s this one? It even has a racing stripe,” I told her, trying to be funny. “Thank you so much, I was just trying to figure out what to do.”
We shared some light pleasantries, and then I asked, “Is there anything I can do that would feel like help to you?” She smiled saying, “Can you help me position my crutches, so they won’t fall off?”
“No problem at all,” I said, and once they were secured, I asked if I might pray for her. “Please do!” she replied. So, a short, simple prayer burst forth in the breezeway. I asked God to bless her, to bring healing to her knees and hips, to reveal Himself, that she would experience the peace of God on her life, all in Jesus’ name. I told her that God sees her and loves her, and that whenever we pray in Jesus’ name, something happens.
That day she wasn’t healed, but God was near.
She was beaming.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked. “No, I can’t think of anything. Thank you so much, you’ve been such a gift to me today,” she responded. Funny, it felt like such a small thing.
“Well then, have a great day,” I said, as I turned back towards my bike.
“Thanks again, especially for praying for me.” My pleasure.
As I mounted my bike, I rolled past the front entrance again only to see her sharing our moments together with her husband who had just arrived. Seeing their brightened faces, I waved, to which they returned a hearty, “Thanks again!”
The blazing ride home felt more satisfying after that, as did the popsicles I munched on the back patio later that afternoon. Sitting under the shade of trees, surveying my house in need of repair, I remembered a quote from Mother Teresa: “We cannot all do great things, but we can all do small things with great love…and that will change the world.”
Have you done anything small, lately? Have you prayed anything small, lately?