Bits: Why I Sometimes Cry in Wal-Mart

Extra thankful this week for my bits of beautiful, glimpses of glory. In all the colors of fall.

:: An apple orchard on a warm, adventuresome, meandering kind of Friday.

:: Subsequent apple crisp (subbing the pears, obviously, and minus the pecans) and apple sauce.
 
:: While my mouth is watering, a cool Sunday morning and Joe's french toast.  Enough to make me want to marry him all over again.
 
:: "Suzy Family Martins," carved and named to the girls' exact specifications.  Still loving to share this as we light her up and lean back to marvel at the wonder of the cold night sky.

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Extra gratefulness in my life often accompanies extra thoughtfulness.  Lately I have been thinking about people, about callings.  Not just the big "move across the globe callings," but the every day living out of what we believe.

A lot of times, I am deeply involved in my own life.  I hit up the grocery and I have a list, that I may or may not follow, and depending on how  many people have joined the outing-- it is possible, I practically may not notice another soul while I'm accomplishing my goals. 

But there are other times.  I'm by myself, or I slow down and I see.

Brokeness.

Everywhere.

Mamas are worn out, sometimes I am that worn out Mama too, but I mean really worn thin.  They talk in hisses too close to their children's faces.   People on their cell phones, shouting, only to hang up- head in hand- as regret, no doubt, washes them over.  Hollow eyes, rough hands.  Speeding cars, sad frowns.

And I think, if I'm to be honest,  I have trained myself not to see this.  Or at least not take it in too close to my heart.

Maybe because I am a fixer.  I want to put broken pieces back together so badly.

Maybe because I am tired or proud.  I know this kind of work to be messy and inconvenient, often a long road.

But I have learned a lot over the last years.  I have been broken myself, out of my comfort zone or worried about things like my child's heart.  Struggling through difficult deliveries and mouth surgeries, job losses and financial unknowns.

I am learning, though, that I may not have the perfect words or my elusive magic wand but I can offer a cold drink of water when it's in my power.  I can pray. 

I can cry for someone I don't even know.

Last week we were reading the story of Ruby Bridges and the flood gates opened.  Hope asked, "Mama what's wrong?"

I wasn't sure exactly, except to say that such bravery-- such six-year old bravery-- deserves unashamed tears.

I want to be brave for the broken.  I want to remember my own brokenness and use it for God's glory.  I don't want to be too absorbed in my own shopping cart alone.

Lord , please let me first be brave enough to see.

Even if I am only in Wal-Mart.
~Katrina