A Stranger's Kindness

Even a stranger's kindness to another stranger may be a blessing.

A rather shabby-looking man came to the restaurant today. His reddish hair was unkempt, long past his shoulders, and touched with gray. His faded blue eyes were numb and expressionless, he looked like he hadn't shaved in several days, and his shoulders were stooped. He wore a coat, even in the seventy-degree weather, and carried two heavy-looking bags. It appeared that they carried everything he owned.
After placing his order, he sat at one of the tables and sorted through his bags, pulling out empty styrofoam cups, paper, and other trash. He put the trash in the big garbage can at the side of the patio, went back to his table and neatly arranged his bags, then sat gazing into space until his food was ready.
There were only two other people there eating, two women together, neither of them rich-looking, but well-groomed and generally respectable in appearance. As they got up to leave, one stopped to speak to the man. I stiffened, watching defensively. With her fashionable hairstyle and big sunglasses, she looked like the judgmental type. Was she going to fuss at him? Ask him to leave? I had no idea who this guy was, but it both hurt and angered me to think of how some people criticize poor or homeless people, just because they're poor.
But the woman only talked to him for a few minutes, motioning, and he nodded and answered. The woman rejoined her friend and they left, and he continued with his meal.
After a little while, another woman, about middle-aged, with graying hair but dressed and carrying herself well, got out of her car where she'd gone to eat. She walked across the patio (giving the man a small glance as she passed his table) to put her burger wrapper and bag in the garbage can. But when she turned and started to pass him again going back, she paused and leaned towards him on the table. I saw her slip a folded bill into his hand before saying something with a kind smile and then going back to her car. She had obviously noticed him and been planning to do that.
He took it and said something without changing his expression, then went on eating after she'd left. Maybe he was used to people feeling sorry for him. Maybe he just thought that woman was another do-gooder trying to do her act of kindess for the day. And maybe that's the way it was. But maybe not. There was no one else out on the patio to see her good deed, and I was behind a reflective window, so even if she'd have looked, she wouldn't have seen me watching.
But whether that lady's kindess intended to make herself look or feel good, or whether it came from a genuine heart of compassion and pure motives, and whether it blessed that man or not, it sure blessed me.

Someone is always watching. What you do, how you act, where you go, what you say. And sometimes the people you think you are affecting are not the ones you actually are. Every life, and how it is lived, has an impact on others.

Fishing

I went fishing this evening for the first time in years. The boy cousins who've been here for The Grandfather's 90th birthday celebration have really enjoyed hanging out together over the last few days/weeks. Things have wound down from the birthday bash, but since the news of The Grandmother's cancer, two more of the cousins (a brother and sister, two of Mom's youngest sister's children) decided to fly in from out West on the tail end of things, and that boy cousin added himself to the growing minority (at this point there seem to be more girl cousins than boy ones).

Anyway, one of the most frequent and most enjoyed pastimes with the group has been to take a pole each and a box of tackle and bait to the pond across the field in front of The Grandparents' house. They've lost themselves over there for hours. Even though the pond's owner asked them to throw back the fish they catch, most of the boys live in the city, so just the idea of fishing from a country pond has appealed immensely to the outdoorsman in each of them and the 'country life'/Southern heritage in their blood.

This evening proved no exception, and they announced that they were going fishing and anyone who wanted to could come along. The girls declined, saying that it would probably be muddy since it had rained earlier this morning, and they had no appropriate shoes.

So it was just three of us. I took a banana, an apple, and "Frank" (my camera. Yes, I named my camera. Don't laugh.), and the boys took a pole a piece and the tackle box. The field in front of The Grandparents house was almost knee-high in rich green grass (specially planted by our neighbor for the cows he raises) and we crossed half of it at a run. On the other side was the field that the pond was in. It hadn't been planted in the tall special grass, so we could just walk normally :) .

We climbed the gate and stopped talking as we approached the pond, so as not to scare the fish. The boys picked spots and cast their lines. I hadn't really intended to fish, but we'd been there for a few minutes and each of them had offered me their poles. 'Why not?' I thought. I hadn't fished in years. I'd cast once, reel in, and if I didn't get a bite, I'd give the pole back to my young cousin and could say I'd been fishing. I accepted, cast, and reeled in slowly. The hook was baited with one of those fancy rubber baits that looks like a little fish, and before I'd reeled in all the way, the first fish I'd caught in years was on my line. I'd never caught a fish on the first cast, ever!

It was beautiful. Not too big, not too small. A wonderful silvery gray, darkest on top, then fading to almost pearl-white underneath. I snapped a picture then got that hook out of it's lip as quickly and gently as I could, and tossed it back in (forgot to be gentle about that part. Sorry, fish.). My cousin had walked back up the pond, so I took him his pole and whispered a thank you. He seemed surprised and happy for me that I'd already caught one!

I'd spotted a group of three horses across the pond and saved my apple core for them. After returning the pole, I started around the pond towards them, hoping to get a few pictures before the evening became too dusky (the brown nose is the only edited photo).

We were supposed to be back to the house before dark. It would be dark in about a quarter of an hour, so I started back around the pond toward the boys to make sure they were keeping track of time. I didn't want them to have to wait on me.

The pasture and the dusk were so beautiful and soothing. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't been out there for years. I used to walk the fields for hours, thinking, praying, writing stories in my head and having my own adventures like the characters in the historical fiction books I soaked up. I guess I grew up. Got busy. Went to college. Started jobs. Had to cut out something, and building my own little imaginary world got bumped to the bottom of the totem pole.

I'd forgotten how much I missed the country. The silence that was filled with life. Crickets. Mocking birds and wrens and mourning doves. The wind in the grass. The whispered song of the leaves in the trees.

The bats were coming out and swooped over the pond, diving for the bugs that were attracted to the evening and to the water. When I got back to the boys, the younger one and I tossed pebbles into the air to see if they would dive for them, while the older boy conceded that he wasn't going to catch anything and gathered up his stuff.

I enjoyed the evening so much. Time with cousins I hardly ever get to see. Time outdoors, in the countryside I live in but hardly ever get to enjoy. Time with my Lord, Who is with me always.

The Grandmother

You always think, "It won't happen to my family." If not consciously, at least subconsciously. "It happens to other people and their families. Not mine." Divorce. Rebellion. Cancer.

We've had a bunch of people (family) visiting the past two/three-ish (time has blurred) weeks, celebrating the Grandfather's 90th birthday (the ones in this post are just a very very few of the multitudes of pictures I've taken over the past weeks). What a milestone! And what a time of fellowship and catching up and reliving old memories and making new ones! We've literally worn ourselves out, preparing for all the company, staying up late talking once they got here, stress, excitement, etc. We're all tired, and a lot of us have come down with colds and other little sicknesses that could probably be related to the current state of life the past few weeks. 

So when the Grandmother also came down with a combination of exhaustion and stomach-ache, at first nothing much was thought about it. She's tired out and needs some extra rest.
But after a few days of taking it easy and 'laying low', as my Mom would say, she was only getting worse.
Last Saturday (Mar. 22) as she walked down into the family den where Mom, Trissy, an aunt, a handful of cousins, and I were all sitting chatting, resting, and enjoying each other's company, Trissy suddenly said, "Grandmother, you look orange!"

Our family doesn't just jump and go to the doctor for every little thing. But her symptoms pointed possibly to hepatitis (a sickness they'd had personal experience with during years of mission work in South America), and with more company expected in the coming days, she decided to play it safe, and consented to being taken.

They went Monday, and Trissy called me later at the restaurant. It wasn't hepatitis. It was cancer.

Cancer. That feared, hated word. That thing that had wrecked the lives of so many individuals and families.
The Grandmother. The center of our little world, our neighborhood. The Grandfather's main care-giver and support. The cheerful, teasing 'little old lady' who makes friends with complete strangers and 'collects' children and grandchildren among the people she meets in life, simply because of her cheery personality, goofy charm, kindness, and joyful spirit. The Grandmother has cancer.

I was numb the rest of the day. I felt like I was floating, walking mindlessly through a dream where I respectfully served customers, politely listened to my coworkers' stories and conversation, and sat watching my after-school kids at the academy without seeing them.
We flung ourselves into final preparations for the Grandfather's big birthday celebration and the last few guests who were scheduled to arrive in the next few days. With the Grandmother in the hospital, the big reception was canceled, and we 'downgraded' it to a time just for the family to be together. We still ordered the big cake (there were over fifty of us, after all) and went to Victory Rd.'s gym to spend the afternoon.

It was really a great time. The little ones had room and a place to run and yell together to their hearts content. The adults sat in the front and visited, or gathered in the gym to play basketball or roller skate. I wasn't feeling well, so slipped off and went upstairs to the game room where there was a couch, and laid down for a while. But other than that, we just enjoyed spending time together, and tried to ignore the big hole that The Grandmother's absence made.

Later my mind reeled, as, back at The Grandparents' house, I gazed around at all the many faces and listened to all the hubbub and busy-ness. It was a big deal, trying to feed and sleep so many, but it was working out fine, and Dear Lord, I prayed, what on earth are we going to do when they are all gone? when they're no longer here to distract us? What are we going to do when they are gone?