Quickly pacing past produce and frozen goods.
Aiming for the pickles and buns.
Hamburgers on the grill will make for a quick meal.
Jordyn and I make haste at the end of a long day.
We round the corner and stop on the “Bread” aisle.
Pausing to scan the shelves, we hear a dispute.
A family is in uproar and drawing us in.
Looking for a hasty escape is to no avail.
“She is so mean to me,” the man turns to me waving his arms in exasperation.
“He’s just an idiot and doesn’t listen,” grumbles motor cart lady.
“But all I am doing is trying to help,” the man looks at me with pleading, tearful eyes.
Another woman in their party cries, “This is just too much.”
Still glancing around, looking for an escape or a camera,
I turn from the buns and smile at the man.
“Remember that she has lived a long time. Love her anyway.”
“But she’s my mom. She is never kind. I can do nothing right in her eyes.”
“I see. Well, you have two choices. Hold it against her or love her.”
I tried to leave, but motor cart lady says, “He’s doesn’t do anything right, never has.”
“Lord, what are you doing? Why am I here?”
“See what I mean. It just hurts. And she says things like that, too and she’s my wife,” he points at the other woman in their group now weeping aloud. “That’s my mother.”
I smile again. “Okay. Your job is to be respectful and love. She is your mother.”
“Love her? Even when she is mean?”
“Especially when she is mean. And her too,” I point at his wife.
“Your job is to love no matter what they say or do. Just love.”
“How?” he sighs deeply.
“Can I pray for your family?”
Prayer meeting happens in front of the buns and we turn to leave.
“Grandma, what was that all about?” Jordyn asks as we grab our buns and leave.
The great commission in Matthew 28 compels us to go and make disciples of all nations. Sometimes our “nation” is Wal-Mart.