A bit of background: I have a small apartment in my house. I rent to single students (not couples or roommates), and recently, after talking to a friend who used to be an international student at the local university, I decided that my place would be a good option for international students, so I posted it there. It is a good option: They don’t have to worry about the separate costs for deposits on utilities or services (wi-fi, cable, electricity, etc.), plus I’m available to assist with some things that might be difficult for them. I should mention that the apartment isn’t furnished because my American students have always preferred to have their own furniture.

Enter Kirk, a lovely young man from the Bahamas, so language wasn’t a difficulty, but he arrived with nothing, including no car. Luckily, I’m in walking distance of the university, but he wasn’t able to go shopping to get the basic necessities. I assured him I’d take him wherever he needed to go, but then I came down with a bug and wasn’t able to do that. Finally today, I was able to do something to help with transportation.

Bless him. He wanted to go to Wal-Mart. Okay. He needs everything. I’m not sure he even has a bath towel in there, yet he has not even asked for help of any kind until today. I took him to Wal-Mart.

Now, it’s human nature. If you need everything, and someone takes you to the store—aren’t you going to want to look at everything? Of course. Aren’t you going to discover many items at Wal-Mart that were not on your list? Of course. If you discover a dent in the leg of the ironing board you’ve put in your cart, aren’t you going to want to go back (over two acres or so) and exchange it for an undented one? Of course. And aren’t you going to tell the person who’s driving the car that you’ll be “right back”? Of course.

Second bit of background info: I look fairly normal for an old lady, but there are hidden issues. I have chronic phlebitis in the varicose veins of one leg (Strangely, the other leg is as pristine as a teenager’s), I have arthritis in my spine that makes walking okay, sitting okay, but the one thing that’s not okay is prolonged standing. So, half an hour later, there I am standing with the cart by the check-out line, waiting. I dare not leave. I have the cart—I can’t push it everywhere to go in search of him, and I can’t leave it there. And he might come—from wherever he is—if I leave. I have no choice but to stand and wait. Not my strong suit in the first place. I am trapped!

I have him paged. Finally, he shows up. I tell him he’s rude. He apologizes. And I’m so ashamed—I know how he felt, having to make the most of the transportation, having nothing, needing everything. Not only that, but until today, I was no use to him at all because I was sick. Though my back is starting to ache, I’m immediately ashamed and apologize for my impatience. 

But the saga is just beginning. In front of us in the check-out line, there’s a woman incredibly obese, in one of those motorized carts, having the checker go through all her items and ring them up a second time, a third time. The line goes on forever. Carts of bagged purchases are unbagged, re-counted, and we finally decide to get in a neighboring check-out line.

I ask the checker about the woman still holding up traffic in the neighboring line. Does she know what on earth is the problem? No, but here’s what she says:

“You need a blessing.”

Turns out that she’s on a “40-day blessing challenge.” Kirk asks her if this has to do with her church. She answers, no, it’s just a personal thing.

We leave. I am guilty of telling Kirk he’s rude for his understandable lingering. He’s contrite for it. The woman is still in the check-out line; two people are trying to help her calculate her purchase (not complain about her). And our checker has just humbled us—by blessing us. And people ask me why I love the South. Because—where and when you might least expect it—there are moments of grace, sometimes called, “blessing.” Understanding is not required; it’s not even asked for.