December 23, 2008 – Lola's Curmudgeonly Musings

Last Time I Checked

So, it’s Tuesday, December 23rd. The tree is almost decorated. The cards are mailed. The online order was messed up, and I had to call and be Ms. Nasty, now they are overnighting the order at no charge, and it should be here tomorrow. Now begins the great wrapping marathon. My right arm actually hurts more but is more movable, if that makes any sense. Getting a shot of cortisone is like that: you have to go through the pain to get to the better. I’m in the pain part and waiting for the better any day now.

How can a tree be almost decorated, you might ask? Well, my son has wrapped all of the tree limbs with the clear lights since my arms and back are not cooperating. And if you’ve read any of my previous blogs on the subject, I am very anal about the lights on the tree—they must be wrapped around the limbs, not just draped around the tree, making it an arduous process that I have done every year while everyone else watches. Brett has agreed to take on this task, and I have agreed to keep my mouth shut and be happy with whatever he does. We are just waiting for the prodigal to return so that we can all decorate with ornaments together. And we have the challenge this year of putting breakables high out of Tillie range.

I must remember to wrap presents in the correct order as we are having Christmas Eve lunch at my Mom-in-law’s house on Christmas Eve at the very odd time of 2 in the afternoon. So I need to wrap my nieces’ presents first. At least I can come home after dinner and do any last minute stuff, which there is bound to be. I had really hoped that this wouldn’t be a last minute kind of year, but alas, it was not meant to be.

Breakfast at McDonald’s

Just so you wouldn’t think that I’m totally self-absorbed, I thought that I would share the following story with you. It was sent to me as a forward in my e-mail, but unlike most forwards, I did not delete it right away. I read it, and it touched my heart so deeply that I found it worth sharing. I hope that you get something out of this story because it really represents what giving is all about. Remember, I am not the author.

Breakfast at McDonald’s

I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree.

The last class I had to take was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called, ‘Smile.’ The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions.

I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway. So, I thought this would be a piece of cake . . . literally.

Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald’s one crisp March morning. It was just our way of sharing special playtime with our son.

We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did. I did not move an inch . . . an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved. As I turned around, I smelled a horrible ‘dirty body’ smell, and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men.

He said, ‘Good day’ as he counted the few coins he had been clutching.

As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was smiling. His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God’s Light as he searched for acceptance. The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally challenged, and the blue-eyed gentleman was his salvation.

The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted

He said, ‘Coffee is all Miss’ because that was all they could afford. (If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm).

I held my tears as I stood there with them.

Then I really felt it — the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me, judging my every action. I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray.

I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue-eyed gentleman’s cold hand. He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, ‘Thank you.’

I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, ‘I did not do this for you. God is here working through me to give you hope.’

I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, ‘That is why God gave you to me, Honey, to give me hope.’ We held hands for a moment and at that time, we knew that only because of the Grace that we had been given were we able to give. We are not church goers, but we are believers.

I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand.

I turned in my project, and the instructor read it. Then she looked up at me and said, ‘Can I share this?’ I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read, and that is when I knew that we as human beings and being part of God share this need to heal people and to be healed.
In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald’s, my son, the instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student.
I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn: Unconditional Acceptance

Love People And Use Things — Not Love Things And Use People.

Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart peace-earth

To handle yourself, use your head . . . To handle others, use your heart.