A funny knock me in the arse sort of moment from the Holy Spirit:
I was at the cancer clinic today, lingering with the ladies as we celebrated one of the doc’s birthday’s devouring an ice cream cake in one gulp, and I made some comment aloud about the doc being born in June and how I want to plan my next baby to be born in June (like I have all the control…NOT). Across the way, a woman who has confided some of her journey of infertility with me, looked at me and said with tones of pain rising from her barrenness, “Shanel, are you trying to get pregnant again?” There was hints of unbelief and sorrow and longing all mixed together. I am not trying to get pregnant, just to clarify for all of you. I retold this interaction to one of my closest chums at the clinic and emphasized the sadness and loss I could see in this other woman’s face as I made this flippant comment about being able to get pregnant whenever I wanted and actually sync conception with specific dates I would want to give birth in. My chum, who has much compassion in her big heart that oozes out her chocolatey brown eyes looks at me and with full conviction in her voice says to me, “Shanel, you should pray for her!” I instantly replied, “I have been praying for her.” “No, Shanel, you should pray for her the way you prayed for me ‘that one time’. This is the thing you need to know about my chum, actually a few things: she is an agnostic Russian Jewess who has very little knowledge of the stories and legends found in the Scriptures of Judaism. I find myself telling her the stories of the Passover, the crossing of the Red Sea, Cain and Abel… But there was a season of intense grief and tearing in her life not too long ago and one day I pulled her aside, in my Shanel-sort-of-way (with a little force), and laid hands on her and prayed for God’s intervention in her loss and to bring justice to her plight. It was one very short, simple but obviously memorable prayer for this chum. It has stuck with her these past years. And here she is sitting before me exhorting me the way a strong Christian sister would egg me on to pray for someone when need is presented in our midst. I love that Jesus would stir an agnostic Russian Jewess to prod me in the right direction. A Balaam’s ass of sorts. I felt thankful for her and that such simple prayers leave such deep grooved imprints in the hearts of those around me. I must pray more.
A daughter of Trudi moment:
Two months ago, Ivan in his kind and generous way, went clothes shopping for me at Nordstrom Rack. I was in need of work pants and was short on time so he thoughtfully went and purchased some items. Unfortunately, none of them fit and I had every intention of returning them. Yet I am short on time and they have sat in my car with the receipt in the bag for two full months. This evening, after work as I dilly dally’d before my knitting group, I ran those errands I can never get around to because the kids are with me or I am running here or am too dead tired to deal with it. I went into Nordstrom Rack and as the cashier looked at the receipt he informed me that there is a 30 day return policy. Frack! He mentions that he could call a manager. No I tell him in a defeated and deflated way, mostly because I just threw away $137.88! Frack x 2!! I leave the store kicking myself and feeling disgusted by the loss of money when money is so tight. I get to the car, heave a sigh and call Ivan to vent. He consoles me. I go to turn the key in the ignition and it occurs to me, “I am a daughter of Trudi! What the hell am I doing? I have nothing to lose and I have Trudi-skills on my side.” Back inside I go and the red headed cashier sees me and smiles. I smile back. I walk up to him and say straight-up, “What do I got to lose? Can I speak with the manager?” The manager comes out, a little man in a full suit. I smile my most charming relaxed smile and use the straight-up maneuver again, “Sir, I am here asking you would extend mercy and overlook the time delay in returning these items. I was unaware of the 30 day return policy.” He looks at me and asks to see the clothes which are all folding neatly with the tags still on them. “You can exchange them right now for something else in the store.” Woot! So I got to shop. It was quite fun actually. New towels for the bathroom and the beach. Some socks for Ivan and me. A few tops and a comfy pair of jamma bottoms. I was thrilled and thankful that I have the people skills my mom gave me and thankful for mercy.
It occurs to me that I am actually making some Waukegan friends sort of moment:
The Waukegan knitting group I have been going to more regularly since Scarlet was born is meeting in this charming fiber store in Grayslake called Prairie Arts and Fibers for the summer (shameless plug). As we all sat around the big oak table tonight, knitting and enjoying one another’s company, one of the women began to share. She began to cry and cry and cry and couldn’t stop crying as she vulnerably shared of her own sort of loss and grief just oozed. It occurred to me that in order for this woman to lose it, so to speak, there had to be some depth of relationship and trust. And I felt honored and thankful. I have nestled my way into this little covert knitting group and I feel it to be a treasure and a blessing. I have longed for friends that live locally. Women I can call up and hang out with, invite over for a last minute dinner, walk to their homes, play with their children, do life together, you know? And I think it might be happening. I have little pop up seedlings of relationship such as these that I am just amazed by as I watch them pop through the soil of my life, my neighborhood, my community of humble Waukegan. And I am so thankful.
And lastly, a delight in Audrey moment:
I walked in the back door into the kitchen this evening and there was a makeshift vase made of one of my small candle holders and a mini boquet of Audrey’s new found treasure: clover. I smile and say to Jesus, “Thank you for this little one.”