Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him. (Psalm 126: 5-6 NIV)
The huge box almost hit the ground with each step. If only I was taller, the heavy load would have been easier to carry across the parking lot. The trek into Barnes and Noble, down the concourse of the mall and then to my destination seemed like an endless journey. When I stopped to rest, a man with a similar box noticed me.
“After I put this in my car, I will be back to help you,” he said.
“Thank you so much,” I said remembering how Alan used to carry my computer to the Apple Store for me.
After he left, a young woman who had been on her phone by the door, hurried to me.
“I will help you with that. She pointed to the Apple logo on her shirt. I was taking a break and talking to my dad. I saw you and told him I needed to go help someone,” she said.
“Thank you.but I need to tell that man who was coming back to help.”
She yelled at him that she was helping and picked up my computer box. Taller and forty years younger, she easily lifted my burden. Through the bookstore and down the mall, I hustled to keep up with her.
After she helped me check in for technical service, I told her my computer woes. My desktop died months earlier and my laptop stopped the previous day. With no working computer and both old in computer years, it was time for a new one.
She helped me purchase a new desktop and suggested a backup device. I explained that as a writer, I needed to get to my writings and hoped they would be able to transfer my data.
“What do you write?” she asked.
“Mostly devotionals. I wrote a book of them.”
“I write but I am not a writer,” she said.
“If you write, you are a writer. Thank you for carrying my computer. My husband used to do it for me but he passed away,” I said.
“I am so sorry. My fiance passed away three months ago.”
“I am sorry,” I said.
Her eyes revealed pain and sadness. We understood each other. In the middle of the bustling store we shared our grief. We hugged and talked. She showed me pictures. I felt her pain.
“When do you get off work? I want to give you something.”
“In an hour.”
“I’ll be back,” I said.
My trip to the car was lighter and with purpose. I picked up one of my books and signed it for her.
In the crowded store, I searched for her. She came to me.
“I wanted to give you one of my books about grief,” I said.
I told her about Griefshare at my church and invited her to also attend a service with her daughter.
She told me people kept telling her she should get into a grief group. When she visited her pastor mom, she went to church but found it hard when she was working on Sundays. Our church has Saturday and Monday services.
With each bit of advice I gave, she nodded and smiled. Several times, she said others had told her the same thing.
We could have talked for hours but I didn’t want her to get in trouble since she was working. We hugged again.
“God brought us together,” I said.
“I know He did,” she replied.
God showed up for both of us. Each part of our time was perfectly orchestrated. Her break. My trip across the parking lot. One thing after another. We could have easily missed the opportunities by not sharing our stories but thankfully, we didn’t.
Seeds have been planted, but only God knows if she will attend church and the class. I pray that our connection and time together offer encouragement and hope.
Heavenly Father, thank you for all of the opportunities you make for us. Help us to notice and take time to connect. Amen
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