three minutes
Friday night Mark and I attended a living room concert at the home of some friends. The performer was a folk singer by the name of Jason Harrod; at one time, he and his buddy Brian formed the duo Harrod and Funck. They were a popular act on Calvin's campus, singing toe-tapping acoustic songs about love, faith, geography, and young adult angst--things we could all identify with. Harrod and Funck parted ways years ago, but Jason Harrod is still on the music scene. He has ties mostly to Boston, but there are a lot of us in Whitinsville who used to follow him as a college students, and so he occasionally graces us with a concert in someone's living room. So there you are. That's where we were headed.
We stopped at the liquor store because the concert was BYOB. I found my wine of choice and got in line to pay. There was a woman in front of me buying two small individual-sized bottles of cheap white wine. She was sort of dressed up and looking ready for a night out. She asked the clerk how much the bottles cost and in a relieved voice replied, "Oh, good! I think I have enough." She pulled out a few dollars as the clerk rang up her purchase.
"$3.25," he said. (Tax.)
The woman had three one-dollar bills in her hand. "Oh," she answered. "I'm short a quarter."
I looked at the clerk, expecting him to wave off the tiny deficit and send her on her way, but he just stood there looking at her. She started to get flustered and spun around towards me.
"I--" I started to say.
"You wouldn't happen to have--," she asked.
"No problem." I replied. I looked at the clerk and told him to add the quarter to my purchase. Then I turned to her.
"Thank you so much!" she exclaimed.You have no idea. My husband never takes me out. We're going to a show. I'm probably going to be the only one there over twenty-five. But oh well, because this never happens." Her excitement was palpable.
I smiled back at her, knowing what it's like to feel hemmed in at home, knowing how much I look forward to the weekends when Mark and I can steal away for a few hours to have adult conversation. "What show are you seeing?" I asked her, trying not to focus on the dental work she could have used.
"Oh, I don't even know! Just some friend of my husband's down at the Lucky Dog."
I hadn't heard of it so I didn't have much to add. "Well, a night out anywhere is great. Especially a date. Have fun!"
"We will! Thanks again!" And she disappeared out the front door.
Later, I sat next to Mark at the concert sipping my glass of wine, listening to the music, and feeling grateful that doing this sort of thing with my husband is not rare or unusual. It's also not unusual for me to go to the store and pick up a ten-dollar bottle of wine. I honestly do not know what it feels like to be down to my last three dollars. Mostly, I just swipe the plastic.
Our family isn't especially materially wealthy by American standards, but I reflected that night on how rich our lives are. We have a place to call home that is comfortable and warm. We have three beautiful children who have the freedom to attend private Christian school. We have each other. Mark and I. A dozen or so years ago we made vows in front of family and friends that we were 100% committed to each other for 100% of the rest of our lives. Even though we don't always pull it off perfectly, it's a promise we both feel secure in. It's a promise we raise our family on.
I don't know anything about the woman I met in line that evening, other than the fact that she was low on cash that night. I can't presume to know anything of her marriage or her family or the ways in which the world weighs on her. And I don't presume to compare my life to hers, having spent only three minutes with her. But I can tell you her genuine gratitude for a quarter reminded me of the genuine gratitude I often lack.
I owe her a thanks. I'll never miss those twenty-five cents, but I'll remember our three-minute encounter for a long time to come.
We stopped at the liquor store because the concert was BYOB. I found my wine of choice and got in line to pay. There was a woman in front of me buying two small individual-sized bottles of cheap white wine. She was sort of dressed up and looking ready for a night out. She asked the clerk how much the bottles cost and in a relieved voice replied, "Oh, good! I think I have enough." She pulled out a few dollars as the clerk rang up her purchase.
"$3.25," he said. (Tax.)
The woman had three one-dollar bills in her hand. "Oh," she answered. "I'm short a quarter."
I looked at the clerk, expecting him to wave off the tiny deficit and send her on her way, but he just stood there looking at her. She started to get flustered and spun around towards me.
"I--" I started to say.
"You wouldn't happen to have--," she asked.
"No problem." I replied. I looked at the clerk and told him to add the quarter to my purchase. Then I turned to her.
"Thank you so much!" she exclaimed.You have no idea. My husband never takes me out. We're going to a show. I'm probably going to be the only one there over twenty-five. But oh well, because this never happens." Her excitement was palpable.
I smiled back at her, knowing what it's like to feel hemmed in at home, knowing how much I look forward to the weekends when Mark and I can steal away for a few hours to have adult conversation. "What show are you seeing?" I asked her, trying not to focus on the dental work she could have used.
"Oh, I don't even know! Just some friend of my husband's down at the Lucky Dog."
I hadn't heard of it so I didn't have much to add. "Well, a night out anywhere is great. Especially a date. Have fun!"
"We will! Thanks again!" And she disappeared out the front door.
Later, I sat next to Mark at the concert sipping my glass of wine, listening to the music, and feeling grateful that doing this sort of thing with my husband is not rare or unusual. It's also not unusual for me to go to the store and pick up a ten-dollar bottle of wine. I honestly do not know what it feels like to be down to my last three dollars. Mostly, I just swipe the plastic.
Our family isn't especially materially wealthy by American standards, but I reflected that night on how rich our lives are. We have a place to call home that is comfortable and warm. We have three beautiful children who have the freedom to attend private Christian school. We have each other. Mark and I. A dozen or so years ago we made vows in front of family and friends that we were 100% committed to each other for 100% of the rest of our lives. Even though we don't always pull it off perfectly, it's a promise we both feel secure in. It's a promise we raise our family on.
I don't know anything about the woman I met in line that evening, other than the fact that she was low on cash that night. I can't presume to know anything of her marriage or her family or the ways in which the world weighs on her. And I don't presume to compare my life to hers, having spent only three minutes with her. But I can tell you her genuine gratitude for a quarter reminded me of the genuine gratitude I often lack.
I owe her a thanks. I'll never miss those twenty-five cents, but I'll remember our three-minute encounter for a long time to come.
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