A cricket to bring you joy
Two weeks ago I was waiting at the exit door of Costco, stuck behind a cluster of arguing Asians and a tribe of Arab women who had stashed their receipt somewhere in their clothing and now couldn't find it. I didn't mind. I enjoy watching people, and the ones in front of me were treasures of human behavior.
The voices, the search, and my amusement escalated for several minutes. Then an older Costco associate arrived and beckoned me over. He was pleasantly stout, and I felt sure that if he removed his glasses his beaming face would look just like a gray-haired smiley icon. And he was singing as he beckoned. "Step right up, step right up, right over here, right over here."
In Mark 10, Jesus meets a rich young man who is just a fear away from the Kingdom. It says that "Jesus looked at him and loved him" (v.21). I know love is a choice. But there are some people you just look at and love. Maybe that's what gave me confidence. I looked into his eyes laughing as he Sharpie-slashed my receipt and said, "That's quite the voice. In another existence, did you sing opera?"
"No," said he, catching my eye without missing a beat, "but - in my next life, I might very well be a cricket." And he smiled almost conspiratorially, and chuckled.
I walked away laughing when I really wanted to cry. I was so overwhelmingly happy that some people still sing at work, that some people keep their imaginations even after they go gray, that of all people I was chosen to share nonsensicality with this precious stranger. And I wondered if that innocent joy would be our home in if we didn't let our fears intervene.
My roommates and I go through lettuce and tomatoes like little rabbits. Four days ago we ran out and I went back to Costco. I was hoping I'd see my friend the future cricket again. And there he was at the door. He didn't look like he recognized me, and I didn't mind. I smiled at him over the box of lettuce and tomatoes and asked hopefully, "Are you my friend who was going to be a cricket in another life?"
He stared at me for a minute before the lights went on. And then his amazement was palpable. "It's you. You remember that???"
"Of course," I said. "It was the highlight of my week."
Men have this little-boy grin they hide most of the time. Every time I see it - on my brother, on a stranger - it makes me want to dance. As I walked to the car I wondered whether the person in line behind me was wanting to dance now, too.
My friend Anna used to quote John Goldhammer: she wanted to be "a sandpiper to bring you joy."
A cricket is perfectly fine with me.
The voices, the search, and my amusement escalated for several minutes. Then an older Costco associate arrived and beckoned me over. He was pleasantly stout, and I felt sure that if he removed his glasses his beaming face would look just like a gray-haired smiley icon. And he was singing as he beckoned. "Step right up, step right up, right over here, right over here."
In Mark 10, Jesus meets a rich young man who is just a fear away from the Kingdom. It says that "Jesus looked at him and loved him" (v.21). I know love is a choice. But there are some people you just look at and love. Maybe that's what gave me confidence. I looked into his eyes laughing as he Sharpie-slashed my receipt and said, "That's quite the voice. In another existence, did you sing opera?"
"No," said he, catching my eye without missing a beat, "but - in my next life, I might very well be a cricket." And he smiled almost conspiratorially, and chuckled.
I walked away laughing when I really wanted to cry. I was so overwhelmingly happy that some people still sing at work, that some people keep their imaginations even after they go gray, that of all people I was chosen to share nonsensicality with this precious stranger. And I wondered if that innocent joy would be our home in if we didn't let our fears intervene.
My roommates and I go through lettuce and tomatoes like little rabbits. Four days ago we ran out and I went back to Costco. I was hoping I'd see my friend the future cricket again. And there he was at the door. He didn't look like he recognized me, and I didn't mind. I smiled at him over the box of lettuce and tomatoes and asked hopefully, "Are you my friend who was going to be a cricket in another life?"
He stared at me for a minute before the lights went on. And then his amazement was palpable. "It's you. You remember that???"
"Of course," I said. "It was the highlight of my week."
Men have this little-boy grin they hide most of the time. Every time I see it - on my brother, on a stranger - it makes me want to dance. As I walked to the car I wondered whether the person in line behind me was wanting to dance now, too.
My friend Anna used to quote John Goldhammer: she wanted to be "a sandpiper to bring you joy."
A cricket is perfectly fine with me.
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