My days are full of tasks and demands that put me on a treadmill that’s hard to back away from. But taking a risk and initiating a short conversation with a stranger reminded me of something far more important than getting the next thing done.
Julia had summer school this season. Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, she would sharpen her reading and math skills and get some time hitting the rock on her communication with some speech therapy.
In true “divide and conquer” fashion, Jocelyn typically handled transportation on Tuesdays and I did Thursdays, hanging out at a nearby coffee shop that was a little off our beaten path. We’d get some work done and then pick Julia up for whatever summer camp she was doing.
Yesterday was her last day of school, so this was my last hour for the season at this less frequented coffee shop. But my routine was interrupted with an exchange I didn’t expect.
Just about every time I came, there was a woman who sat at a table by the door, intently coloring simple drawings with colored pencils. She would quietly hold a conversation with herself, sometimes in full sentences, other times in whispers of exclamation and delight.
In the weeks before, I treated her with quiet bemusement and got on with my day and its myriad tasks and demands. Today was different.
I started a page in my journal wondering what kept me from engaging with her. She used her outside voice when she spoke to people and could be a little overly familiar by conventional standards.
A lot of the time, I and everyone else took that as enough of a reason to keep a wide berth. Most ignored her or treated her with polite dismissiveness. But a few would engage, and though she didn’t get their names right all the time, her conversations (though loud) were simple, direct, kind, and devoid of guile.
And as I processed it in ink on paper, it became increasingly clear to me that I needed to walk across the room and talk to her, trusting eternity with the results.
Her name is Shonda and she is my new friend.
She lives in Highland Park and takes a long bus ride to work across the street as a dish washer. But she always comes early to sit at her spot in the coffee shop to do her artwork.
She asked about my family and I shared about Julia. Shonda immediately pulled out one of her colorings for me to give to her. She promised to pray for us.
I asked her if I could take her picture and she readily agreed; so I asked her to display the pencil set that she loved so much – a gift from a well wisher on the coffee shop staff.
And I was reminded that there is unforced good in this sometimes heartbreaking world.
For all of the disengagement she gets from most people, Shonda has chosen to lean in and engage in a public life. She’s found her life-giving routines and ways to connect. There are people of goodwill who lean in and nourish her life and her art that I will never meet.
But the assumption the existence of that benevolent network didn’t let me off the hook to become a part of it – if only for a little while.
One would think that having a kid with special needs would make talking to differently abled folks a natural skill for me. It is for some.
But for me, it’s not. It’s a muscle that I have to intentionally exercise – but I never regret it when I do.
Moreover, meeting Shonda made me ask what I – we – miss when we stick to our agendas and just walk by people who are different from us.
I was reminded of my readings of Henri Nouwen that some of the best moments in life are when we take an intentional step away from “mine” and, in this case, get to know someone you normally wouldn’t.
The writer of Hebrews reminded me further. I like the rendering of the admonition from the King James translation:
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
~ Hebrews 13:2
The agendas and tasks of life that we obsess over are, for lack of a better description, legitimate and good. But at their best, they are a means to something far more fulfilling.
We are deeply designed for human connection and community. Personal achievement can be good; but it turns hollow when it becomes an end unto itself, and further blackens when disconnected from its eternal purpose of service to others.
That was the nudge I got from Eternity yesterday. It was an invitation to a quiet act of obedience to the good and rebellion against the stronghold of self:
“Walk across the room and say hi.”
Shonda eventually had to say her goodbyes and head off for work. I needed to finish up and go get Julia; but I penned one last line in my journal that day:
“This is why I am at the coffee shop today. This is the appointment I was intended to keep.”
I’m going to be making time to swing by there once in a while and connect with my new friend. I know I’ll be better for the interaction.
People We Don’t See ~ Shonda
Julia had summer school this season. Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, she would sharpen her reading and math skills and get some time hitting the rock on her communication with some speech therapy.
In true “divide and conquer” fashion, Jocelyn typically handled transportation on Tuesdays and I did Thursdays, hanging out at a nearby coffee shop that was a little off our beaten path. We’d get some work done and then pick Julia up for whatever summer camp she was doing.
Yesterday was her last day of school, so this was my last hour for the season at this less frequented coffee shop. But my routine was interrupted with an exchange I didn’t expect.
Just about every time I came, there was a woman who sat at a table by the door, intently coloring simple drawings with colored pencils. She would quietly hold a conversation with herself, sometimes in full sentences, other times in whispers of exclamation and delight.
In the weeks before, I treated her with quiet bemusement and got on with my day and its myriad tasks and demands. Today was different.
I started a page in my journal wondering what kept me from engaging with her. She used her outside voice when she spoke to people and could be a little overly familiar by conventional standards.
A lot of the time, I and everyone else took that as enough of a reason to keep a wide berth. Most ignored her or treated her with polite dismissiveness. But a few would engage, and though she didn’t get their names right all the time, her conversations (though loud) were simple, direct, kind, and devoid of guile.
And as I processed it in ink on paper, it became increasingly clear to me that I needed to walk across the room and talk to her, trusting eternity with the results.
Her name is Shonda and she is my new friend.
She lives in Highland Park and takes a long bus ride to work across the street as a dish washer. But she always comes early to sit at her spot in the coffee shop to do her artwork.
She asked about my family and I shared about Julia. Shonda immediately pulled out one of her colorings for me to give to her. She promised to pray for us.
I asked her if I could take her picture and she readily agreed; so I asked her to display the pencil set that she loved so much – a gift from a well wisher on the coffee shop staff.
And I was reminded that there is unforced good in this sometimes heartbreaking world.
For all of the disengagement she gets from most people, Shonda has chosen to lean in and engage in a public life. She’s found her life-giving routines and ways to connect. There are people of goodwill who lean in and nourish her life and her art that I will never meet.
But the assumption the existence of that benevolent network didn’t let me off the hook to become a part of it – if only for a little while.
One would think that having a kid with special needs would make talking to differently abled folks a natural skill for me. It is for some.
But for me, it’s not. It’s a muscle that I have to intentionally exercise – but I never regret it when I do.
Moreover, meeting Shonda made me ask what I – we – miss when we stick to our agendas and just walk by people who are different from us.
I was reminded of my readings of Henri Nouwen that some of the best moments in life are when we take an intentional step away from “mine” and, in this case, get to know someone you normally wouldn’t.
The writer of Hebrews reminded me further. I like the rendering of the admonition from the King James translation:
The agendas and tasks of life that we obsess over are, for lack of a better description, legitimate and good. But at their best, they are a means to something far more fulfilling.
We are deeply designed for human connection and community. Personal achievement can be good; but it turns hollow when it becomes an end unto itself, and further blackens when disconnected from its eternal purpose of service to others.
That was the nudge I got from Eternity yesterday. It was an invitation to a quiet act of obedience to the good and rebellion against the stronghold of self:
“Walk across the room and say hi.”
Shonda eventually had to say her goodbyes and head off for work. I needed to finish up and go get Julia; but I penned one last line in my journal that day:
I’m going to be making time to swing by there once in a while and connect with my new friend. I know I’ll be better for the interaction.