
Disappointment coupled with increasing resentment had prompted
these little snits for weeks now, and most of the time Leah didn’t even care
that her husband was getting more than a little tired of it. “Leah, put down
the broccoli,” he would probably say if he were here. “You’re not mad at
groceries. You’re mad at life.” He might add that she was mad at God, but she
was trying to keep that possibility to herself.
Help, Lord. I’m not
really mad at You . . . very much. But I have been losing control of my
emotions. You might have noticed the broccoli incident just now.
Five minutes ago a photo on the grocery store wall of a family
around a Norman Rockwellian Thanksgiving table had been her latest undoing. The
photo was so big she could see the color of their eyes, and the woman who was
obviously the grandmother in the scene had short salt-and-pepper hair and brownish
eyes like Leah’s. Tears would have fallen right then if she hadn’t marshaled resentment to dam them up. The fake family looked so happy, so . . . together, while she and Jim
would be apart from their only child and his family, including their grandson, Bradley. Some Thanksgiving.
Why did Alex have to be transferred several states away in
September, why had Jim’s work schedule made it impossible for them to jump on a
plane and go to them for the holiday, and why had her only sister and her
family gone to Disneyworld? Serving the Thanksgiving meal at their church wouldn’t take her mind off her unhappy state for long. She’d spend
the evening with a book in her living room, feeling sorry for herself while Jim
watched football on TV. She’d rather die than go into the den and watch another family deliriously happy to be together for the holidays in a Hallmark Channel movie.
Leah glanced at her list to decide which way to steer her
cart next, determined to get her shopping over with so she could get away from the
crowds and any more Rockwell-like photos. As she headed toward the dairy
section, two toddlers across the wide aisle caught her attention. They were wearing
knitted Elmo hats with flaps that flared out from their ears. Four little hands
gripped the shopping cart handle over their heads, and a young woman pulled the
cart forward with one hand.
They stopped at a frozen foods bin, and three-year-old Bradley’s
face came to Leah’s mind. The identical twins had the same shade of blond curls,
escaping from beneath their hats to frame brown eyes and long eyelashes. The
young, blonde mother reminded Leah of her daughter-in-law, though she could not
have been more than five two to Leah and Lisa’s taller frames. She wore the expression
of a weary parent, and Leah’s focus shifted to the mom's immediate struggle.
Her first attempt to grip both sides of the turkey had resulted
in its slipping back into the depths of the bin, and at the same moment each
twin seemed to decide he wanted sole management of the shopping cart. Leah
pushed her cart as close to them as possible, stepped to the bin with her own
height several inches to the advantage, and smiled. “Hi. That’s a huge turkey. Let
me help.”
“Oh, thanks!” Young Mom smiled, though the weariness was
evident in her striking blue eyes. “I’m not doing such a great job by myself,
am I? Stores don’t seem to think about short people when they pack these
displays.”
Out of the corner of her eye Leah could see the boys had stopped
their shoving to watch the strange woman interacting with their mother. Maybe
Leah looked like one of their grandmothers. She reached to join the second
effort, and the two women lifted the turkey into the cart before letting it
slip to the bottom with a clunk. Then Leah turned her full attention to the future
recipients of a turkey feast.
“Who’s going to eat this big guy, Elmo or you?” Leah pointed
to their hats, and the boys giggled.
“Elmo doesn’t eat turkey!”
“Yeah, we eat
turkey!” Their faces shined with delight.
“You do? Well, you help your mom while she’s cooking that
turkey, okay?” The boys looked at each other as if confused by the idea that
they would be allowed anywhere near an oven in use.
“Thank you for your help.” Young Mom put her purse into the
cart with the turkey and placed one hand on each boy’s head.
“You’re welcome. I’m not short, but I know what it’s like to
corral young children in a store during a pre-holiday crush. My daughter-in-law
is living that life now with her three-year-old son. It can be exhausting.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re a big help to her.”
“I used to be, but she lives a few states away now. We won’t
see them until Christmas.”
“Oh. Well, I hope your Thanksgiving is blessed just the same.
It’s the holiday that starts Christmas.” Young Mom bent forward as her hands
moved to small shoulders, lightly gripping folds of their puffy coats. “Thanks
again.” She gently wrapped the boys’ fingers around the cart handle, took
position behind them, and maneuvered them all toward the bread aisle.
It’s the holiday that starts
Christmas? Leah stayed put for a moment wondering what she meant. Black
Friday? The Macy’s parade, where Santa makes an appearance at the end? Leah was
still thinking about it as she loaded her groceries in the trunk of her car.
Young Mom had made that statement with a certainty that seemed to go beyond
bargain shopping and character balloons.
“There’s that grandma!” The little voice behind her made her
turn. The same mom and her twins were at the back of the van next to Leah’s
car. “I’m sorry, but at least you already told us you really are a grandma.”
“Yes, I am—and proud
of it too.” Leah hesitated a moment, not wanting to overstep her standing as a
stranger. “This is a little weird, but do you mind if I ask you a question real
quick about what you said inside, about Thanksgiving and Christmas? I—”
“Sure. People ask me about it all the time. It’s something
my granddad taught us. Let me get the boys buckled in.” Leah finished putting
her own groceries in her trunk, tossed her purse into the passenger seat, and
waited. When Young Mom returned, Leah handed her bags from her cart.
“My dad’s parents hosted everyone in our family on their farm for
Thanksgiving. Granddad always said a prayer something like, ‘Our minds and hearts
are focused on Your many blessings today, Lord. But, too, we thank You for the
opportunity to begin preparing our hearts to celebrate Your greatest gift of
all.’ Then each family put out a nativity scene Granddad made to remind us of
that prayer. He was a fantastic woodworker. Anyway, it’s a tradition we wouldn’t
give up for the world, a sort of Nelson family Advent starter. An alternative
to, well, these days, a Black Friday mentality. I don’t know if that makes
sense to you—”
“Oh, it does.” The
twins were yelling for their mom now. “Thanks so much. I was puzzling over what
you’d said for the last thirty minutes. Thanks . . .”
“Jennifer. And the boys are Liam and Luke.”
“I’m Leah. I’ll take these carts over to the corral.
Good-bye, Jennifer—and thanks again.”
As she drove home, Leah mulled over her attitude for the
last few weeks. What had she been thinking? How had she let disappointment and
resentment push aside the attitude of thanksgiving she’d always tried to
cultivate? She had the blessing of family, a blessing not everyone had. They
might be apart for Thanksgiving, but they would be together at Christmas. The new separation still hurt, but letting her feelings override gratitude had been . . . no way to live!
She needed to apologize to Jim and tell him about Jennifer.
She’d tell him she thought the granddad’s prayer would breathe the hope of
Christmas into their Thanksgiving Day, starting a true Christmas right then, more than anticipating being with Alex and his family. Her
husband might wonder if her attitude change would hold, if Leah thought
Jennifer had been some kind of Hallmark Channel angel sent from God, if three
bags of frozen vegetables for two people should arouse grave concern. But God
woke up hearts all sorts of ways, and hers suddenly felt wide awake.
She also had a creche to get down from the attic, and for
sure she needed to look up some new broccoli recipes.
photo credit: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=197901&picture=broccoli-isolated-on-white
photo credit: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=197901&picture=broccoli-isolated-on-white