It’s such an ordinary evening.
I’m just sitting there alone in Panera with my laptop and the best tuna sandwich I’ve had in ages. Deadlines loom large and Pete is home with kids so I can squeeze more hours out of a beautiful spring evening.
My head is full of the tapestry of women. How their lives blend across borders and time zones through laptops and shared stories and I carry their faces in my heart.
I write reports and remember two days on Twitter that changed my world when worlds collided and friends met for the first time. The sun slants in; the computer and this seat are warm.
The mango smoothie is labeled “simply summer” and I drink down a promise of fireflies and late nights at the pool with our boys. I’ve already bought Zoe’s swimsuit. It’s all pink with layers of flaunted ruffles and I stroke it sometimes when I’m changing her – it lying on the changing table so I can smile at it now and then.
Families come and go around me and I’m lost in my keyboard until out of the corner of my eye I see 2 parents pull their daughter from a booth and rip her T-shirt off her small brown body.
I blink.
My intuition outstrips my neurons.
Coffee is pooling everywhere. Seat, table, floor, small T-shirt.
The businessman a table across flicks a glance and keeps spooning soup. The guy in the baseball hat at the table with the friends and their laptop keep talking. Cashiers keep ringing up hungry diners.
I’m up with hands full of napkins and I don’t say anything – just thrust them at her mother and she grabs and wipes and runs for the restroom, tiny body gripped firm between her and her husband.
I blink.
Two boys are left at the table. A turned over handbag, a wet pocket book.
We look at each other.
I go for more napkins.
We wipe and the hot seeps through the wad in my hand.
“That must have been scary?” I ask the boy who is frantically mopping alongside me.
He nods a jet-black head of hair.
“That’s your little sister?”
More nodding, more wiping.
We all sit and wait and watch the bathroom door.
I wonder at my shaking hands, this knot in my throat. I want to hug that gangly body all nerves.
She comes back and the little one looks up at me. I ask if she’s OK and from under her scarf her mother nods.
“I have a daughter too.” I offer the words and they come out a whisper laced in tears.
This tie that knots us together. This impenetrable commonality. This motherhood.
“Yes,” she says.
Yes.
Arm around her daughter, picking up a dripping wet bag, they shepherd out and home I’m guessing.
I sit down and blink back the hot emotions.
The tuna and pickle are still on my plate.
And the setting sun blinds me.
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Thanks for the reminder not to be so self-absorbed that we miss what’s happening around us … and to quickly claim those opportunities to show mercy and grace. To grab the napkins. To sit for a few minutes. To share a simple word. Or a tear.
As Christ-followers, to help others mop up the spills and near misses that define life is our calling.
Linda – I LOVE your last line. Such truth. I do believe I’ll write it down and keep it with me :) Have a good day!
You my friend, remind me to be revel in being a mama more than anyone I’ve ever “met.” I was going to say “read,” but “met” is far more accurate. Thanks for making me want to cry and hug my loves every day :)
Ugh. Typos abound. sigh… ;)
Beautiful!
This was… so beautiful. I’m feeling your fear and my heart jumps into my throat. Thank you. I hope that tiny girl is OK.
Isn’t it amazing that we will just jump to help another mom in an emergency? We feel so protective of other children, and we know how fast circumstances can change.
I am so grateful to moms who leap to help without being asked, and I only hope that I am as quick to lend a hand as well.
this beautiful post shares the truth about
the bond between mothers. a glance and
a helping hand mean the world to us.
What a powerful image. A great reminder to be present and allow the Holy Spirit to work through us.
Blessings,
Jan
Oh, my. Such good, good storytelling, Lisa-Jo. Thank you – for telling it, but mostly for living it.
Oh my goodness. My eyes started misting as you described the coffee, the little girl, the panicked parents. I have a 7 month old son and your story makes me think of him. Of how I would feel if that happened to him. I see the language we all share, it’s the fear and fierce love of a mother for their child. Thank you for putting it into words. We are not alone.
Beautifully written as always! You have such a gift for capturing the often-missed wonder of normal moments. I mean, you had me in tears over a spilled cup of coffee and a heart-wrenching “Yes!” Thanks for sharing and drawing out emotions.
Okay, this is reason 1003 why I love you, your family and this blog! All the emotions rising up in me are collected in the tears trying to spring forward. For this mother and her children (okay, me too) I say, thank you so much; I love you; I needed this hug which was manifested in your very presence and in your quick-thinking, mess-sopping actions.
I’m not a mother, so I’m not PART OF THE CLUB, but I’d like to think I would instinctively help the woman and her daughter. I think all women share some of the same woes and struggles, so we can all sympathize with each other.
Lovely post. Mama love translates across every culture.
Awesome short story! I enjoy reading your writing.
And I am also a fan of the panera tuna on honey wheat :-).
How quickly things happen! We just never know when the Lord will provide an opportunity to love. Beautifully told.
Beautifully written reminder that we must continue to be outward looking even when caught up in the details of our own lives. We cannot be the others who walked by, hoping that a good someone, like the Samaritan, would come along and help the injured man. We are called to action, to show His love and care.
I love how God uses the everyday events in your life to teach us readers. Thank you for the reminder that mothers really do understand each other. We really are NOT alone on this journey of motherhood. That is why I believe so strongly in programs like MOPS…why God asked me to be the coordinator for the one here where I live. I mostly gladly accepted. Your compassion and ability to see what is around you shows how you allowed God to interrupt you. You handled it with such love and grace. Beautiful.
Beautiful, my friend.
It’s in those moments, those snap out of the normal moments of reality, that life and fellowship happen. So thankful that you were there, with a pile of napkins, and cheering words on your lips.
As usual, blessed by you deeply.
Rachel
I often wonder if I’m just crazed or “feel” too much for those around me, you make me feel as if I”m not alone in this mixed up self absorbed society we journey with – so easy to get caught up in my own world and those moments remind me what the true focus is. Bless you.
So well-written! I do feel that bond, and I don’t think it is just a matter of being “part of the club” of motherhood. I think motherhood is a common bond, but so is our humanity, if we choose to recognize that. Thanks for this post!
I’ll never forget being at dinner with an older couple from our church. My daughter, then 4, started the heaving reflex that indicates what they just ate is about to make a reappearance. This dear woman cupped her hands and reached out to catch my daughter’s stomach contents.
She looked at me and shrugged, “I’m a mamma, what can I say?”
As a young mother, it was such a revelation of kinship with this dear lady. The memory makes me smile now.
Thank you for this story.
It doesn’t take that much to reach out in love and compassion, yet so many of us hold back, shy to get involved. Thank you for modeling a simple motherly gesture and letting us share that moment of connection–you met her eyes, and now we are gazing with love at you both, as well, sensing this impenetrable commonality.
This is told so tenderly and poignantly, I felt as if I were in Panera with you. Thank you for the loving nudge to live eyes wide open to other’s needs and pain. This is a kind invitation to us mommas to help when we can, be present always, and to live in community as life-givers. We all do need each other, don’t we. Glad I was here today.
Great post. It’s a reminder that we shouldn’t be so stuck in our own world that we don’t see what’s going on around us. And yes, I think all of us as mother’s understand what you meant about wanting to wrap your arms around him.
I teared up reading this. I’d do the same thing as you Lisa-Jo. You took a little pressure off. When they got home, I bet the had time to soak in God’s love through you. Even if they didn’t know it was Him. It was His way of saying “I see you.”
Thanks for helping her out. I’ve had my moments with my toddler and I am so very grateful for the women who’ve come and helped me out when my hands were just too full. But I’m more thankful that they just extended grace.
So glad I found your blog! LOVELY! May God bless you!
Lisa Jo, why am I crying again? Its a trend when I come to your blog. And in my world, tears are the surest sign of an amazing writer and person. I wish I could meet you in person and hug your neck :)
Janelle
Beautifully put. I’m all choked up. We need to continue to see through the agenda, through the differences, through our self imposed business to real people who Jesus loves. Gosh I’m so guilty of being too busy to love.
I was once the mama with the hot coffee and the little brown boy, but there was no Lisa-Jo. Thank you for being there for her from every mama that’s needed those extra napkins and words.