I shushed a teenager in Target the other day.
…and then, mortified, I hap-hazardly pushed my bubbling, bouncing Bubs and the bright red cart to aisle 32 where I hoped she and her cell phone didn’t feel like perusing the shelves looking for the best deal on wipes and size 3 diapers.
Since when did I get so grumpy?
And so old?
And so un-understanding of teenagers, whom I love?
I stood there dumb-founded, absently staring at the generic box of sensitive-bum wipes before me, wondering whether or not I should hunt her down and apologize, or hunker down in between the blue and pink and wait it out till morning. I, of course, chose the latter, instead replaying the could-have’s in my mind:
I could have smiled at her, and then tried to beat her loudness in my own babbles to Canon.
I could have pulled out my own cell phone, and having my own imaginary, really, really loud conversation, beat her at her own obsessively loud game. OH NO SHE DI-N’T!
And I could have freaking pushed my cart to the next aisle and not gotten so self-obsessed about the 16-year-old who was breaking my peace and quiet in the discount shopping store.
I mean, the library, I understand. Nordstrom’s Savvy section? Absolutely. But Target? Oh Cara, shut the front door.
And so we admit our faults. We say, here in the blogosphere, to the poor, shushed-at teenager: I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was such a grumpy old lady. I promise to remember that I was once an obnoxiously loud teenager myself, and that I too sometimes have conversations in public places, probably talking louder into my little electronic device than I realize. And I promise to go get me some Jesus right about now.
Sometimes little tiny 30-second incidents like this help us realize the bigger picture: I need a break. I need some rest. And for me, who needs that spiritual bucket of my soul filled up, I need me some Jesus.
Come to me, all who are weak and weary, and I will give you rest.
Do you need a rest, a break, some time to close your eyes and breathe in a big inhale, and an even bigger exhale?
Well friends, grace-grace-grace: sprinkle this gift upon yourselves, receiving the fullness of its embodying do-over self. Then, think about what you need in order to be filled up again. Hire a sitter for three hours. Make a friend meet you for margaritas. Schedule a night off and hole up with a can’t-put-it-down book. [I’d recommend Carry On, Warrior for any mamas, and Gone Girl: A Novel for a good fiction read.] Or go, light a candle and shut the door to your sacred space, away from Facebook and email and Words With Friends, and meditate on the One who gives you life.
Isn’t it about time?
Just bein’ honest. xoxo. c.
(PS: Target, why, why is it always you? I’m gonna get myself kicked out of there if I’m not careful).0