Sometimes, Angels Walk on Asphalt (part 2)

..."What?! Are you serious?!" I said out loud to no one in particular. "They are out of cream?! Are you kidding?!" This could not be happening.

"My husband just went to check," a kindly, older woman responded.

She must have seemed sympathetic because I found myself continuing. "I can't go to another store today. Not with my kids." I wasn't really talking to her. Not really. I think I was really talking to Jesus, as in, "Dear Lord, I am having a really hard time being the mom you want me to be. And, as a side note? Your birthday is really wearing me out..."

"Looks like you're headed for a melt down," she said as she took in my screaming baby.

"Huh? Oh, we're already there. (Sigh.) Well, thanks." I couldn't wait for her husband's return. Besides I had no faith that he would come back with any good news. What? They were stockpiling cream in the back? Highly doubtful.

"Good luck," she called as I walked back to my kids.

"Alright, guys. Let's get out of here. Stay with me." They sensed my short fuse and obeyed as I moved as fast as I could while trying to distract and quiet a baby who was past naptime.

The checkout line wasn't much better. What I needed was another couple of arms. The baby was still fussing, the others, while trying to help, mostly managed to trip over one another and end up in my way more than anything else. Just then my bishop from church walked by.

"Wow! Just in time. I'm in need of some service!" I was only half kidding.

"Oh, really?  How can I help?"

Although I thought the answer was obvious, I said,  "I'll let you have my baby today."  I was still only half kidding, but he declined the offer by saying he had five of his own or some such nonsense.

Left on my own, I was gearing up for the trip out to the car and trying to figure how I was going to rearrange the entire afternoon schedule to nap the baby ASAP and somehow still get the cream to make the dessert that needed overnight refrigeration.  Not to mention the thousand other details of Christmas which I refused to think of just then.  Sometimes being a mother is akin to planning the details of a Navy Seals mission with the happy addition of doing it while someone continually screams in your ear.

I could feel my blood pressure rising and the beginnings of a headache coming on, and that's when I saw the stupid firewood.  The stupid firewood that I needed to buy for the stupid firepit I had bought for Thomas for this stupid holiday.  It had been on the list for days.  The list that was still in need of completion. But I just couldn't go back in there.  Bone weary, it was all I could do to get the baby to the car.  I was desperate.

I turned to my children.  "Do you guys think you could buy that wood right there?  Take it into the register and pay for it?"  They looked at each other unsure.  "C'mon.  You can do it!  Here.  Here's some money," I said adjusting the baby on my hip with one arm and digging through my purse with the other while using one foot to keep the cart from rolling away.  "It'll be fine...Where is my wallet?  Okay, here!  Just stay together." They began to walk away.  "And watch for cars!" I called after them.

I worried and watched for them while buckling the baby in the car and distracting him with snacks for a moment while I loaded the grocery sacks in the trunk.  Relieved, I finally spotted them tugging the bundle of wood between them.  "Good job, you guys!" I called across the parking lot.  Right behind them I noticed the sympathetic woman from the dairy case.  I silently hoped she wasn't judging. 

Instead, as they drew nearer she called, "Did you get your cream?"

I couldn't believe it. "No!  Did they really have some?" I questioned as I moved to the children and relieved them of their burden.

"They did.  In the back."

"Well, wouldn't you know it.  Just my luck today," I complained, finishing with the bags and closing the trunk.

"Here.  You can have mine," she offered holding a large bottle of whipping cream up high a couple of cars over.

"Oh, that is so nice of you!  But no, that's okay," I gushed as I pushed the empty cart to the corral. 

When I turned around she was coming toward me, cream still in hand.  "No, really.  Here take it," she offered again.

My arms shot out reflexively, my hands waving her off.  "No, no.  That's yours! I can't take your whipping cream!  What will you do then?" I asked as she neared me.

"I can get some more.  I don't have any kids with me.  All of mine are grown now," the kindness in her eyes disarmed me now that I really saw her.

"But I--"

"Take it.  It's yours," she insisted and thrust it into my hands.  "Merry Christmas," she said, really meaning it.

I found myself hugging the cream to my chest.  A lump had suddenly sprung into my throat, and I had to swallow hard to get my thanks past it.  She just smiled, and I stood there, overwhelmed, watching her walk back to her car.  Unexpected human kindness is a beautiful thing, and on this day, for me, nearly miraculous.

My kids even felt it.  When I got into the car we all sat there for a minute until Logan said simply, "That was really nice."

"Yes, it really was," I wholeheartedly agreed, blinking back a couple of tears.  "That was a very Christlike thing to do."  I started the ignition and slowly backed up.

"She doesn't even know us," Griffin joined in.

"Nope, and we'll never be able to repay her...I guess the only thing we can do is to help somebody else like she helped us." 

And as we pulled away, I remembered that I really liked Christmas after all.