Moments later, I'm walking down aisle 4 staring between the Skippy peanut butter for $1.99, and the Adams peanut butter for $4.92. I haven't bought Skippy peanut butter in a decade. I attribute it to GMO ingredients. Adams reminds me of hippies and sunny ,organic farm co-ops. I'm too good for Skippy. I buy Adams peanut butter only, thanks. I remember the day that organic milk was a novelty. When the thought of eating Top Ramen became blasphemy. As all these thoughts run through my head I then remember the limited amount of cash in my purse. My hand hovered over the Skippy, and before I could reason with my inner health nut, I grabbed it off the shelf. I walked around the grocery aisles forever analyzing sales and prices. Discounted veggies, tortillas, cheese, cans of beans, and Top Ramen. There I was loading shiny, plastic, neon bags into my cart- with beef powder in the ingredients. This wasn't the Whole Foods, Disney Land experience. I took things out, I put things back- all the time asking..wisdom God, please.
Finally making my way to the front, I chose the self check out lines. Sometimes I'm sure they are there to remind us that humans are better then machines, job security for all the grocery clerks, and I learn this lesson for the hundredth time. I had it all planned out, I was ringing up groceries myself so that I could prioritize and not go over the amount I had, everything was carefully added up down to my last penny. Beginning to check out, the register begins telling me that an attendant will be there to assist me shortly, great. I stared at the screen helplessly and then reluctantly eyeball the attendant across the way, he's eager to help and insist that he'll take over for me, even though I practically plead with him to allow me to proceed alone. My plan falls apart. "You know", I said, "I was a cashier for years". . .It was to no avail. He was convinced he was helping.
Let me tell you, for those of us who like to remain anonymous and invisible while in public, this is our worse nightmare. All I could see was the middle aged cashier turning to me and announcing out loud for all the store to hear, that the amount on the screen was at a quarter of a hundred dollars, and which other groceries would I like to prioritize, so I don't go over? Why did I ever try to explain that I was prioritizing because of price? Ugh. Suddenly, I was aware of people looking, and if no one was looking, I was convinced they were. My face turned that certain shade of red, my eyes teared up. I was humiliated. I quickly told him to never mind the meat and the cheese. I said out loud how embarrassed I was, to explain the tears, and at this point I probably look like a crazy lady. Foot in mouth syndrome is the rare disease I sometimes carry.
Now it was a scene. Ladies and gentlemen, if you will turn to the self check out line, there is a woman in tears and a cashier ringing her groceries for her, the machine has taken over. Now out of the corner of my eye, there is a mom holding money out to me and insisting that I take it, because its the "holidays", her kids have "more then enough". A swirling scene of self-conscious hell hit me like a wave. "The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference", what was that saying? I took the bills, and thanked her. It was a feeling of defeat. Somehow I had failed. Somehow I had become a charity case in the QFC. Sometimes humility looks like defeat.
The clerk reassured me that I didn't need to be embarrassed. He told me about the one bedroom apartment he lived in, 40 min away, across the city- and how much it cost. We lamented about the high cost of rent in Seattle, and talked liked old friends. The woman came back over to me and made sure I had enough to check out. I thanked her, gave her a hug, and searched for excuses and reasons to tell a stranger why I needed help. I left the store with my head down. I felt ashamed but grateful.
I have no courage to pray. It's not hard to see why. I'm afraid to ask for help. Dare I say there are many of us who are? In our self-reliant, anti co-dependent society, we are taught to fend for ourselves. Asking for help is a sign of weakness. Asking for wisdom was saying, sometimes I don't have any. I prayed for wisdom and God gave me the wisdom to pray.
I got home, fell over my hastily loaded grocery bags, one breaking, and poured the story out to my husband where I teared up all over again. I received my second hug in an hour.I smeared my Skippy peanut butter on my plain white bread with preservatives I couldn't pronounce, and ate it with contentment and humility. Sometimes wisdom is receiving, A slice of humble pie was not the way I intended to start the holiday season.
"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him." -The book of James
"I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not:As those that fear they hope, and know they fear". Shakespear
