Smiling At Hellmart

I tried a little something new today. I walked into Hellmart for me weekly trip with a smile on my face. Weird, right?

As I pulled into the parking lot, I spied a woman who could have easily been me--nondescript (but kinda beautiful anyway), pushing a cart full of groceries that will contain "nothing good" according to her family, and a scowl on her face. Without even looking in the mirror, I realized I had a scowl on my face as well.

I decided then to smile.

I have resting bitch face--I own that.

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I also own the fact that people who smile draw smiles in return, they are less stressed out and less stressful, and they are, well, generally happier. So, I plastered a smile on my face and went grocery shopping.

I smiled at people, I spoke nicely, I really had an enjoyable trip to Hellmart. As my grocery cart (and bill) was piling higher than I would have liked, I smiled anyway and didn't seem stressed out. Whatdoyaknow? It works.

Then I saw her.

Several years ago, I was the target of a cyber, although very public, attack by some small-minded people. And standing before me was the leader of this attack. She was standing there with her boyfriend/husband (whatever) and her child who was in the cart calling out "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy" and being ignored. I don't know if she saw me initially, but I saw her--and her resting bitch face.

My first instinct was to stop smiling. But I didn't. I smiled, grabbed what I needed and moved on.

As I headed to the checkouts, she just about ran into me ... not on purpose, though. I widened my smile and said, "Excuse me," as I maneuvered my cart out of her way (even though I clearly had the right-of-way).

Her scowl got scowlier, her shoulders slumped even more, her head dropped and she looked the other way.

I continued smiling as I checked out. I wondered about her and if she was as unhappy as she appeared. (My guess, based on my personal experiences with her, is that yes, she is as unhappy as she looks.)

Then I walked out with a cart full of groceries. I stood beside the car and clicked my clicker. It didn't work. I tried the key. It didn't work. Finally, still smiling, I jiggled the handle to find it unlocked.

It wasn't my car, of course. I realized that when I slammed it shut and walked toward the next aisle over where my car waited for me.

The whole time I smiled. It was the least stressful trip to Hellmart I've ever had.

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Life's to short to do anything other than smile.

In The Next Life

My dad, prior to accidentally blowing up a basement science lab at OCU in Oklahoma City, was a theology/religions major. Apparently, he had an explosive minor. He was raised Catho-bapti-methodentul. He settled as a Methodist when I was about three years old because it was the closest church with the most open mind. 

He loved a good religious conversation. He liked to cuss and discuss scripture. He was confident in his faith and nonjudgmental about yours. 

At some point during my teen years, he opened the door to find the Jehovah Witness parishioners on our stoop. Actually, he was probably tinkering in the garage when they approached him. 

He discussed faith with them and soon they actually became friends. My dad's thought was that if they needed to put in time witnessing in order to get into heaven or whatever, who was he to stop them?

And, while there were a few Saturday mornings that my dad was out when his friends showed up which resulted in my mom, sister and I crawling around on the floor whispering, they were very nice people. When my dad had his stroke, they brought groceries to the hospital. When he was released, they brought groceries to our home. Nice people indeed. 

Because of my dad's desire to not stand in they way of anyone's journey to an eternal paradise, I find myself being sympathetic to the plight of the ill-times door knockers. 

Yesterday morning found me answering such a knock. I had been wide awake since an ungodly hour but had just put on some yoga pants with my frumpy pajama top. When the doorbell dinged, it was only after I'd answered that I considered my attire.

"Good morning," the older lady belted at me. "We'd like to talk to you about your spiritual- ness."

I nodded my head and kicked toward the cat who thought he was going to escape. 

"Are you firm in your beliefs?" She quested. 

"Yes," I answered, noticing that my pajama top was misbuttoned."

"Are you firm in the afterlife?" She asked, and I imagined she was actually smirking.

I stopped myself from rebuttoning my shirt and said, "Oh yeah! I believe that well all be completely healed when we get to heaven. No more flab on this body."

Wordlessly, she handed me her literature and left. 

I realize now that she probably wasn't making a comment about my appearance. 

My dad was so much better at religious conversations. 

My Goal for the Week: Fishing and Faith

Yesterday morning in church, I was listening to Pastor Jeff's sermon at East Cross UMC. For those of you who know me and know my family well, you'll find it hard to believe that I was listening because you'll find it hard to believe that I was allowed to listen. But, I was.

The sermon was part of a series about Margin. Margin is the "extra" that you have in your life. Extra time, extra opportunities, even extra finances.


Unfortunately, I (individually) and we (mi familia) don't have a lot of Margin in our lives. Every last minute of our days seem to be occupied in one way or another. We're teachers, so our fiscal Margin is locked up pretty tight. Our margin? All the way around, it's tiny.

As in tiny.

The first week of this series, Pastor Jeff handed out mini-composition books and asked us to take five minutes out of every day to be still, be quiet and be aware of any messages God might be speaking to us and to write those down at the end of the five minutes. Sadly, I fell asleep the first three times I sat still and quiet for five minutes. That, my friends, is how much Margin I don't have.

Yesterday, however, I was reminded of a folk tale from Cuba or Guatemala or Africa (I'm not up on geography) that I taught to my seventh graders my first year of teaching. I've always loved this fish tale and in that moment when I was still and listening, I heard what I was going to have to do to get my Margin.

A Fish Story

In the village, it was common practice for the villagers to give to the church their tithes and offerings whenever it became available to give. If a sold a donkey on a Thursday afternoon, he'd go directly to the church to give his offering. If a woman received a payment for a payment for her crops on a Saturday night, she'd go directly to her pastor and give her offering.

This was true for non-monetary offerings as well. If there was a bumper crop of corn, a portion was taken to the church to feed the poor. If a pig was butchered, a portion was taken to the church to feed those who were hungry. If a tree were cut down for firewood, a portion was stacked at the church for those who needed heat and warmth. 

A young boy who was well known around the village went fishing one day. Excitedly, he ran to the parsonage to find the priest and give his first official offering.

"Father! Father!," he cried carrying a large fish in one hand and his pole in the other, "I am here to give my offering!"

The pastor took the fish and smiled. "You must have had an excellent day fishing! If you are offering this fish to the Lord, then that must mean you've caught ten fish."

The boy smiled even bigger and said, "Not yet."

Source

I love it. I love that this kid's faith was leading his every single movement. This kid was so sure, so certain that he'd have a bounty, that he made his offering first and then set out to finish his task.





This week, I will believe that my Margins will enlarge. I will do what I'm called to do first, and then I'll do what I need to do and what I want to do. That, my friends, is my goal for this week.

What do you have planned for this week?

My Favorite Things: Goodness

This week's events involving Duck Dynasty's Phil Robertson, GQ, and A & E have taken the top news slots on local and nationwide news venues. It's occupied 90% of my social media feeds, and it's a headliner of dozens of magazines in the checkout line.

Also this week, South Sudanese rebels kept US citizens from leaving their war-ravaged country, there was a(nother) deadly school shooting in Colorado, and US Troops were killed in action in Afghanistan.

Still, the top story was the whole Duck Dynasty /A & E diatribe.

I really have nothing to say about the aforementioned debacle--everything's already been said. I do however want to share some good news with you:  

Goodness is still happening.

A stranger paid off $10,000 worth of Kmart layaways for strangers this week because he wanted to.

Seventh grade students collected boxes full of goodies to send to Afghanastan, specifically to two of their classmates's dads who are deployed there.

An individual found himself with an unneeded trailer home, fully furnished, and gave it to a homeless family.

Goodness and good news exist.  This week when my faith calls me to celebrate the Good News incarnate, I'm choosing to look for goodness. 

It will not be found on the television nor the news papers and probably not in my Facebook newsfeed. But, I'm confident in the fact that I will find goodness in my life. I hope you find it in your life this week, too.