God's Children

     I'm back.  Finally.  Really I am going to try to stick to a blog a week.  Accent on "try".
     I have realized I notice things others miss.  Like a forgotten umbrella in a shopping cart or a forgotten child in a shopping aisle.  I seem to stumble upon these people and things habitually.  I usually don't mind, but I have to say here lately, it has been the norm.  "I am not the Statue of Liberty," I grumpily thought the other day, "I do not want your lost, hungry, huddled masses looking to me for help."
    As soon as this occured to me, I chastised myself.  Phrases like, "Nice Christian attitude" and "What if that was your grandma?" floated through my mind.  I thought about  my grandmothers then.  One was the embodiement of a nurse and loved and took care of everybody.  She once helped a lost little girl find her mother at a picnic.  A snapshot of love personified I will never misplace. 
   My other grandma worked for years with my grandpa in their Ben Franklin store.  She did everything, but  mostly worked in the fabric department being a super sewer.  She taught me how to find a pattern for people, especially those who couldn't bend to the lower drawers.  She was a patient and kind teacher and playmate.  She took me to Sunday school every Sunday and always read Dr. Seuss, Little Arch books and my big white children's bible to me.  (Fellow Lutherans will recall these items.)
   Both of my grandmothers were little in stature.  I, on the other hand, am a whopping 5' 11".  They both were so glad I was tall.  So, when the next lady asked me to get something off the top shelf at the grocery store, I thought of them.  Wouldn't I want someone to help my grandmothers?  And, if someone was nasty to them, I'd be the first to gut that person like a herring.  Momma Bear's protection mode stretches way past her children.
    My husband and I have unfortunately begun to learn what it is like to step into the parenting role with our parents from time to time.  It seems awkward, but we can do it.  We learned from the masters.  And we do it with love and patience, as much as humanly possible, like our parents did.  My siblings and siblings-in-law can stop laughing now.
    We've all heard, "it takes a village to raise a child".  Whether the child is five or 85, maybe God has given me this job for a purpose.  There really isn't anything I can't reach at a store.  And along with helping someone else's grandma, I'd want a stranger to look out for my children.  I once physically pulled a little boy back into the theater who had been separated from his mom in the crowd.  I was happy to do it.  Just like the lady who helped my daughter to the ladder in the wave pool when we became separated and things were much too wavy.  I had been right by her. It can happen in a moment.  And in that moment, we are the village.
    I thank God for my eagle eyes and long legs.  We used to say my dad had a super sniffer.  I guess I inherited the same type of gift in a different sense.  One may not always have the time, but love and loved ones really all do live in the same village.