Jerry works as a bagger at a Kroger nearby. He is exceptionally friendly and engages me in conversation. That conversation always revolves around these topics:
he is 55,
he loves the show, Charmed,
he hopes to be the ball boy for the Detroit Pistons,
he really, really wants to be Boy Scout.
Most of the time Jerry is talking, I spend fretting because I've spent way too much on my purchases. I look at the things we could have done without, but they are things my kids love. Those four children always smile when I walk in with some of their favorite treats. So while I've spent far more than I should have, I did it to show my children how much I love them.
Yesterday Jerry put several packages of meat on top of a carton of eggs. He dropped the milk on top of the meat, and I felt my annoyance couple with my anxiety about the final bill. I was late to pick up one of my sons, but Jerry was only to the ball boy part of his discussion and I may have sighed.
And then it happened with no warning. I had an epiphany.
I was reminded that Jerry is as precious to the Lord as my own children are to me.
That thought literally rooted me to the floor.
With one last toss of a box of Clementines on top of a delicate and ridiculously expensive bag of apple chips meant for my son, Jerry reminded me:
"Ma'am, I really want to be a Boy Scout."
He didn't even seem alarmed at the motionless woman who stood there smiling and discreetly dabbing the tears in her eyes.