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,
and
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.
