Shopping is probably the most fatiguing thing I do, and so probably the most satisfying, because it is probably the activity I can most conscionably consider Work. And I do require myself to work every day, and I am grateful my husband validates as Work activities like sitting down with a heating pad at my back, reading on my Kindle. Reading makes me a better companion, and therefore contributes to the household, and thus is Work.
Driving to Safeway this morning, I found myself actually enjoying the school zones and adhering to the speed limits; in fact, I decided to challenge myself to enjoy them, rather than rueing them, every time I go out. There is nothing I can do to challenge the drivers behind me whom this may frustrate from time to time to enjoy them with me.
But the girl, the young woman, the young mother. I was thinking of her with reference to Work. She looked between 17 and 19. It was her first day on the job at Safeway, and the fellow who bags and dislikes taking groceries out for customers, suggested she take out my groceries, since it was her first day. I suppose taking out groceries, like everything else, has a learning curve to it.
Immediately, she opened up to me that this was her first day on the job. Without a breath between events, she disclosed that this was the first day she left her two-month-old baby at home. Who was home with her baby, I inquired. A sitter. Not a friend, not someone she knows. They have day care where she lives, she said. How very French, I thought. I thought this because I began reading A Tale of Two Cities last night. I wanted to read A Tale of Two Cities for several reasons of historical interest, including its backdrop to Bastiat; but also, because the new president of France seems to spark hints of the spirit of Robespierre.
But one of my dearest friends was just cheering today the final decree of adoption by her sister and brother-in-law of their baby — my friend’s cherished nephew of nearly a year — reminding me of God’s goodness everywhere, its manifest blessing in the forever family, and the grace of discipline to persevere when so many doors around us appear open only because they are unhinged.