The Little Country Post Office

The post office in my town closes at lunch time.
Every day from 12:00 to 2:00, the post office window is shut.
People can still go inside to get mail from their post office box.
However, sending a package and buying stamps cannot be done during those hours.

I live in a small town.
The post office is a little country post office.
The workers have to eat their lunch.
More times than I care to admit, I have timed my post office trip incorrectly.

You think that I would plan it better.
You think that I would do my post office run before I do anything else.
Sometimes that is possible.
Sometimes I have an appointment that I must get to on time.

I needed to send some packages to my son, who lives in D.C.
It is his birthday soon.
I wanted him to have his presents on his actual birthday.
I didn’t want to hold them until I saw him in a few weeks.

I had an early appointment.
I knew my post office stop would have to be after my appointment but before lunch.
I was trying to time it precisely.
I remembered there was another post office near the location of my appointment.

That particular post office is quite large.
I do not enjoy going there because it does not have that small town feel.
Since I had more things to do, I thought that I would just go there.
I got inside and saw that the line was almost out the door, which is unheard of in my little town.

I waited a bit but decided to leave; the wait would make me late for the next thing I had to do.
I drove towards the next place I needed to be.
I thought that I remembered a post office along the way.
I turned onto a street and there it was, just as I thought.

I went inside this little country post office.
Only one woman was ahead of me.
This is the kind of post office I am used to using.
It is not about the wait time; it is about the personal touch.

I noticed that the postal worker had a lovely accent.
I was trying to decide where she once lived.
I heard her say certain words and thought I narrowed it down to possible places.
In a few minutes, it was my turn.

I stepped up to the counter to mail the packages to my son.
After answering the questions about the contents of the boxes, I was told the cost to send them.
I was told when my son can expect them.
I handed her the money.

You have a lovely accent, I said to her.
Where are you from? I asked her.
I’m from England, near Manchester, the woman said with the British accent I love.
You have a lovely accent, too, she said, Are you from Australia?

I giggled.
I knew that I sounded different to her as well.
However, I had no idea how this woman heard a bit of an Australian accent in the way I spoke.
That was a first; I have never heard that before.

Everything that is happening in London hurts my heart, I told her.
I know; it is just awful, she said in a serious tone.
My mum and sister are still over there in the town where I grew up, she told me.
Why can’t we all just get along? She pondered.

I realized it was the second time in a span of two weeks that someone asked that question.
Like the time it was posed before, the question was asked rhetorically.
Even though it was asked rhetorically, there was a desire to have a real answer.
Why can’t we all just get along?

I think about that, too, I admitted.
We don’t have to all agree with each other but we do have to respect each other, I said.
That is so right, the woman said, we have forgotten.
We have forgotten, I said, but maybe you and I can help people remember, I remarked boldly.

Maybe we can, she said.
I really think we can, she said with a new resolve.
There were no other customers in the post office during our conversation.
That is the beauty of a small town with its personal touch.

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.
(John 13:34,35)

Two women from either side of the ocean met because of packages that needed to be sent.
For a moment in time, two women resolved to make a difference.
Two women resolved to make a difference in our little corner of the world.
That resolution was decided in a little country post office.

It does require resolution on our part.
It does require us to be intentional in our treatment of others.
It does require us to give respect and to expect respect in return.
It does require treasuring our differences instead of focusing on them as a point of contention.

I left the little country post office smiling.
Australian, I said out loud and laughed.
Why can’t we all just get along?
Maybe you and I can help people remember.

I got in the car and it started to downpour.
It had been sunny a minute before.
I drove a short distance in the torrential rain.
The rain stopped as quickly as it started; the sun shone brightly.

The rain washed away the yellow pollen on my car.
The rain made the streets glisten.
It was a cleansing rain.
We can make a difference; we must.