We Each Have A Story

I was on a search for a patio umbrella.
With the changes happening to our deck, it was time to freshen up some other things as well.
I wanted to keep the same hexagonal glass top table and the same chairs.
However, I wanted to change the tan color of the metal table to black.

My husband worked on it over the weekend.
It looks like a brand new table.
The umbrella was the only thing I wanted to buy new.
You would think it would be easy to find a nine foot patio market umbrella.

They are out there.
However, they were not the color I wanted.
Many did not have a black pole.
Some did not have a crank.

I bought one at a home improvement center.
I brought it home.
The tan color was too washed out against the stucco that is near the deck.
I told my husband that I was returning it.

I went to the original store but didn’t like any of the other colors.
I went to another home improvement store, but they were mostly sold out.
I decided that I would just order one online and hope for the best.
I stopped at a market that I usually do not go to, on my way home.

There were hanging baskets and potted plants out front.
The day was a windy one with temperatures in the 30s when I woke up.
I felt sad for the plants that are not supposed to be out in cold weather.
I hoped that the beautiful plants would not be damaged by the severe drop in temperature.

A tall, older gentleman was watering the plants with a long hose.
I gave him a lot of credit for doing such a thing with the wind whipping around him.
There in a display next to both entrances were nine foot patio market umbrellas.
They came in various colors.

I looked at the price and couldn’t believe my eyes.
They were half the price of the sale price of the umbrella I just returned.
The colors were deeper and richer hues.
The pole was black.

I was sold.

I chose the color I wanted and put it in a cart that was nearby.
The umbrellas were in stands, so the long poles were already assembled.
I knew that I couldn’t walk into the store with the umbrella sticking out of the cart.
I knew that I would easily hit someone or something.

I walked up to the man watering the plants.
Excuse me sir, I said smiling under my mask.
I want to buy that umbrella but I would like to leave it here while I go inside to pay.
There was a pull off ticket that I was to bring inside to the cashier.

You go right ahead, young lady, he said with an accent.
I will watch it for you, he added, as he tipped the tweed cap that was on his head.
I thanked him and went inside with the pull off ticket in my hand.
I paid for the umbrella and got my receipt, holding it in my hand.

I walked back out towards the plants.
I waved my receipt in the air.
I began to push the cart with the nine foot umbrella sticking out the front end.
The man in the tweed cap put down the hose.

Wait young lady, he said with the wonderful accent.
Where is your car?
I pointed to my car, which was about four cars down.
He hoisted the nine foot umbrella on one shoulder and walked next to me.

I opened the back of my mini van and he easily slid the umbrella between the seats.
He instructed me as to how I should get the umbrella out when I got home.
You have a wonderful accent, I noted.
Where are you from? I asked, already knowing the answer.

Scotland, he said proudly.
Glasgow actually, he added.
I know two people from Glasgow, I said.
Alistair Begg the pastor, and James Herriot the vet, I said feeling quite pleased with myself.

I wanted to clarify that I meant I know of them, not actually know them, but it didn’t matter.
Have you ever been to Scotland, he asked me.
No! I went to England many years ago.
I would like to see England, Scotland, and Wales one day, I told him.

He proceeded to tell me the best way to go to Scotland was via a cruise ship.
He told me that there is a train that you can take all around Scotland.
I felt that I was getting a travelogue right there in the parking lot.
The wind was whipping around us.

Let me tell you something, he said leaning a bit closer.
My wife was the first policewoman in Glasgow.
How long did she serve? I asked him.
She served for fifteen years, but it was hard, he said.

It was hard because she was a woman and she was the wrong religion.
I could tell the memory of that time was as fresh as if it was yesterday.
I didn’t need him to clarify the reasons because I understood perfectly.
I’m sure you’re very proud of her, I added.

Aye! He said with a smile that I could detect under his mask.
What’s your name, young lady? He asked.
I told him.
I asked him his name as well, said goodbye, and got in my car and drove home.

Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:16)

I pondered our conversation as I drove home.
I thought about how each of us has a unique story.
I thought about how we never get a chance to know each other’s stories.
They will remain unknown unless we ask and take the time to listen.

People are interesting.
We are never only what we seem at any given moment.
We are so much more.
We have a history that has formed our character along the way.

God knows every thread in our tapestry.
It is not for us to know the entire history of someone we just met.
However, I challenge you to try and listen to at least one story every week.
You will be surprised at the amazing lives people have lived if you just ask them a few questions.

2 responses to “We Each Have A Story”

1. Challenge accepted! Now pray that I remember to be more interested in other people than I am now. It will be the Spirit’s nudging.

   Reply

   • Sweet Paula, we can pray for each other.
     I don’t think any of us have this mastered!
     Gina

     Reply