We currently have twelve renovation projects going and on any given day, we are getting up early and hurrying out the door to check in on multiple houses per day (usually with a camera crew in tow). Not to mention, in the last month we have celebrated four of our kiddos birthdays, have a farm to run, are preparing for Berry Fest, have hosted out of town guests, and shuffled kids to camp. May and June are always busy but it feels extra crazy this year.
Because of a schedule shift in what we had going on this morning, I had the wonderful gift of an unexpected slow morning. I found myself reminiscing and came across a post from this same day in 2017. I remember this day and this experience as clearly as if has happened yesterday. And, I know, I needed this reminder today. I thought I’d share because maybe someone reading this does too. 🤍
June 13, 2017:
Two days in a row, I’ve spent my morning hours at the vet. Today, the kiddos were feeling extra wiggly and I needed a clone of myself in order to be in two places at once. I was slightly frustrated and frazzled.
Checking out, I noticed the candle burning on the counter. The candle signifying someone was saying goodbye to their beloved pet today.
Then, I glanced over and saw him. An older gentleman, in his 80’s, clutching an older, graying dog tightly to his chest. I smiled his way and turned back to sign my receipt. I kept feeling the urge to look his way. Feeling rude, I forced myself not to turn around again.
“Jenny, mind your own business. Do not be rude and assume anything. Just sign the receipt and leave. You have too much to get done, do not walk over to him. Just go home.”
^^ My thoughts even as I slowly approached the gentleman and the tear streaks along his cheeks came into view.
Placing my hand on his shoulder, I gently offered my deepest condolences.
For the next fifteen minutes, my littles and I had the great privilege of hearing this man’s stories- we learned about his best friend. He was saying goodbye after fourteen years together. He spoke with a cracked voice and tears flowed freely from each of us. I prayed with him and we shared hugs and more tears.
It was time. He walked slowly into the back room after one last hug.
I left that office with puffy eyes and tears continuing to stream, my heart fully aware of the life lesson tucked within this experience.
He was all alone. I could have walked right by and kept my eyes squarely focused on my seemingly important to-do list.
Keep your hands open, friends. You never know what holy encounter you will enter into today if you allow yourself to listen to the still, small voice rather than the clanging shouts telling you to not to bother and to mind your own business.
I’ll likely never see that gentleman again this side of eternity, yet, he impacted my life today profoundly. I was allowed into his tender grief and reminded of the significance of slowing down and offering compassion. ❤