Recently, there was a baby born in Tennessee. The mother was a teenager with no money and no means to raise a child. The father had already left the scene. Other family members opted not to be involved and were several states away, regardless. Mom had no suitcase or extra clothes for herself, much less insurance or transportation to the hospital. Did I mention teenager? She was ill equipped to understand the involvements of childbirth in the first place. Did I mention the baby’s father was older? Did I mention that he abandoned her when she went inside a store to purchase shoes after losing her only pair? Did I tell you she fled inside a Walmart and hid there until all the employees were gone, sleeping in the sporting goods section and birthing her baby in a tent she’d hastily assembled? Oh, wait, that’s a book turned into a movie, Where the Heart Is, starring Natalie Portman. She plays Nova Lee Nation, a down and out gal who garners the attention of the entire country after baby Americus was discovered nestled with mom on a Walmart aisle. Still, Walmart is a place where Miracles happen, yes?
I often wonder about the miracles of the Bible days. Why don’t we have them? This is something many people ask, as if that would make a huge difference in the fallen world we inhabit. We’re so broken, so at odds with each other, so cruel. Why can’t we get a few miracles? When you stop and think about it, I’m not sure miracles were appreciated or believed then. Jesus was constantly tracked, spied upon, and hunted by those who either discounted his miracles or felt they posed a threat. I am also not sure that we don’t have constant miracles right now in this world. Perhaps we are too jaded, too busy, too skeptical to believe them. Perhaps we see them as magic tricks, as imagination figments, or also as threats. Are they too subtle for us to notice over the noise of day-to-day life? Instagram reels too loud to hear the story about the suddenly clear cancer scan? Soccer practice too hectic to read about the lives spared in a crash that should’ve been fatal? Or, as many things in this world, have our miracles fallen victim to an ever-escalating comparison trap where oneupping each other leaves the things we should be delighted by seeming passé? Have we out miracled each other?
I was at Walmart this week. That’s a miracle to begin with, as I take full advantage of the Walmart + delivery service any chance I get. However, I realized I had neglected to purchase Ziploc bags, the ultimate genericization, yet again. I decided to venture over to Wally World – in person. I parked on my usual row. I do that without fail, as recalling my car location is not a given skill set. I stood outside my vehicle door and took inventory of the moment. Keys? Check. Wallet in purse? Check. Phone with grocery list typed in the Notepad app? Check. Reusable totes in hand? Check. Lookout world, I surely thought to myself. I’m going in.
I have the same routine each time I visit Walmart: enter, grab buggy, pull over in the candle aisle and get myself together. The sunglasses go into my glasses case and the prescription glasses go onto my head. Except, there were no prescription glasses in the glasses case. Egad, I left them in the cupholder of my car. Rather than waste time going back out to the parking lot and having an angry driver honk at me when I don’t leave my primo parking spot after grabbing my glasses, I pull what I felt was a masterful move. I sauntered over to the pharmacy area and snagged a jazzy pair of readers from the end cap. Now, I was kind to the reading glasses. I left the cardboard column on the earpiece. I left the stickers that said “scratch resistant” and “2.50” on the lenses. I must have looked like a lunatic walking Walmart with eyes strong enough to read labels but vision too blurry to see the end of the aisle. Still, I was able to choose the correct storage bags like a professional storage bag picker. I made my way back to the pharmacy and placed the readers back onto their plastic post as gingerly as Indiana Jones swapped out the Ark of the Covenant. I was careful.
Ducking back onto the candle aisle, I did the thing that careful shoppers tend to do – check the list one more time. That’s when I saw it, the two sentences I never wrote. Above Ziploc bags, above carrots, there were two strange lines. Likely, I walked by a person who said these things. Maybe they also said something that sounded like “Hey, Siri” right before that, cueing my phone to transcribe the message. Maybe the person’s voice sounded a lot like my own. Or maybe this was a miracle – something I was supposed to read or somewhere I was supposed to make a difference. My eyes became teary. I tore out of the candle aisle, racing through the store again, retracing my steps. I looked at every face. “God, show me who wrote this,” I said out loud. “God, point me in the right direction.” I searched the eyes of every shopper I passed. I couldn’t find them.
Exhausted, I returned to the candle aisle and said a prayer. I thanked God for allowing me to read the words. I prayed for mercy for the person who spoke those sentences inside of Walmart, whether out loud or in their heart. I prayed my words to His ears would make a difference. What were the sentences on my list, you ask?
“Please pray - I am in a bad way.”
“Please pray – I have no idea.”
Miracles abound.
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