From a journal entry September 25, 2000. . . . .”I meant to come down and write this story last week when it happened but again I did not. Whether I am becoming lazy or whether just tired, I don’t know. But when I was unloading the car of groceries in front of the house, a car came by with a young woman in it. She pulled up in front of the house next door and parked. She got out of the car and approached me with a slip of paper. She was looking for a street address which she had written on it. I told her this was the seven hundred block and she would do well to go down the next block to the East. She was a little thing, probably in her thirties or so and she said in broken English that she had come to a garage sale a few days ago and when she got home she realized that she did not pay the woman enough for whatever she bought.
I said well, that is awfully good of you to come back with your money and I know the woman would appreciate this act of honesty. No, no, she said, my God sees me. My God sees me. And that is why she was coming back. I said, thank you, thank you. For I had fueled my body with resentment to get my errands done and had forgotten momentarily what I was all about. I was grateful to be reminded that when I am at a loss for a good reason to do things, the one reason should be reason enough. My God sees me.
I brought the groceries into the house and was coming out to put the car away. I saw a car slow down in front of me and the window slid down. It was the young woman from before and she said thank you to me again for she had found the woman and returned the money. No, I said, thank you. She smiled and waved herself away. I think about her and can see that face with her scarf binding her hair and the smile crumpling a dignified demeanor. And I am grateful again for being reminded that even with feelings not seen by the outside world, my God sees me. Anything that corrodes my Spirit needs to be worked on immediately.”
(And today with so much flooding our circuitry, it is easy to forget the basic lessons. I am grateful for the written word.)