On the second day of my 29 Days of Giving, the kids and I were scheduled to travel to Chicago. Randy was attending a conference; we would join him for a family weekend of museums and new experiences. Carefully, thoughtfully, we packed for Chicago.
After our suitcases were filled, we packed for the dog. Bedding, dish, food and treats... check. All ready. The guinea pig was watered, her hay strewn around and her food bowl filled to the brim.
Finally, there was the train. A long train ride requires something for children to do so we hatched a plan. The cookies we baked on the first day of the challenge would become the snack, and the gift, for the second. We made so many. Surely we could give them away to strangers, bring a little sweetness to the day. That would be an activity, along with books and Gameboy and a few small toys.
All loaded down, we drove away, dropped off the dog, and made our way onto the train. We felt lucky to secure a seat for for 4, with 2 seats facing the other 2. We settled in for the long journey. Maia buried herself in her book. James and I talked and watched for the time when we could give our cookies.
Half a dozen people rode in the car with us. We'd only traveled about 20 minutes when James was ready to get up and walk around. He took the bag of cookies and approached a couple, but they were fast asleep. Looking back for approval, he went to a middle-aged gentleman reading a newspaper. "Would you like a cookie?" His offer was declined. No one in our car wanted the cookies we had made!
James came back and sat down, defeated, and we went on with our activities until Michigan City. A the station, a woman boarded our car. Cafe' au lait skin, hair curled close to her head, she leaned on a cane as she moved slowly down the aisle. She sat just behind Maia. Then suddenly, she stood and limped back toward the train doors. By the time she got there, however, the bell rang and the doors slammed shut. The train pulled out of the station.
She looked so distressed as she inched back to her seat, mumbling and shaking her head. I wanted to offer her a cookie right then, but felt shy about intruding. When she got up to use the rest room, I decided to offer the cookie as she returned to her seat.
She gratefully accepted and sat down with a sigh, closing her eyes as she bit into the cookie. Looking up, she smiled at me, then got up again to sit next to Maia. The story came pouring out. She was on her way to take care of her mother in Chicago, who has Alzheimers. She had forgotten her cell phone, and in it was the name and number of the young man who would pick her up at the station to take her to her mother's home. She didn't know him, didn't know what to do. As upset as she was, she still chuckled at the irony of needing a cell phone when for most of her life, she had no phone at all.
Munching another cookie, she told of her siblings taking turns caring for their mother, of her son who had died and left boys for her to raise, of her daughter who joined her aunts and uncles in caring for a woman who needed attention 24/7. She sighed. She didn't know what to do.
It was simple to offer her my phone to call her daughter. Within 2 minutes, her daughter had given her the young man's name and phone number, my new friend contacted him, and it was all handled. Easy as pie. Or a cookie. She settled down and we talked more, about growing up in a 2 bedroom apartment with 12 siblings sharing one bedroom, about having nothing, and yet being blessed beyond measure.
That was the second day, the second gift. Only it wasn't a gift I gave, but a gift I received. A cookie is nothing, really. Some sugar, a little flour, a bit of chocolate. Seeing God at work on a train to Chicago, now that is a gift.
1 comment:
Really cool!
Post a Comment