Last Friday was my birthday. December 14th - all day long. I actually try to celebrate all month-long, but on the day, on my special day, I give thanks for this life I get to live. I look back at the year gone by and look ahead to the year yet to come.
This has been a momentous year for me - especially these past six months.
Why? So glad you asked.
Because I have a job, my friends. A real job. A full time job. And I love my job.
As I drive to work every morning, at some point along the way, I say some version of this statement, "Thank you, Jesus."
I cannot believe that I get paid to visit people who are sick and grieving and in need.
I cannot believe that I paid to sit with them and talk to them and pray with them.
I cannot believe that I get paid to write people notes and cards.
I cannot believe that I get paid to preach the Word of God and encourage the people of this community of faith to hang onto hope, to hang onto each other, and to hang onto the One whose birth we will celebrate in just a few days.
My husband tells me that I shouldn't say that out loud too often,
so I will keep it to myself - and share it with you all.
I love my job.
A couple of months ago, a dear friend of mine said, "I can't believe you tricked them into paying you to just be yourself." She's right. What an amazing gig. I'm so glad I get to live it. I love my Caldwell peeps. Big time.
Anyway, last Friday, my daughter and I went to the mall on my birthday. I had a gift card burning a hole in my wallet and since it was my birthday, why not go spend it? I ended up buying a lot of pairs of socks. I needed socks. I have a lot of athletic socks for walking. I have a lot of those very small socks that I wear with my Converses. I have three pairs of super thick socks for the few days a year when it's cold enough for thick socks here in Charlotte. But I could find only one pair of knee high socks that would work with a skirt and boots for work. Only one. How can this be? So I used my gift card to stock up on socks for work - because I have a job, a job I absolutely love.
After I paid for my socks, I reached out to my son and invited him to join us at the mall so we could get a cup of Starbucks together, all three of us - me and my two beloved children, in whom I am well pleased. So Kristiana and I found seats near the fountain in the center of the mall and did one of our favorite things - we people watched. Oh, the outfits. The gaggles of kids. The women with several large bags from several stores. The man with the enormous Louis Vuitton shopping bag - almost the size of a garment bag. What on earth had he just spent a fortune on??? She and I sat there waiting and watching. Watching and waiting. Finally, my sweet boy arrived. Together we walked to Starbucks, just a few storefronts from where we had been sitting.
Apparently, we weren't the only people with the idea of giving our money to Starbucks; the line was long. The young woman in line ahead of us gave up hope and left the line a couple of moments after we arrived. I turned to my kids and said, "That's the kind of attrition I like. I think we should start coughing on the other people in line." We didn't do that, of course. The good news is that the line moved faster than we expected, and within ten minutes we were seated on stools, staring out at the people walking past and talking about this year and years gone by.
I like birthdays and anniversaries of special days. I remember days and dates of memorable life events pretty well. This year on Tuesday, November 6th, I recognized the six year anniversary of my kanswer diagnosis. It was Tuesday, November 6th, 2012, the day of the second election of President Barack Obama, when I got the worst news of my life: breast kanswer. It was Monday, November 26, 2012, the Monday after Thanksgiving, when I had my first chemotherapy treatment.
On Friday, December 14, 2012, nearly three weeks after my first chemo treatment, my children and I were sitting in a Starbucks having a drink, celebrating my birthday when my dear friend, Karen, called me from Sandy Hook, CT, and asked me to pray because she had heard that there was a school shooting there in her hometown. Little did any of us know the scope of the tragedy that was taking place less than a mile and a half from her house.
Last Friday, I reminded my children of the sorrow of that day. My prayers continue for those affected by that terrible act of cowardice and violence. I continue to be disgusted that our national leaders still haven't made significant changes to our gun laws. Shame on them. Truly.
Anyway, last Friday, we sat there and talked. We laughed. We shook our heads at some of the outfits and hairdos that we spied from our high stools at Starbucks.
Then I thought, "Let me pull out my phone and see if I've gotten any emails or texts that I need to respond to.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I carry a big bag. All the time.
I like big bags and I cannot lie.
So I dug through my big bag and couldn't find my phone.
I dug through the bag of socks I had just just bought and couldn't find my phone.
Uh oh.
I dug through both bags again.
I asked Daniel to call my cell phone.
He did.
SOMEONE ELSE ANSWERED!
Daniel said, "Who is this?... What?...That's my mom's phone... Where are you?... What?... Okay, thanks."
Someone had found my phone and was sitting where we had been sitting before we walked to Starbucks.
I jumped off my stool and sprinted back to our previous resting place.
My phone was on the arm of the chair where a man who appeared to be Middle Eastern sat.
I grabbed my phone, hugged it to my chest, and thanked him profusely for holding onto it.
He said, "No problem."
His accent confirmed my suspicion that he was from somewhere far from North Carolina.
He went on, "I was ready to leave the mall, but I didn't want to leave your phone here."
Counting back to when I had gotten up from my seat,
I realized that we had been in Starbucks for at least 40 minutes,
and the entire time I was oblivious to the fact that someone who wanted to be on his way,
someone who had his own life to live and his own stories to tell, was sitting there,
patiently and protectively guarding my phone.
I wanted to hug him, but I also know that in many cultures,
it is not proper for men and women who are not related to touch one another.
So I refrained from touching him, but I thanked him verbally several times.
Each time I thanked him, he said, "No problem."
As I walked back to Starbucks, all I could think was, "He was my Christmas Angel."
Thank you, my angel. And thanks be to God.
