The sign above the packaged figs in the produce section of the grocery store read, $2.49 or three packages $2.25 each.
The elderly woman pushing the cart beside mine stared at the neatly arranged packages and shook her head. 鈥淚 vant vun only. Vy for do I pay more for chust vun? Tree, I鈥檓 not buyink. I can鈥檛 pay.鈥� Her strong accent made me smile.
鈥淚 know. It seems crazy doesn鈥檛 it?鈥� I didn鈥檛 like this giant store鈥檚 pricing policy either, but I dropped the three packages required for the discount into my cart. Still muttering, she rolled her nearly empty one away.
At the crowded checkouts, I noticed her again. One counter over, just ahead. Fumbling to arrange her purchases into her few bags 鈥� no checker bagging at this store. Suddenly recent positive impulses I鈥檇 had, then made flimsy excuse to ignore, flooded my thoughts:
The note I鈥檇 wished I鈥檇 written and didn鈥檛, only to find out later how much of a difference it would have made in my friend鈥檚 life. The impulse I鈥檇 ignored to call someone, because I thought it may take up too much time. The rainbow I鈥檇 missed forever because I wanted to finish the dishes. The child I didn鈥檛 make time to play with, the pot of soup I didn鈥檛 share...
My heart pounded. The elderly woman had hefted her bags and started for the door.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 $87.65.鈥� The clerk extended her hand in my direction. I stopped packing my groceries and reached for my wallet.
What if our good impulses just stopped? How many does one have to ignore before we just don鈥檛 hear them anymore? Suddenly I was afraid of myself, of what I鈥檇 become if I waited to find out. I know people like that. People who don鈥檛 care a fig. People without a shred of charity or spontaneity. People who鈥檝e gotten so practiced at stifling that small sharing voice that even their faces appear pinched. People who, before you even shake their hand, you know it鈥檚 cold.
I held up my finger. 鈥淛ust a sec, please. I鈥檒l be right back.鈥� I grabbed one of my fig packages and started running, ignoring the dismayed customers in line behind me.
I must have frightened the old woman, thundering up like that. Nestling the figs in one of her few bags, I whispered, 鈥淗ere鈥檚 a present for you, love. Have a nice day.鈥�
She froze. Then across her apple-doll face spread a smile so wide I suspected it met itself somewhere at the back of her head. 鈥淕ot blessink you!鈥� she sputtered.
Jesus was right when he said it鈥檚 more blessed to give than receive. I鈥檓 sure that woman forgot about me the moment her fig package was empty, but the little kindness that didn鈥檛 escape warms me still. These days, I care a fig.聽
