Heavy rain had been pounding all afternoon, and the cold night air was slowly settling in. A slight breeze was creeping into the bundled rush of people. Hands were full of bookstore bags, mail envelopes, groceries, and small children—and big umbrellas trying to keep everyone and everything dry.
As I sat in the car waiting for my sister, I noticed the faces passing by me. Some looked weary, tired, and drained. I wondered how the day had been for them—a 12-hour shift perhaps, a sick baby, or was another defeat claiming their smile? Others looked energetic, contented, and happy. What had their day been like—good news maybe, a great baseball game, or were they on their way up the ladder of success?
A few minutes passed before I saw her—an elderly woman whose pants were thin and torn, hanging down to meet thick clashing socks above her ankles. A scarf warmed her neck, and a tattered plastic coat kept the rain from her skin. Her hair was wrapped in a bun and tucked beneath a shower cap. She walked hunched over carrying a plant in one arm and an umbrella in the other, while somehow also managing to push a filled grocery cart.
When she reached her aged green Oldsmobile, she placed the plant in the back seat and then quickly hobbled back to her cart. Grabbing one grocery bag at a time with one hand while carrying her umbrella in the other, she made her way back and forth between the cart and the car. She was getting more soaked as seconds passed, the efforts of her shower cap and raincoat failing with every tenacious raindrop.
I climbed out of my car and approached her. “Would you like some help?” I asked.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I can manage OK.”
I looked at her, then at her cart still full of groceries. “Let’s do this together,” I said. “It’s pouring rain.” We both grabbed a bag and hurried to her car. “If you stay here with your umbrella, I’ll bring the bags to you one at a time,” I told her. She smiled in relief.
When I had brought the last bag to her, she thanked me repeatedly. I told her that I was glad to help and wished her a nice evening. As she thanked me yet again, I looked into her eyes. Suddenly I was touched. This elderly woman had experienced significant pain at some point in her life, and it still clothed her heart. She smiled so beautifully, but her eyes claimed sadness. I put my arm around her and walked her to the car door. Tears stroked her face. She waved to me as she drove off.
I returned to my car. My clothes were now soaked, my eyelashes dripped with rain, my hair was showered with water, but the rain no longer rushed me. I stood, enjoying the freshness of the air, and absorbed in thoughts of the woman.
She was a ministry to me. She showed me that so many people are trying to carry an overload in a cold, dark world, and they’re getting pounded with rain while they’re at it.
Jesus wants us to help one another. He needs us to get out of our cars and help others carry their loads. Some of us are wearing just enough protective clothing to keep the rain out. Some of us are wearing just enough to keep others out. Others of us are good at balancing all the bags, and although our umbrella is tipsy at times, we manage to keep everything covered.
But most of us need someone who cares enough to get out of their own car, share our storm, and hobble beside us.
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Heather Vanden Hoven is a freelance writer living in Grass Valley, California. This article was published September 8, 2011.
