Chance Encounters...

I have been going to a mom's group at church lately.

I'm pretty good at leading groups. I'm good at watching groups. I'm even pretty good at planning groups.

I'm not really good, however, at being a part of a group, especially one that involves people that I don't know well.

Unless, of course, there's tequila.

In which case, I love groups.

But I soon realized that this group is made up of moms who are a lot like me. Most of us are in a similar place in our lives, and can relate to each other in the way that is shared only by moms who have just scrubbed peanut butter and/or syrup off the walls for the third time in an hour, before grabbing their children, and their shoes, and their sippy cups, and hoping that they all somehow end up in the right place by the time they reach the child care room at church.

And the few moms who are in a different place in their lives are able to remind the rest of us that someday, our lives will consist of other things besides diapers and sippy cups and puddles of syrup on the floor. And that some day we will actually miss these days. And then those moms say things like "It really doesn't get any easier. Just different",  which makes the rest of us want to go find a group with tequila.

But we don't. Because this group is also about God. So we talk. And we pray. And we share stories of hope, and grace, and kindness, and faith.

And really, what else does a frazzled, half insane mom need more than those things?

Mostly, we talk about how, even in our hardest moments, God is there. In the details. Even when we don't always realize it.

So I have been thinking a lot about what I can do to find God in the details. I have been trying to be more mindful. Of myself. Of others. Of what's going on within me. And around me.

And that's kind of where I was yesterday as I pushed a cart through the Trader Joe's parking lot, and noticed a woman walking around her truck as if she was looking for something.

I put the groceries in the car. I put the kids in the car. I noticed that she was now sitting on the curb looking under her truck. So, as any of us would, I asked if she was OK.

She said she had locked her keys in the car and she was looking for the spare that her husband had hidden underneath the truck. Then she said her purse and phone were locked in her truck, too.

I gave her my phone, and she called her mom, who didn't remember where the key was hidden. She handed me my phone back.

"Do you want to call anyone else?" I asked

Like maybe the guy who hid the key?

"No, thanks. I can't call him. He passed away".

Oh.

She was way too young to be a widow. My age. Maybe younger.

So we looked under her truck some more, neither of us having any luck.

Eventually, she thanked me and said she would go into the store and get the number for a locksmith.

I thought of how much a locksmith would cost, and suddenly wondered where Jimmy was. He's a man of many talents. And he's pretty good at breaking into things.

Typically Jimmy works long days and is often an hour or more away, and he usually doesn't answer his phone while he's working. But that morning, he said he had a light day and was going to check on a couple jobs. So I called him, and he actually answered.

And he happened to be five minutes away.

"Well, would you mind coming to Trader Joe's and helping this woman break into her car?"

"Her husband hid a key, but then he died", I added in a whisper.

Jimmy asked how to get there, and the woman and I talked as we waited. Her kids were two and four--the same ages as B and O, who were waiting in the car, eating most of the cookies I'd just bought.

I saw Jimmy's truck pull into the parking lot and said "Oh, there's Jimmy now".

And she looked at me and said "Your husbands name is Jimmy? My husband's name was Jim."

Well, of course it was.

So my Jim crawled under her truck and looked for the spare key that her Jim had hidden. Without success. And then he grabbed some tool thingy out of his truck and tried to open the door to her truck. Without success. And then he looked for a coat hanger. Without success. Until a van pulled into the spot right next to us, and the guy opened the back door and handed us...a coat hanger. Which still didn't open the door.

But still.

Ultimately, Jimmy popped open the back window and crawled through and opened the door.

She was, of course, incredibly grateful.

I was too.

I was grateful that when I called him, my husband didn't laugh at me, or tell me I was crazy, or tell me that this lady we didn't know was better off calling a locksmith.

I was also grateful that I was listening when God said "Her Jim's with me. She needs to borrow yours".