We both watched--her in horror, me in a strange calm--as her runaway grocery cart headed for the side of my car. Neither of us could stop it.
For some unfathomable reason, I laughed.
Her: "Oh my goodness, I am SO sorry!"
I thought it odd that she looked like I was about to strike her.
Me: "You can't hurt my car. See, it didn't do a bit of damage. I'm sure that (tiny) place was already there."
She was speechless. Finally she said, "I'm from California where people hurt people over things like this. I'm moving here [western NC]!"
I can't take credit for my calm or my relative detachment from things. I can only say that years and years of mornings spent with God have built into me the opportunity to discover the frequency upon which He operates.
Mind you, I don't often exercise it. But when I do, I am strangely able to respond to people with a generous spirit that I believe is birthed only from growing in the exquisite love of Christ.
I don't think Jesus would have scolded her for something she never intended to happen.
Nor should I.
The gift of the exchange was for me, to remind me to be thankful for tapping into the frequency of God--the death of normal--when exquisite, unexpected love can be expressed to bring balm to another.
Lord, help me remember.
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