A Café in Arizona and a Table of Laughing Ladies

My husband travels for business. Often.

And it’s always a road trip. He’s driven hundreds of thousands of miles over the years. Nowadays he takes someone along, but years ago he traveled by himself.

He’s had many adventures on all those trips. Helping stranded motorists, seeing the country, making friends, and conducting business.

While I could fill many pages with his experiences, the following is one of my favorites.

He stopped for dinner at a café somewhere in Arizona. He was tired and hungry.

He placed his order and sipped some tea while waiting for the meal.

He and I have always enjoyed some good old fashioned “people watching”, and though I wasn’t along, he took in the different scenarios around the restaurant.

Families, couples, a few sitting at tables alone like him, and a table full of older ladies talking and laughing.

He settled his focus on them. They were having so much fun! He decided that they must have been friends for a long, long time. There was an obviously deep bond between them. And though he wasn’t at their table, he was having fun just watching them.  

His attention shifted to the steaming plate of enchiladas set before him. He was hungry after all.

Often times he drove longer than he should before stopping to eat. And today was no exception. It was a really good meal.

The check arrived. He left his tip on the table and stretched his legs as he stood. On his way to the counter to settle his bill, he passed by the table of ladies…still sitting there and still having a wonderful time.

He paused to say hello. He told them that it was so nice to see them talking, laughing and enjoying each other.

They laughed some more and honestly…I’m thinking they may have thought he was flirting with them a little. And then, he did it.

What I’ve seen him do so many times before.

He picked up the check from the corner of their table and announced that he wished to bless them by paying for their dinner.

Their excitement and disbelief was hard to hide. They thanked him profusely for his kindness.

He assured them that watching their good time helped him to miss his family a little bit less.

And so, he wished them a good evening and went on his way. I imagine that they sat a little longer to talk about him and what he did.

That’s how he rolls. A table full of ladies, people sitting alone, police officers, military personnel, homeless. He’s paid for dinners all over this country.

Sometimes they know it was him…like in this story. Other times, he just quietly asks the server for someone else’s bill.

His heart is kind and he looks for ways to help others. He doesn’t really tell anyone about it. He likes to do things out of the spotlight.

There are no records to keep after all. Just do good.

In Acts 10:38 we read that Jesus himself “went around doing good”. We’re to be as comfortable helping a stranger as we are helping a friend.

Look for your own way. We all feel prompted at times. And the more often we follow through, the more often the prompting will come.

I promise that while you’re doing good for another, your heart will be full too.

Seven Backpacks, a Heart Attack, and a Chocolate Cake

photo credit kitchen joy

She smiles often. She has four teeth…scattered along her gums. I’m not sure that I’m woman enough to smile if I only had four teeth.

She’s frail, appearing older than I know she is. Her life is harsh. Her poverty is not what makes it so.  

She was waiting for me by the gate today. Some days, she prefers to wave as she walks by. Some days, she pretends like she doesn’t see me at all.

Not today. Today she waited.  

She wastes no time with the pleasantries of small talk. She gets right to her point. “Did I miss the backpacks,” she quizzed.

“No, we didn’t give away school supplies this year," I replied apologetically. 

“Oh”. Her pause was long, emphasizing her disappointment. "I was in the hospital and thought I missed it. I had a heart attack. Three stents.”

She lifted her wrist. Multiple vinyl hospital bracelets still dangled there. “I keep these on in case I have to go back. In case I have another stroke.”  

My neighborhood friends aren’t much on small talk. They don’t ask about the family, they don’t comment on a new hair style and they don’t ponder if it might rain today. Their lives are more urgent than that.  

Lupe continued with her story. She was out collecting aluminum cans one morning. She felt funny. She had felt that way before, when she had her stroke.

She walked into the firehouse. Dutifully, they checked her over. Indeed, she was having a heart attack. As they were transporting her to a hospital,  she flat lined.  

She remembers it well. She was in her grandmother’s kitchen. Her grandmother had a beautiful chocolate cake on the table. Lupe was a child. Excitedly, she bit off a corner of the cake. Her grandmother scolded her.

"Ma’am….ma’am….wake up! Do you know where you are? What is your name?" She awoke in the Emergency Room with doctors and nurses surrounding her.

She brushed her fingers over her lips to wipe clean the chocolate frosting she was sure was still there. “I could taste my Abuela’s cake. It was delicious.”

Another pause. It seemed she longed for that moment again. Perhaps it was the ease of childhood or the comfort of her grandmother’s home.  

“Do you know if anyone else is giving away backpacks? I have seven grandkids and I don’t have anything for them to take to school.” Her reality startled mine once again.  

I’ve prayed for her as she wept when one of those grandchildren was born addicted to crack cocaine.

I’ve listened as she talked about her husband. A hardworking man who does as he pleases, including hitting her when the paychecks are small and the beer is large.

I’ve stood beside her at Christmas as she sang O Holy Night like an angel.

And I’ve smiled as she proudly displayed a huge bag of fresh okra that someone gave her from their garden.  

“Let me see what I can come up with and I will call you tomorrow,” I promised.   

I made my way to the check out. Backpacks – 2 pink, 3 blue, 2 mesh, spiral notebooks, crayons, glue sticks, pencils, pens, pocket folders, notebook paper.

“You must have a bunch of kids!” the cashier exclaimed. I smiled. “Something like that”.  

Back at home, the oven timer beeped. The smell of chocolate filled the house. The double fudge cake cooled on the counter while I loaded up the backpacks. I smoothed the thick frosting over the cake…twice. It had to be good.  

I pulled up to her home. I noticed a blue vinyl tarp on the roof. She would tell me later that the tarp was covering a large hole in the roof. It was fine most of the time…except when it rained.

I opened the back of my Suburban. She smiled when she saw all that was for her.  

“A cake…a chocolate cake!"

Delighted, she made multiple trips carrying the goods into the house. I offered to help, knowing that I would not be allowed inside. I know the boundaries…just like the days she doesn’t choose to wave.  

That’s okay. Today, I was allowed into her heart. And that’s just fine with me.