Together

My kids are nearly 13, 11 and 8 and quite honestly, I thought I would have it together by now. The day would tick tock by in its exact 24 hour segments and I would partake of each moment with grace, punctuality, craft and wisdom.  My morning prayer would happen at precisely 5 am and I would welcome a brisk walk at 5:30 with a September fire orange ball rising in the sky to kiss my cheeks good morning.

The morning shower would wash away any hint of dirt as I slipped into crisp, clean linen, while my kids got ready for school all on their own... evenly clad with smiles and uniforms and lunch boxes and LL Bean totes....while I turned on the engine and drove their precious souls off to school.  I would sip coffee as I did what every suburban homemaker does across America..... leaf through Martha Stewart's Living or make curtains for the living room or organize a shelf...or bake an apple pie and have it cooling after I picked them all up from school. They would squeal with delight at the smell of it.  
And etcetera.


Today I made the 13 year old come with me to Costco so he could wheel his 11-year old sister around in the wheel chair while I gathered groceries as fast as humanly possible with the 8 year old balancing on the end of the cart.  It would be a quick trip to pick up essentials. Well, as soon as we took June out of the car, I heard the first warning signal...a slight whimper that said, “I don’t want to be here. This isn’t a good idea.” I had the choice right then to just go home. Maybe I should have...but...we have to eat. And Costco is a 20 minute journey....and that’s an eternity for someone who lives in Norfolk.

So I slung her in the wheel chair and made our way into the store. It started off on the fringe...but with each aisle, the cries grew louder and louder and by the time we were near the musical snowman, my 13 year old was done glancing at me nervously and told me 

We really need to get outta here...

Something we all knew. 

Just a few more items ...we are almost half way through...

I managed.

On to the meat section and I was ignoring people parting the Red Sea for me, eyes forward, like a marching drill Sargent, goal set on the cherry tomatoes.
By the time we got to the frozen section, June was hysterical. I kept handing the 13 year old the keys to the car, and he kept tossing them back claiming that Costco was a prison and there was no way to escape without a receipt....

and I knew he was kinda right.

So we whipped through and grabbed the Cheerios and dog food, and stood in the line.  By now I visibly had old people stopping dead in their tracks and staring...just taking in the show...other people were strolling by casually...clearly checking on the disabled child on aisle 23 whose mother had lost her ever-living mind.

Somehow we rallied and slid through the line at the speed of lightning and headed to the car with all the produce balanced upon boxes balanced upon boxes. The cashier never cares about crying children. That was one plus to this mess.
Got to the car and hefted June into her seat.

And then. Like the last puzzle piece in.
She instantly stopped crying.
As I breathed a sigh of relief, and squinted my eyes at the sun, an old man hobbled toward me, a giant gold cross hanging around his neck. 

Staring at the cross, and with the kindest eyes I had ever seen, I watched him open his mouth:

“We have two grandchildren with autism. And it’s hard.”

I couldn’t believe how those words undid me. And I kind of stood there with my mouth open, pondering the gold cross, the moment, the warmth of the sun...and I could have stayed there for forever.

He could have stopped at the word hard.
And that would have been enough.
That he acknowledged hard.

But instead he asked our names and he told me he was a man of faith and was going to pray for us.

And with that he walked to his car.

And I walked to mine a little straighter, a little more together, and with a brimming cup of extra patience which somehow lasted the evening.  

Sometimes it all comes together.