A couple of weeks ago, I was out running errands and stopped into Central Market for a few groceries. After loading up my cart with bulk spices, vegetables and tortilla chips, I randomly chose a line. Soon I listened in on a gregarious cashier interacting with what I could only assume was a dear friend of hers.
Yet, when she switched to me and scanned my tortilla chips, she began telling me how she was now off gluten and on the lookout for more gluten free products. Then she casually mentioned being on chemo two years ago and gaining so much weight, and having stomach problems and trying to stay off gluten, all while expertly scanning and bagging my groceries. I jumped in and asked her what kind of cancer she had. It was breast cancer.
We chatted about hair loss and how it returned differently from our original hair. She asked me if I had problem with my port site, and I told her it was still tender even after four years. She mentioned how she has had a few scares, minor things that made her worry. I encouraged her that as time passes for me, my level of panic decreases whenever I feel a new ache. I try to remember to notice it briefly, but not dwell on it unless it hangs around. The farther I am away from my diagnosis, I told her, the less I think about cancer coming back. You'll get there, I encouraged.
She smiled and thanked me. I told her that her hair was beautiful and congratulations for the two years she is past cancer. She wished me a good day and hoped to see me again.
I did stop in the store this week and saw her in action again, same smile, same sweet spirit. I chose a different line this time, mostly because it was shorter, but it might have been that I wanted to be anonymous that day. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wanted to get in and out and not interact with anyone? If you said no, then you definitely are not an introvert.
For a weekday morning, I was surprised the library was so crowded. Of course, this is one of my frequent stops, but I usually don't look for a table to occupy. None of the tables were empty. I found one table with only one other person, but that day I wasn't in the mood to share. I decided to check out the nearby Starbucks.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed so many cars. Driving around to the front of the shop, I peeked into the windows and saw an uninterrupted row of heads. That probably meant the only available place would be at the large table in the middle, and, well, you know how I felt about sharing space that day.
I considered driving to another place, but the idea of the quiet of my house, a desk to myself, my own coffee with organic milk I can create into a sort of latte (not as good as a coffee shop, but good enough for me) kept me driving. I pulled into my garage, unloaded my bookbag and unpacked it in my living room. This is where I found my sweet spot.
Somedays I wish I were more like my extrovert friends. They have the ability to find people and hear their stories and be able to encourage them. A friend of a friend, a man battling stage 4 colon cancer, often shares on Facebook about his interactions with people in the waiting room or the treatment chair next to him. He is not afraid to ask people if he can pray for them, right then and there, either. How encouraging would that be? Most of the conversations I've had while receiving treatment have been because someone else initiated them.
I do have my moments. When I know I need to be outgoing, I can turn it on. This Friday I am going to a business dinner with Walt, and I'll put on a nice dress and fill my mind with ideas for conversation starters. Am I the only one who needs to prepare this way? I've learned that a few open ended questions is all it takes to open up a conversation. Then I'll listen, and I'll probably find someone I was glad to have met.
I often wonder if I did this more often, would I have more opportunities to encourage others? It's possible, but I also know that it's not my normal bent. Too much time around people usually doesn't instill in me a desire to encourage anyone. It's probably the opposite, as my kids can attest. It's taken years, but I'm okay to follow the way God has created me and not try to compare my weaknesses with others' strengths.
My conversation at the grocery store was not my typical experience. I'm glad I had the chance to encourage the cashier, but usually my grocery stop consists of smiling, asking how they were doing, and running my card through the machine. When God opens the door, as He did when I asked the question about her cancer, I've experienced wonderful connections with amazing people. I think that's the key with me. If God leads, I need to walk through the open door. Otherwise, it's okay for me to find solace in the quiet.
