Opinions expressed in this piece are solely those of the author.
It’s a cold and wintry day. The last half inch of coffee in the mug has grown cold. Here in the quiet office, I remember it as though it was yesterday, the truth that came in a coffee shop…
Around me, the hustle and bustle in this, my favorite place to write, begins to escalate as the sky lightens just outside the plate-glass window. I look up. There comes a small group of three. I see them often here, these three gentlemen in their plain T-shirts printed with the name of their business. I wonder about them and their ties. A multigenerational trio with a grandfather, perhaps, and a son and grandson?
It’s evident that the young man has Down syndrome. I watch their respectful and fond interactions. I smile when he taps the elderly gentleman on the shoulder, waiting for, and receiving, a warm acknowledgement. I laugh out loud as he slips behind the man, positioning himself perfectly between his shoulder blades, sparking another smile when the gentleman turns around and–whoops! There he is.
I return a smile and a wave from a local businessman and friend. Together with his wife and sons, he owns and operates a flooring store nearby. When their business was destroyed some years ago, they testified to God’s goodness and opened for business again. Knowing that they pray for area merchants to prosper has inspired me to do the same.
The cheerful barista behind the counter has a story, too. She’s a single mother with a darling little boy. Recently, she started college classes. Her dream, I know, is to have a coffee shop of her own someday. I hope she succeeds.
Over there are two more area businessmen, and joining the line at the counter is an advertising/marketing fellow who is also a DJ for the local Christian radio station. He’s using his talents, too.
Here comes a mother who lost her beautiful, blond daughter in a fiery crash. A son was driving. Emergency responders still talk about the awful sights and sounds from that day. The pain she carries is unimaginable. Unspeakable. I watch her pass by.
In my heart, a refrain begins. “Everyone has a story.”
********
That was years ago. As I sat in the coffee shop that day and watched humanity’s parade, something came to life inside me. As though a veil had been lifted from my eyes, I suddenly saw what lay behind each face. Warmth and happiness. Searing loss. The hopes and dreams hidden within the heart. I saw them all.
Fast forward, now, to this week. Word has come of a heartbreaking loss. When I saw her name, I was instantly transported to a high-school gym where, once more, I “saw” it.
It was half time. On the hardwood floor below, they gathered for a very special show. Tiny cheerleaders to bigger ones, from elementary to junior high, they stepped out onto the court to join their role models—the high-school cheerleaders. One by one, carrying pom-poms, they got in line, and there she came.
“She” was a precious girl in my son’s class. Over the years, I had watched as a genetic condition took its toll on her body. Where once she had walked on her own two legs, she was now confined to a wheelchair. Seeing her, my throat swelled tight as she was wheeled in and placed beside her peers.
As the others bounced and romped through the lively routine, she smiled happily from her place in the chair, her countenance suffused with joy. Watching her, I felt my heart constrict at the sight of the girl with a cheerleader’s heart in a body that was fragile and weak.
That girl is Kate. After her death this week, her mother shared her daughter’s words. “I know,” Kate said, “(that) He will heal me in heaven.” And He has.
Kate knew how her story would end. By faith, she believed that her story would continue in heaven with God, and now she runs free and strong. The wheelchair is empty.
“Everyone has a story. Every heart longs for love.” Understanding this simple, yet profound truth is transformational. It can (and should) change the way we live. No matter what the outer façade may show, every soul carries secret pain, secret longings, and burdens hidden to the naked eye. With this in mind, we can move through our lives with greater patience, more understanding, and deeper compassion for the people we meet.
When we know how our own stories will end, we can move through life with confidence and assurance. Accepting the hard things that shape us, giving thanks for daily mercies, and enriching the stories of others will give us a quality of life down here that can’t be measured.
In this holiday season, let us pray for grace to see our fellow citizens with clear eyes and loving hearts. Let us, like Kate, live our lives in the light of eternity and the wonderful truth that Kate knew—He will heal and complete us in heaven.
All for love,
America’s small, caffeinated mom
