Last Sunday, I asked people to think long and hard about how they treat others in a way that makes them invisible. I had used a scene from the movie “The Help” to illustrate it. There, the black maids, who made life possible for their white and privileged employers, were also invisible to those very employers. Their employers spoke about their maids as though they were not there and denied them the most basic of courtesies.
At the end of the message, I suggested we all remember what if feels like to be rendered invisible by others see what we could do to raise our consciousness of the invisible people in our lives.
I, of course, am not exempt from raising my own consciousness.
This morning, after a necessary meeting in Denton, I decided to head to the grocery store. I needed only a few items and, as is my habit, looked for the shortest check-out line, having a strong dislike of checking out my own groceries.
One looked nearly empty, so I unloaded my cart. As I did so, I realized the woman checking out prior to me was having trouble entering her PIN for her debit card. My initial reaction: annoyance. I hate to admit it, but it was true. I had things to do, and I’ve seen this happen before, where an older, somewhat forgetful person, will have trouble checking out.
Now, the fact that I am also older, and becoming more forgetful, did not enter my mind until later. I just wanted to be done and get on with other things.
As the woman fumbled with her purse, she dropped a credit card on the floor. She was unaware of the problem, so I retrieved it for her. A minute later, having switched to cash after being unable to make the card work, she dropped her change on the floor. I also retrieved that for her.
At this point, I looked her fully in the face. She suddenly became a real person to me, not just a delay in my schedule. A beautiful face—the kind of beauty that only comes from an older face that has years of practice of loving others—responded to my look with a beaming smile. I asked if she needed help getting her groceries to the car and loaded. She said, “No, her daughter was in the car.” Then she sweetly thanked me and left the store.
By then, my few items had been rung up and I paid for them. As I reached for my purchases, I realized the woman before me had left a small bag of items on the counter. I mentioned it to the checker, looked out the door, and saw her slowly making her way across the parking lot. I said I’d take care of it, quickly grabbed her bag along with mine and headed toward her.
I caught up with her as she and her daughter, a woman I would guess to be near my age who gave me the quick impression of having some mental impairment, were unloading the cart. My help was again sweetly declined as they gratefully took the bag, and I headed back to my car, on the other side of the parking lot.
It was then that I began to think of my message last Sunday: she who was invisible had become visible. She who had been an impediment to my schedule had turned into rich blessing with the beauty of her smile and graciousness.
And I have been humbled as I’ve wondered how many others I have kept invisible this morning.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In