Grocery store encounter a reminder to slow down year round

During the first week of Advent, I launched the year’s theme “light one candle for peace” at St. Ann’s Catholic School in Belcourt.” In the hall outside my classroom I taped four posters with huge Advent candles. A fifth poster features a lovely Nativity scene bearing the cheerful exhortation, “Let’s make this the best (holiest) Advent of our lives!”

I gazed on my school preparations with a certain measure of satisfaction. Lord, what do you think? I’ve left no stone unturned, wouldn’t you say? This is definitely going to be the best Advent ever!

A few days later and my “best Advent ever” wasn’t panning out quite as planned. It rapidly became far more demanding than I anticipated. Note to self: Never say to God, “I’ve left no stone unturned.”

There was nothing difficult about throwing together a few quick Advent posters or teaching my students to “light one candle for peace.” That was the easy part. My undoing came when I decided I should do some background reading on the meaning of peace myself. In the words of the old song, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”

The first article I discovered proved to be a real jackpot: Cackie Upchurch’s Blessed are the Peacemakers.  Here I learned that “shalom,” or peace, is, “along with justice and truth... to be a hallmark of God’s people…. Shalom is well-being, tranquility, at-oneness or wholeness.”

Tranquility one of the hallmarks of God’s people? A recent memory came to me then.

I careened down the aisles of the nearby grocery store, clocking close to 75 mph in a vain attempt to score four cans of Bush’s Best Black Beans, the lone holdouts on my lengthy convent grocery list. At this point, my ardent desire is to somehow stumble upon said BBBB, dash to the checkout lane/finish line, and not bowl over anyone in the process. I strongly suspect that, having crossed the finish line, I’ll discover that my friendly checkout person is a first day trainee.
  
Out of the corner of my eye I couldn’t help noticing a fragile, wilted-looking lady of indeterminate age approaching me, unsteadily nudging her own cart containing six or seven dainty items down the same aisle. She’s wearing dark polyester stretch pants, brown snow boots, a puffy light blue parka and is moving at glacial speed. I know she’s trying to catch my attention. I’ve seen that look many times, but making eye contact and smiling at her would mean slowing me down even more.

I know well from experience what will follow if I break my stride. She’ll ask me what community I’m with and if I know Sister Mary Polycarp (or some such name), a dear sister with a community I’ve never heard of in a place I’ve never heard of either. Maybe Sister Polycarp was a first-rate teacher she remembers fondly from fourth grade, or she is a relative of some sort. Yes, this hesitant soul in polyester would dearly love a conversation with a Sister, even a brief chat with a total stranger she’ll probably never see again. It could call forth a host of happy memories or provide a momentary escape from her island of loneliness. It’s not every day you run into a Sister after all.

All this crosses my mind in a matter of seconds, during which time I’ve unconsciously slowed my buggy down to mere cruising speed. The frail lady and I are now perhaps four feet apart. She catches my eyes and a gentle, delighted smile lights up her tired face. “Well hello, Sister. Are you from around here? What community are you with?”

I take a deep breath and struggle to imitate her lovely smile. “No. I’m originally from Upstate New York, but I really like North Dakota. Beautiful country here….”