It is tradition that the days leading up to Christmas are filled with an endless to do list. Yesterday I was running from store to store, pushing through the throngs of people, trying to pick up all those last-minute items. The stress of the long lines, the crazy Chicago drivers, and the scarce parking spots do not equal holiday cheer.
The last stop of the day was my neighborhood Target. It took three spins through the parking garage to find that coveted parking spot. I felt almost “grinchingly” giddy when my environmentally friendly Toyota Prius beat out a Hummer for the last spot in the garage.
I was running late for the 3rd holiday party of the week so I ran into the store. I pushed my way through to the wrapping paper aisle, grabbed the closest wrapping paper, and paid the cashier without even a mumbled, liberal leaning, “happy holidays”. I dashed to the elevator and ran back to my waiting car.
As I got into my car I noticed an older gentleman standing next to my car, blocking my exit. He almost immediately disappeared from view, as if he was ducking down. For a moment I felt a jolt of fear. Then he popped back up again. About a minute later, he put his hands on his chest and ducked again. My irritation grew. I was behind schedule. Then it dawned on me, he was preforming his evening prayers. The fear dissipated but the irritation remained. I had some where to be. I grabbed my phone and started a text to my interfaith chaplain friend. My text went something like, how long do muslims daily prayers last. But something stopped me. I took a deep breath and just sat there waiting for him to finish.
Eventually I looked up from my phone and the older gentleman had moved to the front of my car. He was holding an empty jumbo Target bag between his arms, probably used as a prayer rug, I mean the floor of an inner-city parking garage is filthy. He looked me directly in the eyes, put his hands over his heart, and executed a deep bow of thanks. I smiled and nodded my recognition.
As I drove home from my days adventures, knowing that I was running late for the evening’s festivities, I grinned. As it happened in my favorite Christmas cartoon, The Grinch, my heart had grown three sizes that day. This stranger gave me the gift of slowing down and truly seeing the people around me. In these divisive times, when some of our elected officials espouse loudly from their pulpit that there is a war on Christmas, I got to experience the true gift of the holiday… peace, love, and kindness.
Sometimes it is the small gifts that hold the most meaning.
