God shops at Walmart!

In December of 2011, I got married and moved to Arizona. You already know that, and it's a good thing. But, let me tell you - when you're in your 60s and accustomed to being single, it is not always an easy thing. 

On one of my pouting Penny days, I drove to Walmart for some shopping therapy. I wandered the aisles, but didn't buy much. Then, as I started towards the door, I noticed a frail blond-haired man, probably in his 30s. He was riding in a scooter that was smaller than adult-sized.

From my vantage point, he seemed to have already purchased several bags full of merchandise. Now, he was making a second run at another pile with his remaining cash. As he and the cashier sorted through several items of clothing, I watched him pull bills and change from a small coin purse. Several customers waited in line behind him.

That's when I heard from God. With an almost tangible shove, He said, "Get over there."

"Could you use some help?" I asked, stepping closer to a few feet closer to the counter.

The young man's smile confirmed to me that he could. Now that I was standing closer, I could see how complicated this whole transaction had become. Not only was the young man wrestling with the proverbial too-much-month/too-little-money, but he could hardly even reach the counter top from his scooter!

I joined in on the sorting and counting, and offered him my name. A smile never left his face as he pointed to a small plastic license plate on the front of his ride and mumbled, "Scott."

When the cashier finally totaled this second group of items, Scott was still a bit shy on cash. That's when I whipped out my card and swiped it. (Besides being confined to a chair while shopping, Scott clearly didn't have this luxury, either.) Not wanting to embarrass him, I accepted his remaining cash as partial payment. But, honestly, the total wasn't much. (I've wasted more on a single cosmetics run!)

Then, I threw what I could into his scooter basket and the rest into my own. "Okay, Scott. You lead the way."

Under my confident-sounding voice, I was actually wondering where we would go from there. Five miles down the road? Him with motorized transportation and me with a shopping cart? I could already hear my husband grumbling about my naivete. 

Luckily, a van was parked right by the door - the assisted living sign assured me all was well. As the driver jumped out and lowered the lift, he asked me. "You work for Walmart?"

"No," I heard myself say. "I work for God."

He grinned sheepishly. "Well, then I guess I do, too."

Now, why am I telling you this? Because I, in this one instance, helped someone out? Hardly!

I'm writing because Scott turned my self-absorbed pity party into a valuable life lesson. In the days since then, I have often seen his smile and asked, Who is more handicapped? The guy in the scooter or the gal with the chip on her shoulder? (See below: I have already answered this, so you don't have to.)

So, the next time you catch me whining about Mesa, Goldendale, or a broken fingernail, I'm giving you permission to call me on it. Four words oughta do it: "Remember Scott at Walmart?"

This is how I see God. He hangs out at Walmart.