customer service.
as a new store manager, of course its something i think about quite often. i think about how i serve my customers. how my team serves our customers.
but this morning as i tried to get the title of my car transfered over from my deceased father’s name, i learned another thing about customer service.
it’s a DMV. of course the lines are forever. of course everyone is grumpy. but trying to figure out how to change over a title because my father did not put his signature on the title causes for many more forms. we did not think about the car title in those days. he couldn’t sign his name anymore.
i turned to walk away rather satisfied that i knew what needed to be done next and with forms in hand. the woman behind the counter had been a sweetheart.
but a man in the building up line looked at me and said as i passed, “and she didn’t even get anything done!”
as soon as i got out that door, tears just started pouring out. i let myself get lost on back Virginia roads under the beautiful autumn leaves and listen to music and cry.
i wasn’t mad. he didn’t know. i’m sure he had better things to do on a saturday morning. other places he would have rather been.
all i could think about was customer service. he wasn’t waiting on me. but everyday we are entrusted with the hearts of every person we encounter. we forget that. i don’t know what is weighing on the heart of each woman who walks through my stores door. i don’t know what thoughts sit in the mind of people i walk by. i don’t know what grief sits next to me in a pew. i have no idea of the joy celebrated in the people sitting in this coffeehouse with me.
i want every girl to walk out of my store feeling beautiful and cared for. not like another sale. i want my coworkers and roommate to know and experience being cared for. i want the people i sit next to, stand next to, wait in line with to experience love. because love, well love wins.
and there are too many lives living without that hope.
thank you to everyone who waited in line with me today. thank you, sir for giving me an opportunity to experience how love wins in the arms and eyes of my dear ones.
dearest, you are loved. may my life be….
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i want to peek around the corner to a life that existed before.
i want to peek around that corner and be in my living room at 310 E. 9th street after my roommates have put up the christmas tree, or sitting together on our sofas, or watching the world through that big window. i want to open my eyes to that upstairs apartment and look out the window at the changing trees and the neighbors leaving for work. i want to peek around and see your faces. you. and you. and you. and you. and you. and you. i want you to come walking through my front door. my backdoor. my purple door. because there was an open door policy. i want to sit up half the night having our talks again and that deep understanding of community around that wooden table with the burn mark. i want the “morning of’s” and the “nights after” with you again. i want to hear your music playing through the walls.
i want to peek around that corner for just a moment. not a long moment. just a moment.
i can’t wait for a day in a coffee shop.
dearests, you are loved.
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some little girls grow up wanting to be princesses
some little girls grow up wanting to be teachers
some little girls grow up wanting to be nurses
some little girls grow up wanting to be soccer moms
some little girls grow up wanting to be artists
some little girls grow up wanting to be musicians
some little girls grow up wanting to be actresses
i grew up trying my hand (or off-handedly) at all of these in some way.
none of them ever stuck. so i worked in ministry, with women, in offices, learning latin, in retail, and have found out that all i really want is
to live His dreams.
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the inspirational teacher of my youth came to me in a dream one night (last month).
“are you living out your dreams?” she asked me in a demanding tone.
“i don’t know.” was all i could say to her. i don’t know. it was almost shameful.
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you know,
in time i’ll have my own store. i’ll be an adult. a responsible adult. with far more responsibilities than i’ll ever want. i’ll do paper work and deal with numbers that i can’t even fathom will make sense to me. i’ll have sleepless night and mornings i’m too tired to remember to pour water in the coffee pot and 6 a.m. panic sessions and late late nights to finish things there’s never enough time for.
you know,
what i’ll remember most is sitting on the floor of barnes and noble in the trivia section with a cute little redhead laughing and squealing over things no where near to as hilarious as we made them to be without our makeup forgetting the morning responsibilities and looking down the isle at a smiling man’s face who needed our laughter just as much as we did.
life is perfect.
dearest, you are loved, absolutely loved. (live. laugh. love.)
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it is so much easier to be the heroine than to be the actual woman.
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i have a closet of shoes.
sequin flats. black wedges (my work shoes). black flats. black dress heels. red poke-a-dot wedges (a sweet gift). gladiators. silver (bridesmaid) shoes. red shoes (modeled and wore to a funeral). beloved green heels. ballroom shoes (used both on and off the dance floor). furry boots (“borrowed” from a roommate). tennis shoes with a touch of lace (there’s actual running shoes too). mary janes. chinese laundry. stilettos.
i walked into a room of shoes.
a little girl’s shoes. a woman’s wedges with a little bow. a man’s large workboots. her ballroom shoes (40’s style). his lace-up shoes. his oxfords. his loafers. a young boys street shoes. her flats. her heels with the decorative holes. her work shoes. her t-strap heels. the shoes he’d worn for years and would never wear again. the shoes she’d so loved and would never see again.
each shoe has a story. my closet carries stories of many roads i’ve walked of teaching and concerts and hard days and good days and funerals and dates and weddings and adventures and first-days and late night walks and treks through snow and graduation.
shoes i’ve loved and worn out and worn many days till my feet were sore.
as is true of each shoe in that room of the holocaust museum.
each. one. has. a. story. each. one. has. a. life. lived. no different from me.
children. mothers. fathers. workers. girls. grandfathers. grandmothers. teachers. rabbis. business men. factory workers. farm hands. students. lovers. pregnant. tired. scared. hurting. hoping (i hope).
dearest, you were loved.
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i turned the silver key in my lock to walk out to the mailbox.
in broken flip-flops from a summer day in a virginia river.
but today is gray fall day. the air has changed.
i grab the edges of my black sweatshirt closer together across my chest and clutch a white envelope in my other hand.
this walk to and from a blue mailbox reminds me of how settled i am in this life. i’ve made many trips to and from this mailbox. to walk back to my apartment on Weeping Willow Drive. settled in that i am where i should be. settled in sweaters and skirts. settled in.
settled into a place where life can continue.
settled into a place where i still pray with christians 1000 miles away and rejoice with those 2873 miles from my new life. where letters travel 1000 miles in three days. and a little blackberry connect me instantly constantly.
settled into a church. where i get excited about the progress of a baby with down syndrome and the growing relationships and the trials of a woman trying to move her mother to florida and watching a child learn from her beautiful patient mother. where we sit and examine scripture and 23 years later, i still get excited about the incredible literary art of the Bible and how His promises continue to continue to come true.
settled into a job of beautiful women.
settled into who i am and who i’m becoming and so very excited on this fall day that i have come 1000 miles from where i’ve been.
dearest, you are loved.
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i keep bumping into myself.
it first happened as i walked through the rain in heels and lipstick after opening a checking account in an East Coast bank. the title “assistant manager” hit me harder than the rain drops.
it next happened as i knelt in the back of my Church’s sanctuary looking up at the cross. a moment i had envisioned myself in long ago.
it happened as i drove through downtown Washington D.C. past the monuments, by myself. arriving and going home. a drive away only.
i bump into myself as i read over the letters i’ve received both on scraps of paper and letterhead.
and as i unlock the door to my workplace and apartment and run out the door in the morning and as i pour coffee from my first coffeepot.
“the whole idea of a fresh start is rather interesting. i feel like my heart is still a bit tired. every once in awhile i catch myself dragging it behind me up stairs and into doorways. my heart and body had spent so much time disconnected. i know He was growing it and tending it. smoothing it and healing it. taking out sloppy stitches. cleaning off the crusted parts. taking that sloshing gushing heavy heart of my younger years and giving me something more solid and refined.”
and being so very reminded today of the importance of the words:
dearest, you are loved, so very loved.
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there are particular pieces of paper in this world that must be approached with a cup of tea.
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