Duck, Duck, Loose

I walk into the grocery store. I only need milk, and start toward the dairy section. But my mind’s not on milk. I’m agitated, though I don’t know why. I’ve been getting frustrated a lot lately, even by little things. Usually that’s a warning for me I’m not in the right place, spiritually or emotionally. As I admit that to myself, I can feel how out of place I’ve been, that I’ve been missing something. Silently, I give God those feelings, and ask Him who He wants to be for me right now, and what He wants me to see I haven’t been able to.

I get the milk, and head for check out. There’s no one working the express lane, and every other has at least four customers. Except one. I spot a lane with just one little old lady, and it looks like most of her items are already bagged. I smile. I seem to always pick the slow line, and finally, I’m going to get the best one. Just as I get there, carts fill in behind me. Again, I congratulate myself on my good timing. Anticipating the lady in front of me is about to finish, I reach for my wallet, ready to pay for my milk. But as I pick my head up, I see she doesn’t have a wallet. She has a 32–gallon bin of coupons.

I spin around to escape, but the aisle is narrow, and the overloaded cart behind me is fully blocking the way, led by the little darling standing in it, who locks eyes with me, eyes that say “one step closer and I scream my little blond head off.” I see a guy contemplating joining the line, but he bails, nodding at me with a “sorry bro.” I’m trapped. The little old woman, whom I assume is a demon sent by Satan to further torture me with frustration, methodically presides over the tally of each item, and is delighted to argue over every discrepancy between her and the register.

After what seems like several hours, my room-temperature milk finally moves to the end of belt. I take a breath. It’s almost over. I’m checked out in seconds, but I can’t move. The coupon queen is still surveying her kingdom. Finally, she begins placing her subjects in the cart. I ask if she’d like some help, but am met with an icy stare. So, I wait. Again.

At last, she turns to push her groceries to the door. But the exit aisle is almost as narrow as the check–out. Unused carts, outdoor items, and vending machines make this a one–lane out. I see a clear spot to get around her, but seeming to sense my attempt to pass, she speeds up just long enough for me to stay trapped behind her. Her 2–second energy burst over, she slows to a crawl. I can hear the blood rushing in my head as I contemplate throwing her in the cart and launching it across the parking lot.

That’s when I heard the duck. I look behind me, figuring the quack must have been some kid’s toy or game. There it is again. And again. But then the smell hits me, and I realize the source. With every step, my intrepid guide is letting loose with fart after fart, each one louder than the last. I stop, but it’s too late. I’m in the cloud. There are carts behind me now, and the door is still 20 feet away. I try using my sleeve as a filter, but it’s not effective. Outwardly, I keep composure, but inside I’m both desperate to get out and fascinated by the potency and power of her toxic tush. I take a deep breath, hoping I can hold it until I’m out, but inhale just as a fresh wave hits.

Almost there. Three more steps. Two. One. She stops. I am convinced she’s either purposely holding me back, or she’s gearing up for a final, massive quack. I don’t stay to find out which. I tuck my milk under my arm and push my way into the small space between her and the door. I’m out. As I hurry past the glass windows, I see them push out slightly, and I pray silently for those left behind. I inhale deeply, the exhaust of a diesel pickup a welcome breath of air.

I’m grateful to reach my car, and take another deep breath before getting in. But as I open the door, in my heart I hear God say, “Patience”.

“What?”

“Patience. You asked who I want to be for you. I want to be patience. I’m teaching you to embrace My presence when you don’t have control over your circumstances. I’m teaching you to live in unconditional peace, and acceptance with joy. I’m loosing you from self–pity and fear of failure, which have frustrated and paralyzed you.”

Oh.

Quack.