Daddy's Girl

As I stood in the express checkout lane at Hy-Vee yesterday, an older gentleman on a scooter pulled in behind me. He had his cane in the basket of the scooter, along with his groceries. My items were being scanned, so I turned and asked if I could help put his groceries on the counter. By this time, my friend was trying to get up from his “chair.” He smiled and said, “I never turned down help.” He only had about ten items, so it took next to no time to empty his basket. It was empty at about the same time as my groceries were all checked through. As we put the final items on the counter, he said, “You’re a good girl.” Just four little words, and yet, immediately, tears sprang to my eyes. I wanted to tell him “That’s just the way my daddy would have said it.” I wanted to say “Thank you for letting me help, for reminding me of my dad.” I wanted, at the very least, to look him in the eyes. I could do none of that. Instead, I nodded "toward" him, signed the credit card display, picked up my groceries, and fled to my car where I could let the tears flow freely.

Jon, Bim, Jerry, Liz, Steve, & Don with Dad (Charlie) - 2006

I’ve said it before: I miss being somebody’s little girl. I’m about to turn 52, but those feelings are still within me. I was a child of my parents’ later years, the only girl among five brothers in my family. A big part of my identity while growing up was that I was Charlie and Audrey’s little girl. As I grew older, Mom’s friends commented more and more how much I was like her, and I always took that as a tremendous compliment. After mom passed away, the family circled our wagons around Dad, to help him as much as possible. With age, the arthritis in his hips and knees grew worse, and I felt privileged to be trusted to fill his plate (always steering clear of potato salad and anything with peas). I liked to pick up a mix of hard candy for him, when his mouth was always dry. I enjoyed taking the kids down to Fountain to decorate his house at Christmas time. I even cherished the slow pace of pushing his wheelchair around the care center. It was truly a pleasure to be able to help him, and I miss that now that he’s gone. Although I couldn’t have told you it before I went to the grocery store, I have missed hearing my own daddy say the words, “You’re a good girl.” That gentleman's words were a real blessing to me.

Putting those strong emotions aside, I was reminded of something in that grocery store checkout scene. Serving is such a blessing. How often do I miss the opportunity to serve because I am focused on the wrong thing? I have an errand to accomplish, a timeframe to stick to, or a list to finish. I am concentrating on me, and in so doing, I miss the blessings and rewards of serving others. “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 10:45) Lord, I pray that You will open my eyes for opportunities to follow Your example as a servant. In that way, I can honor You and the heritage my father and mother gave me. Amen.