"All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, and its flower fall away, but the word of the LORD endures forever." I Peter 1:24

Small Town Living

Small towns are terrible and wonderful places to live. Our local grocery is notorious for slapping sale tags on shelves that have absolutely no correlation to the prices in their registers. I found another of those discrepancies the other day when I bought a bottle of my favorite creamer. I was happy when I'd unexpectedly found an item on sale that I'd planned to buy anyway. I was less than happy when the sale price didn't ring up. I went to the service desk with my complaint. The young man there called back to the dairy department to ask about the price, and talked to a part-time employee who didn't actually want to go check the price. Sloth Boy, without moving one inch toward the shelf, I'm sure, told the service center guy that I'd picked up the wrong size bottle and that's why it wasn't on sale. I said, no, that wasn't the case, I'd read that tag carefully. The service center fellow just looked at me, unbudging. It was a good thing it wasn't the Old West and neither of us were packing six-shooters. If I hadn't been wearing the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I own, I would have hauled that customer service guy all the way to the back corner of the store to prove my point. Those shoes, and the fact that it was only twenty-seven cents we were debating, saved him that embarrassment. Of course, the principle was much more important than my twenty-seven cents, but my feet hurt and I was in a hurry, so I let it go.

I went back in there again yesterday for creamer (yes, I use so much of the stuff it's on par with plasma) and the same sale tag was still on the shelf. Apparently it's a long-term Thanksgiving holiday sale and not just one of their weekly sales. When I took my precious bottle to the check-out, it again rang up wrong. The price still hadn't been changed in the computer! I was not giving thanks. I wondered just how many people had merrily taken their creamer home thinking they'd gotten a good deal. I was righteously indignant for all those scammed and oblivious customers. I gave the woman at the register the history of my creamer-on-sale-but-not-really experience. I didn't say a word about wanting to drag the customer service guy through the store, but she looked worried anyway and subtracted twenty-seven cents from my bill. Maybe there was something in my tone of voice.

I drove home happy about that twenty-cents, as well as about the nice thing that had happened to me just before at the drugstore across the street.

A few days before that, I'd finally gone to the doctor about my cough that just wouldn't go way. I was so sick and so exhausted that I hadn't noticed that I didn't have my antibiotic until I'd driven all the way home and tried to take the first dose. I called the drug store and explained that they'd failed to give me my antibiotic. The pharmacy tech, knowing how sick I was, said she'd drive my prescription out to me. I'd never heard of such a thoughtful thing! I was very surprised, and very grateful. After doing some checking, and calling the doctor who'd written the prescription, she realized that I'd failed to give her the prescription for my antibiotic which had been written on a tear-off slip of paper instead of on a traditional prescription form as the cough syrup had been. But she knew how sick I was and drove the medicine out to me, even though it was my mistake instead of hers. When she dropped of the medicine she explained what had happened, but, feeling like I did, it took me a couple of days before it dawned on me that I hadn't yet paid for that antibiotic.

Yesterday, just before going to the grocery, I stopped by the pharmacy. The woman who had been so kind to me was working. I apologized and told her that I was there to pay for that prescription. She explained that her pharmacist had told her to just cancel out the charge. I didn't know what to say. I'd never heard of such a thing. "But I owe for it, and I'm more than willing to pay," I argued. "No," she said, "it's cancelled. That's what the pharmacist told me to do." I thanked her profusely and walked away amazed and thinking that this kind of unheard of thing would only happen in a small town. The blessings and hassles of small town living. Maybe they somehow balanced one another out, I thought.

Later that evening, after I 'd picked up the kids and grandkids from school, answered a bazillion questions, wrestled everyone around into homework mode, started supper, and ran upstairs to put a load of laundry into the dryer and restart the washer with the next load, the Lord brought a parable to mind that stopped me at the door of the laundry room just as I was about to pelt back down the stairs into the chaos.

"Then his master, after he had called him, said to him, "You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you begged me. Should you not also have had compassion on your fellow servant, just as I had pity on you? And his master was angry, and delivered him to the torturers until he should pay all that was due him." Matthew 18: 32-34

Then Jesus' explanation of this parable of the unforgiving servant:

"So My heavenly Father also will do to you if each of you, from his heart, does not forgive his brother his trespasses." vs. 35

I pictured my complaining self standing at the grocery store check-out after having just come from my unexpected blessing across the street at pharmacy. That was an excruciatingly uncomfortable image, so I responded to the Lord's bringing this parable to mind in the same way most any guilty child would. I tried to weasel my way out of it. "But I'm not that bad! I didn't send anyone to the torturers!" His quiet, patient (oh, He shows so much patience with me!) and unmistakable response was, It was twenty-seven cents. "But you know how that store is! They do this to customers all the time. It was the principle of the thing," I offered again in my own defense. It was twenty-seven cents, He repeated. Sigh. He was right. I was out of arguments and feeling like the low, unforgiving snake I can be. I had to groan, grab the door jamb and bang my stupid head on it a couple of times. "Lord, forgive me! How can I make it right?" Wise Father that He is, He didn't answer right away. Instead, He let me mull it over all evening. This morning He prompted me, Write about it. Confess it in print. I'll let you know where to go from there.

I'd like to think I've learned my lesson for good and will never again live in the small town of my own self-centeredness, but I know myself too well for that. Instead, I'm hoping and praying that the next time I feel "righteous" indignation rise in me, whether it's about a small thing like being swindled out of twenty-seven cents, or a much larger issue, I'll respond in a more loving way. I'm hoping that I'll respond the way Jesus has always responded to me when I've missed the mark; by listening patiently and being willing to forgive.

Maybe then the Lord and I can keep my failings a little less public. But then pride is a big city in which you can fool yourself into thinking it's possible to remain anonymous. Humility is a small town where everyone knows your name, as well as every little thing there is to know about you. Humbling as it is, I prefer that small town.

Daye Phillippo

November 2008