By Michelle (Graceful, Faith in the Everyday)
I stop short in the driveway and stand staring. It all looks so normal, so everyday, I think to myself, observing the potted impatiens she planted in front of the garage, the Windexed windows, the kitchen light glowing inside. Who would know what goes on behind that front door, between those brick walls? Who would guess there is grieving and sickness, tears and joy mingled bittersweet?
I watch the grandkids play tag, climb the river birch tree. They yell and laugh, scream and fall in piles on the grass.
A neighbor drives by, slows, points to my husband’s uncle’s car – a 50s Chevrolet convertible parked in the driveway – gives me a thumb’s up. He approves of the car. But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I don’t care a bit about that car, about its funky tail fins and genuine red leather interior. He doesn’t know that I don’t even see it.
This neighbor can’t see the real story, of course. All he sees are grandkids leaping on the lawn, neatly trimmed shrubs, the classic car, a beautiful house bricked shut.
Later that same week I drive to church early on a Sunday morning. I stop at red and then accelerate, and just at the last second I see it, the car turning left in front of me. I slam the brakes and glimpse through the windshield a fist raised, mouths forming angry words, faces leaning forward, disgusted.
What I’ve absent-mindedly taken for a stop sign is actually a red traffic light. I’d been distracted, thinking about labored breathing and cool extremities and the other signs of imminent death that my husband had catalogued for me the night before on the telephone. The elderly couple in the oncoming car had turned on the green arrow; they’d had the right of way. The angry look on their faces accused, “Pay attention, stupid girl!”
I didn’t blame them for the angry words I couldn’t hear. Not really. I’ve done the same myself – muttered a searing response to the driver who cuts sharply into my lane, the cashier who seems grumpy and impolite.
I didn’t blame the elderly couple for their angry gestures because they simply didn’t know. They didn’t know that my driving error wasn’t intentional. They didn’t know that I was simply distracted by pain.
It would be easier if we all resembled Atlas, the weight of the world plainly strapped to our backs. But we don’t know, we can’t see the pain and suffering latched inside, behind the door, bricked tight and snug.
And so, I think, that’s why we must be gentle with one another. Kind. Tolerant. Forgiving. That’s why we ought to give one another the benefit of the doubt. Because at one point or another, each of us will feel the weight of the world on our backs – but not everyone will see it.
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” (Philo of Alexandria)
“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me – put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.” (Philippians 4:8-9)
Michelle is a Christian wife and mother of two originally from Massachusetts now living in Nebraska. She is a part-time writer, editor and fundraiser for Nebraska PBS/NPR. Michelle loves to write about how her family illuminates God's presence in her everyday life, and on finding (and keeping) faith in the everyday. Michelle enjoys reading, running and writing. Be sure to go visit her blog, Graceful, Faith in the Everyday.