Y’all. My heart skipped a beat today. In line at Kohls. And listen when I tell you. It skipped a whole flippin’ beat. And took me completely off guard. Handsome does not begin to describe what I encountered. Or really. Doesn’t even matter. He was in line with his mother. I think. Talking about his shopping woes at Walmart. How he’s disappointed in the produce. Y’all. He shops for produce. He eats produce. Wants good produce. And shops with his mother.
He smiled at me as I walked up to the checkout. I offered a small grin back. Surprised at what I had found. And he turned back. Did it again. Five times to be exact. Smiles. Blushing. I had to look away. I could still feel his eyes on me. And y’all. It’s been a minute. Since. Well, all that. Since someone has looked at me in a way that extends beyond, “oh, she has nice eyes.” It’s like the movie. Or the story. Of the guy and girl in a bar. He buys her a drink. Or maybe it’s her. I can’t remember. But they can’t get enough of the eyes. Until finally. Connection is made. With beer. Then kisses. And wedding bells.
And I so could have connected with his mother. Like I do. Like I was born to do. With the things in her basket. Or her cool frayed jeans. It would have been an simple connection for me. Taken merely seconds. This connection. And it would have led straight to a conversation with him. In an instant. With very little effort. But don’t forget Oscar. The mouth splint. The connection blocker. And so. You know how the story ends.
His last glances happened as he headed out the door. Twice. I grinned back. Both times. Made damn good eye contact. Both times. And prayed for Debbie to hurry up with my four measly items. The parking lot. I just want to get to the parking lot. But there would be no further meeting. Or eye contact. Or smiles. Or connection.
I drove home. Excitement still racing through my veins. Still trying to catch my breath. Then I started the routine. You know the one….
This damn splint. He was probably 10 years younger anyway. And probably wants a gander of children that I’m much too old to give him. Plus he doesn’t even live here. Who shops with their mom at Kohls. On Tuesday. At 3pm. In athletic apparel. He must be visiting. Of course he’s visiting. He’s probably from Alaska. Or something. Maybe Iceland.
But then I heard a voice. Jesus. Of course. Two simple words.
Not now. He repeated. Not now.
Of course not now. It’s His timing. Not mine. Or the guy in the checkout line. Or anyone’s for that matter. His time. And even though I’m impatient as hell. For all that. I’ll wait. I’ll trust. And wait for Him. Because His plans are always better than mine anyway.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11