I sat from afar... watching them.
The remnants from my lunch along with a crumpled paper napkin sat on the counter, my boots perched on the stool rungs as I sat wearing jeans and a softly faded white and grey striped pullover, my earrings dangling like glistening mini amber chandeliers as I reached in my handbag to dig around for a Chapstick and lipgloss. As I did, I glanced back over as they finished at the register and began striding toward my direction.
She was tiny, no more than four feet something and slender... with beautiful long dark glossy hair that she had taken the time to curl. She wore cerulean blue pants with heels and a quarter length sleeve blouse in a silky cream. I had seen them enter the store twenty minutes earlier... him in baggy jeans and a dress shirt, his hair immaculately styled, walking a good eight feet ahead of her, ignoring her as she struggled to navigate the uneven pavement in her precarious heels... heels she had worn in an effort to look nice. He swaggered ahead, cocky in demeanor and one would hope honestly oblivious to her struggle yet obviously questioning how on earth he could be...
Now she pushed the cart, struggling with the weight of it as it was filled to the top with groceries and essentials and yet he strode ahead once again seemingly oblivious to her existence. Then he stopped abruptly and waltzed past her. I watched as the scenario painfully unfolded... her coming to a halt with the shopping cart, turning back to call out to him...
He ignored her.
She called again "What is it?"
He threw a "I forgot something" back at her over his shoulder with visible irritation and kept walking.
She stood there for a split second like she was contemplating what to do... she looked like she wanted to cry then she let out an audible sigh and with frustration turned the heavy cart around to go back after him.
No, stop... I wanted to tell her.
I wanted to take her by the arm, sit her down and spell out all the ways he was no good for her... how he was treating her like she didn't exist, how he had been checking out another woman when they were at the register, how he was blantantly dismissive of her.
I wanted to tell her that no, she should not chase after him. That no, she didn't have to accept his behavior, that she had every right to put her foot down and say "no more."
I wanted to tell her she could do much better based upon his callous treatment of her, that she didn't have to settle to be loved with a love that was draining and never fulfilling because that's not love... that's death in a cup.
I wanted to tell her that somewhere there was a man who would love her, keep her on his arm, show the world how proud he was to have her yet not out of narcissistic egotism but out of gracious appreciation for her heart and soul. I wanted to tell her that yes, somewhere there was a man worthy of her love and that although she hasn't met him yet she can pray for him to walk into her life not with a boyish swagger but with a manly stride along with Godly character.
I wanted to tell her all these things...
Things she might know or not... things she may deny but later come to know as truth... things too painful to want to hear... things we often want to push away and sweep under the rug because listening to them means possibly facing them and watching the clock tick by as we lose more time in our youth, our life, to begin again as we wish to... not quite realizing how much we really are losing by investing ourselves in a love that doesn't really meet the definition of love.
Yet no matter what our age... whether we are five, twenty, or forty, we can pray for our future husband, our future love and ask God to keep him safe, keep him in His word, to give him wisdom and to guide him toward us. We can pray for a man of Godly character who will love us with sincerity... that calls us by name in genuine love and holds our hand to walk the narrow path together...
beyond blessed to have us by his side.
© gps-gracepowerstrength.blogspot.com ~ 2013
image “Shopping Lady With Trolley” by digital art via FreeDigitalPhotos.net