keep a look out

Before it even occurred, many warned me I would have a love-hate relationship with living alone. And while, I still hold the very same position I did months ago, which is that I would (will) be "just fine" and that there were (are) signs my solo-living is a season ordained by Him, others positions have, admittedly, gained clout. Previous to learning I'd have a roommate come October/November, the love-hate relationship manifested only its hateful side. However, with a "light" at the end of the tunnel, the last few weeks have envoked those love feelings.

That said, I still find myself hating living alone now and again, and the again happens unexpectedly. Like, this morning. I can't say why, because I do not know. But, this morning I loathed the fact that I live alone. While I can reprimand myself with some kind of holy anger over being ungrateful and unthankful for my many blessings - including a thriving social life - there are times when the self-reprimanding is just silly, because I don't really believe myself. So, despite the fact I had a busy day of meetings and errands, I spent the moments when I was (in loneliness) brushing my teeth or (in loneliness) unloading my groceries, trying to find somebody, anybody to blame for my situation.

And when I couldn't find anyone to blame, I chose to dwell on the unnaturalness, the "wrongness", of living alone, lamenting that no one on this earth should have to experience it (except, of course, if they see things contrary to myself). Thoughts like, "Lord, this would be a good time, if any, to bring that 'Adam' into my life. I do have the time now," kept coming to mind. Then, came the mental male bashing. (Which every male should know is really a desperate cry for attention.)

Fast-forward...a little food, a good conversation, and a nap later, I have forgotten about my morning lament. It's amazing how quickly these things happen. I made a late-night grocery run to my new, favoriate hispanic market. With my cart loaded high with a month's worth of groceries and supplies for work, I push my way out of the store. Arrive at my car and pop the trunk, when I hear an accented, older male voice calling out to me, "my lady, my lady." I do the first thing every women does when she hears this, thinks it must be a call for another lady in the parking lot. I turned to look and found this short, older, hispanic, grandfather-type running across the lot toward me. My grocery bagger! with flowers in his arms. Big lillies. At my car and out of breath, he says, "My lady, these are for you" and extends out lillies for my taking.

Someone out there knows and sees, bringing us surprising gifts at our places of greatest, felt need just when we are apt to think we are all alone.