Beech Tree News Network

On Friday, I was at my daughter, Nikki’s, house in Covington, Louisiana, when I realized something about myself.  I have begun experiencing the fears of the aging.  Often at work, I tell the guys to be nice to me, because I’m old people.  This usually happens when I recruit their help in finding the water bottle I’ve lost for the second time in thirty minutes or when I ask what date yesterday was for the third time, and Skyler tells me it’s still the 16^th like it was the previous two times I asked.  It was a different kind of aging experience I went through on Friday, in Covington, however; I was afraid to leave the house in search of the local Walmart to buy more Gatorade.

                “This is ridiculous,” I tell myself, in order to shame myself into going.  It works.  I get into my car, pull up Google Maps, enter Walmart then head in the direction I’m advised to do by the Google Maps woman.  I arrive at Walmart in under ten minutes.  It’s raining, there are no close-to-the-entrance parking spaces, and I think, “I don’t have to have Gatorade.”  I quickly reprimand myself and head down the next aisle to look there.  I fall in behind a woman on one of those motorized Walmart scooters with the basket in the front.

                The woman holds a multi-colored umbrella over her head as she scoots along.  There is a guy in a white Tundra behind me.  I park my car, and as I exit, I hear him ask the umbrella woman if he can help her load her groceries into her car.  The woman says, “I would let you, but I can’t find my car.”

                As the umbrella woman is talking to Tundra guy, a lady gets out of her Honda Accord.  She overhears the conversation and tells the umbrella woman that she will help her find her car.  I volunteer to help with the search, as well.  Umbrella woman tells us it’s a tan SUV, and it is decided that Tundra guy will drive up the next aisle to search for the vehicle, and Honda lady and I will stay with umbrella woman while she motors in that direction. 

                We have no luck in the next aisle, so I ask umbrella woman what the make and model of her SUV is.  She stares blankly.  “This car is a Ford Focus,” I say, pointing to the car next to me.  “What is your car?”

                “It’s a Nissan,” she says. 

                “Look for a tan Nissan,” I yell to Tundra guy, as he rolls down his window.

                It is now pouring rain.  I notice the umbrella woman has on house shoes.  She must notice that I notice, because she says, “I’ve just had surgery, and these are the only shoes I can get on my feet.”

                “Don’t worry about that,” I say, “Nobody thinks anything about that.”

                The surgery information causes a light bulb to go on.  “Did you have to pick up medicine while you were in Walmart?” I ask.

                “Yes,” she says.

                “When you got out of your car, what did the sign say on the wall over the entrance?”

                “Pharmacy,” she says.

                We have been looking for her car on the grocery end of Walmart—the exact opposite end.  I flag down Tundra guy and tell him to head for the pharmacy side, while Honda lady and I escort umbrella woman that way.  I spot a tan Nissan.

                “Is your Nissan a Pathfinder?” I ask.

                “Yes!” she cries, jubilantly.

                I wave Tundra guy over, and the three of us load umbrella woman’s groceries into her car.  Honda lady climbs onto the scooter to return it to the store.  Umbrella woman thanks us.  We all smile and wave goodbye to one another, and I go into the store for my Gatorade, no longer worried about getting wet, because I am now soaked completely through.

                Later, I thought about that whole incident and all the players.  Tundra guy and Honda lady taking the time to help a stranger, in the pouring rain; the tremendous courage it took for the umbrella woman to venture out in her house shoes, after recent surgery; my reticence to leave the house and drive in unfamiliar territory.  I had to ask myself, “What were you afraid of?”

                I read once that, in a lot of cases, fear comes from calculating without God.  I think there’s some truth in that.  We do not live, and breathe, and move in isolation.  I know bad things can happen to good people, but I also know good things can happen to good people, and I am going to try to practice the expectancy of success, not the fear of failure as I continue to age.