We are beings that see with such jaded eyes. Many times, it’s almost as if there be a thin glaze, a cloudy transparency, a blockade that keeps us from seeing as we should. We view the world in its splendor and man in his tremendous worth and disregard so much. Oh the sharing of a heart, the touching of one’s soul! We see flesh covered bones more often than masqueraded souls. Precious gems of the heart are tucked behind our natural gaze and escape our petty thoughts. We seek a view of surface gliding than the adventure of diving to the depths of one’s being.
She was walking though the local grocery store with her father, a girl on a mission. A mission to buy a gallon of milk. As she briskly strode through the aisles, the chill of the refrigerator section sent chills through her body. Finally reaching the back, milk in hand, they made their way toward the check stand. While her father chatted with the cashier, her eyes wandered, pursuing that candies and magazines typical to every store, designed to entice customers for that last second buy. Their purchase made, they dawdled towards the exit. That’s when it happened. A boy sitting only 15 feet away. Their eyes met, if only for a second, but it was still plenty of time to make an impact. She knew him. Knew his name. Knew that they had gone to school together. Knew that he came to church that one time. And with the way he looked at her, she knew he knew her too. They were not close, he and her. In fact, they were not even friends. But they knew one another, and that’s when it hit her. As she walked past him without a second glance, something dropped in her stomach. A realization.
Today she had seen three others like him. People that she knew from a variety of places, to whom she did not say a word. Not one of them, as far as she knew, a Christian. How often every day she lives her life in such a manner. It disgusted her. How can see live in a world among the perishing while never trying to save them. Though she certainly did open her mouth and speak to random “run-ins” quite often, there were also times she stood distant. So often she bore the uncomfort of seeing a past acquaintance, a face matched with a name, as she strode through life. How difficult would it be to muster a smile, a simple greeting perhaps? Would it kill her to merely ask about their day, their life and perhaps even go as far as inviting them to church? Yet again and again, she played ignorant, covering her eyes and quieting her conscience to excuse her from interaction. How silly. How uncaring. How many God-made appointments has she missed, not because she was not present, but due to her own unwillingness and selfish desire to stay comfortable? No more can she stand back. No more will she justify a missed appointment due to the making of another. Every appointment is important, every soul of priceless worth.
Milk and Missed Appointments.
