Angels Are Real (At the Grocery Store)

Adult human female anatomy diagram chartAt home insemination

Every grocery trip with my kids ends with a week’s worth of food and a mountain of regret. Each time, I ponder why I didn’t just order everything online.

Last week, I decided to brave the grocery store after picking my 3-year-old, Lily, up from preschool. I thought we had enough time—80 minutes before lunch. However, my day started off on the wrong foot. When Lily spotted me, she exclaimed, “I didn’t expect you!” As we walked to the car, she took off running instead of getting in.

“Please get in the car,” I urged her. In response, she decided to dive into a pile of leaves. We didn’t have time for this kind of play. “Get in the car, please,” I firmly insisted. She just burrowed deeper into the leaves. My patience dwindled as I scooped her up, and she retaliated by hitting my arm.

“Deep breaths,” I told myself, but I was fuming. We took a detour for an impromptu time-out. I directed her to an upside-down bucket in the garage, where she sat facing the wall for three minutes. I watched from the car, my podcast playing in the background. Irony, indeed. Afterward, she apologized, and we were finally on our way.

When we arrived at the grocery store, the parking lot was packed. After several loops, I finally found a spot, unbuckled the girls, and made my way across the pavement, carrying my 17-month-old and holding Lily’s hand. Upon entering the store, she squealed, “Look! The race-car cart!”

Unfortunately, the cart was wet from the morning rain. “Oh no, it’s wet! Let’s find another one,” I said with a false sense of disappointment. By the time we were inside, my arm ached under the weight of the baby. I set her down, only to find her wandering toward a tall display of drinks. I quickly scooped her back up, instructed Lily to stay put, and dashed outside to retrieve the race-car cart.

Inside, I told Lily to hold her sister’s hand while I searched for a towel, glancing back to ensure the baby wasn’t headed for disaster. I managed to grab a box of tissues from the service desk, sprinting back just in time to prevent a Gatorade avalanche.

With the baby in one arm and tissues in the other, I tried to tilt the cart to drain the water. Instead, I created a sizeable puddle. I tossed some free newspapers over it, realizing I only had one hand free. Lunchtime was fast approaching; the only thing worse than grocery shopping with kids is doing so with hungry kids. I briefly contemplated going home.

Then, like a miracle, an angel appeared. She had long, curly hair and glasses, holding a loaf of bread. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice soothing amidst the chaos.

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. “Um, yes…”

“What can I do?” she inquired, concern evident in her eyes. Just then, the clerk from the service desk appeared with a roll of paper towels. He handed them to my angel. Standing there, I felt foolish holding the baby and Lily’s hand as they wiped down my cart.

“You’re being so patient,” she said to my kids, “I’m a mom too, so I know how tough it can be.” We exchanged knowing smiles. She didn’t need to say it; she understood my exhaustion. To her, I wasn’t just a mom with a messy cart and squirmy kids. I was a weary parent trying to make it through my shopping list with limited time.

Her small act of kindness reminded me why I still venture out for groceries. If I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have been reminded that angels exist in the most unexpected places.

Thank you, kind stranger.