I’m really not sure how we got there. We were just making small talk with the cashier at a second hand store. Cassidy, my 17 year old daughter and I had one of those co-manic moments where we both decided it would be fun to make mittens and hats from old sweaters. We stood at the check out counter and just started chatting like we are known to do. Each of us trying to say something cute or clever to make the cashier smile as she totaled up our treasures. I think it went something like this:
Cassidy:” My dad said I needed to buy some jeans WITHOUT holes in them since it’s about to get cold”
Cashier: “Yeah, you certainly won’t need shorts… sometimes I see girls in here with shorts that have holes in them… I’d never let me daughter dress like that.”
Cassidy: “Well, my mom says my shorts have to cover at least everything a swim suit would cover….” (ok, I’m not sure I really said that, but we’ll let it slide for the sake of the story)
Cashier: “My shorts had to go below my knee when I was your age”
Me: “Will you have your daughter dress the same way?” Cahier: “Yes ma’am…”
(At this point I thought we might be having a great discussion about modesty…. but the conversation went another way)
“You see, I’m adopted…” Her tone and volume dropped and she leaned over the counter a bit. She told us her story. She told me a name and then wrote it down on a piece of paper she tore off a scrap. “This was my brother”, she said, “google his name and you’ll know the whole story” She handed me the scrap of a scrap with a name written on it…when we got to the car we googled the name. We read a horrific story of abuse and neglect. A very, very sad story, one that you would never have guessed had you passed through her line and not started talking about holes in jeans. Everyone has a story.
She was one year old when her entire life took a hard left turn. We were both a little choked up… ok, a lot choked up. “Lord, have mercy” came out of my mouth more than once as I read one of the many news articles that popped up in my Google search.
Stories take time. Telling them. Listening to them. Googling them. Knowing them.
One thing I love about ReJoyed is the story behind some of the metal I use. A copper pan that I found at a garage sale in South Tampa. Friends give me silver plated platters that have been sitting unused in storage for years. Metal treasures left over from a yard sale that would likely have been discarded by less thoughtful hands. A bowl full of metal parts left from a project. That copper plate set I bought from a second hand store in Sun Valley, Idaho. Every bit of it has a story. At one time manufactured for a purpose. It usually lands in my studio when it has become no longer useful… used up… beat up… unwanted.
That’s me, That’s you, That’s the cashier at the second hand store… created for a purpose. Everyone has a story. In Psalm 51:12 David asks the Lord to “Restore” his Joy. (By the way, this is where I get the word “ReJoyed” from) He may as well be saying “ReStory” me. Take what is no longer useful… used up… beat up… unwanted and make it new. Adopt me, if you will. My life has taken a hard left turn. Maybe I had control over that, maybe I didn’t… but you, Oh God, creator AND redeemer can make ALL things completely new.
Everyone has a story.
Love your story! !!!!