Wow, Your Hands Sure Are Full!

I was shopping last night and saw one of those cutesy signs that read, "If you think my arms are full, you should see my heart!"

Yes, you know my reaction was a snarky combination of eye rolling and finger-down-the-throat gagging.

The sign also got me thinking about something that happened to me, which led to this post.

Last year Shawn was going to be home late and I was in no condition to throw any kind of dinner together, so before we picked Noah up from practice, the littles and I hopped in the car to grab dinner from Chik Fil A.  Now, if you're not familiar with Chik Fil A, there's really no 'grabbing' anything during peak meal times.  The drive thru wraps itself around the town at least once, and if you happen to have the misfortune of pulling into the parking lot on a spirit night as I did that night, it wraps itself around the town for several miles, or you're parking in the next county over and walking.  Rather than try to attempt entertaining two small children in the drive thru, I finally found a parking space and I took the littles in for our carry out order.  The cashier handed multiple bags and a heavy drink carrier--to my already burdened arms, carrying a squirming infant, an umbrella (because yes, it was also raining--oh, the time had just changed, so it was also dark), my purse and my 6 year old's hand.  Between the crowd at the door inside the restaurant, and on my way to my car in the dark, wet parking lot, no fewer than five people commented how full my hands were.  One of them even allowed the door to slam shut in my face, leaving me to open it with my son's head elbow and foot.  Not one of those observant morons humans offered to help me.  I really considered throat punching the next person who made such a ridiculous observation.  When everything but Ezra and Avery's hand finally slipped out of my hands in the middle of the parking lot, I dropped to my knees in tears, dinner all over the parking lot, ruined.  I cried, I yelled and I screamed, if only one person had offered to help.  I didn't even bother cleaning up the mess our dinner had made. Yes, I felt quite like the crazy lady right there in the middle of the parking lot.  We all got back in the car, all of us in tears, picked Noah up (Avery quickly explained to him that "Mommy dropped dinner and screamed at Chik Fil A.") and went home to canned soup for dinner.  

If only one person had offered to help.  You could be the difference between a good day or a bad one for someone.  Wouldn't you want to help a person have a good day?  All it takes is an offer of help.  All that person can do is say no--and hey, you've done your part.

"Could I carry that coffee cup to the register for you?"
"Could I please take your tray to the trash can?  Gosh, I remember when my kids were that age!"
"I would really like to help, it looks like your arms are full, what can I do?"
"Here, please take my arm and we can step down this curb together!"
"Is there something I can reach for you?"

It doesn't take much to be nice, to be thoughtful.  A simple smile, a door held open, a quick pleasantry at the door.  An offer of help.  There are times when it's not so much that a person's arms are full, but the person is caught in public, overwhelmed by life--emotions like grief sneak up and catch us off guard.  Disabilities and pain are another big part of life. So often we lose ourselves in our own little worlds, oblivious to the needs of others, oblivious to others at all.  I beg you--wake up, be aware.

My ending thought--be the light.  Don't be the jerk with the dumb, obvious comment.  Be the nice human with the nice smile and the waiting arms.