Standing in line at the post office the other day, I was mentally calculating how long it would take before I reached the counter. There were seven people ahead of me, some had packages and others didn’t, which could mean a quick book of stamps, the time-consuming process of purchasing a money order, or (please no) the need to pick up held mail. One befuddled-looking woman was clutching a sweater, a box of Christmas candy and a box she had yet to pack them in. This was going to take a while.
I have been trying to be more patient. I have. When I am inching down the highway behind semi-trucks in all three lanes, when stocking carts block the aisles in the grocery store, when there are only three Wally-World checkout lanes open even though there are a dozen others clearly marked, when it feels like my holiday preparation has been purposefully tangled with coupons and point programs and flash sales and BOGO’s, I am trying, really trying to take a deep breath and simply move forward.
Some days go better than others. It was after an epic failure of patience (I was overcharged at the toy store but didn’t have time to go back and correct it and the straw in my drive-thru tea was a dud and my traffic lane was stopped when someone insisted on turning left when the left turn prohibition was clearly marked.) that I found myself in line at the post office. I was tired and cranky and thirsty and wanted to be anywhere but there, but I was doggedly determined to get my pile of packages off my to-do list.
Now, let me just say I love my post office. The workers there are kind and helpful and efficient and, once it is your turn, they do not hurry you along. It just wasn’t my turn yet and there was nothing to do but wait.
While I was waiting, there was nothing to do but ponder the people ahead of me. What was their story? I was thinking of them as obstacles, but each person was there, stuck in line limbo just like I was. Why were they doing it? The young girl with the sweater, who was she sending it to? The older woman whose packages were neatly labeled and double-taped, where were those packages headed? Sisters, brothers, grandchildren? The tall stack of cards clasped by the woman in red were all handwritten. She hadn’t fired off a blanket holiday email or Facebook post or tweet. If a person needed a money order it was to send funds he himself had earned to someone else who had not, someone he cared enough about to support. There was a lot of love in that line.
The stamp people could have bought them at the kiosk in the lobby, but maybe they didn’t know that, or maybe, just maybe they were waiting their turn to talk one-on-one with the nice ladies at the post office counter, because sometimes you need a little love yourself.
In each case, the waiting in line was part of the gift.
I hope you have a wonderful holiday. I hope all your planning and shopping and wrapping and couponing brings you and your loved ones to the holiday celebration you had hoped for. But more than that, I wish you quirky little moments when the craziness fades away and you see that there truly is love all around you. It’s just like everything else worth having. You have to wait for it.
