Sunday, I spent most of the afternoon writing a 2,000-word post. Today, I watched a sermon that made me question whether I should schedule it. “I’m confused,” I told God silently. “If you don’t want me to post it, you’ve gotta tell me in no uncertain terms.” When I turned on Radio 1000 at 6 p.m., Darrell Scott repeated the words “wait for the lord” about 70 times.
The Steps of a Good (Wo)Man Are Ordered by the Lord
Since God allowed me to become homeless two days before my birthday last July, I’ve become a better listener — or, I guess I should say, obeyer. That’s partly out of fear and partly because, when I let God order my steps, I wind up being in the right place at the right time. For example, shortly after I began working for the store I’m working for now, a customer asked if we had any duvets. We didn’t, so she began looking at palm-sized cardboard boxes on a shelf where we were standing. I’d thought they were just decorative boxes like the decorative boxes around the corner, but when she opened a purple one, it played music.
My jaw dropped.
“That’s the song my mom’s childhood jewelry box played,” I told the heavy Indian woman. She’d given it to me when I was in elementary school, and I threw it out along with some of her calendars, journals, and other belongings when I moved in 2016 because I didn’t want to take all of her pain and sadness with me to yet another apartment.
“Aww! It’s a message from your mom!” she said.
I hadn’t told her she was dead.
My eyes flooded, and then overflowed. The customer patted my arm and said, “You got a message from your mom, and I was the conduit — if you believe that sort of thing.”
“Yeahhhh,” I said and walked back to my register to dry my eyes and cheeks.
After I got off work this past Saturday evening, I walked over a mile to Ulta to buy a new brand of conditioner because Cleveland’s unbearable humidity has been wreaking havoc on my hair. Then, I took the bus home. Interestingly, the coin slot was broken, so I only had to pay the dollar bill I had, and I got to keep $1.50 in quarters. If that coin slot hadn’t been broken, I would’ve had to walk four hot and sticky miles to the store Sunday morning to attend a mandatory meeting, or I would’ve had to hike half a mile to CVS to buy something and get change back from a debit card purchase so I could take the bus. Either way, I would’ve had to wake up a lot earlier than necessary, and God knows I don’t like that. Especially on my day off.
Once I got to the meeting I didn’t want to attend, I learned the store manager’s promoting me to assistant manager. Afterward, a coworker gave me a ride home, saving me another four miles of misery.
Things like this always make me wonder what I missed by not walking in the steps God ordered for me years ago.