Offerings

This morning I forgot my wallet at home. I realized this after she had already rung up my breakfast and coffee. “I’m so sorry,” I said, pushing things back across the counter. “I think I have some change for at least the coffee.” I dug out nickels and pennies and started counting.

“Why don’t you just take it,” she offered, handing everything back to me. “You can come back later to pay.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, still digging for change.

“Yes, take it. You need it. I know you’ll come back. I trust you.”

Such human kindness warms me.

Growing up, my parents were always taking in strays. Mostly they were cats, who would make a home for themselves under our porch. My father would wake up early each morning and bring them food and fresh water. It took me years to recognize that this was a gift.

It’s one of those things you take for granted as a child, the daily work of your parents, their offerings of care. When you’re young, you know that’s just what parents do. They cook. They clean. They drive you around. They pick up after you. They throw you parties. They buy you things. They soothe your wounds. They protect you. As you grow up, you realize this – all of this – was love. There is so much to be grateful for.

When my brother was in his early teens, he started bringing home stray musicians. I never really understood where they all came from. These “jazz cats” multiplied and took over the house. They slept in our basement, invaded our kitchen, took over our bathrooms. There were always new faces at the dinner table. There were always jam sessions in progress.

It was a running joke among my friends. I would roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders and tell them my parents were crazy. We would laugh at their expense.

But I’m older now, with a house of my own, and I can see my parents more clearly. I understand that they weren’t crazy. They were compassionate and trusting and kind. They opened the doors of our home. They opened the doors of their lives. “Come in, come in,” they offered the world. They provided food and shelter and comfort. They were solace for those who were lost.

Such human kindness warms me.

I thanked the woman behind the counter. Out loud, I thanked her for the breakfast and coffee. In my head, I thanked her for the kindness. I thanked her for the trust. I thanked her for being so like my parents – so caring, so giving, so understanding of what others need. I thanked her for reminding me of all that I was taught growing up.

For years my parents opened doors and made the world our family. Our house was always full of breakfast, and music, and laughter. In this way, there were no strays. There were only living, breathing opportunities for love. It took me years to understand that this was a gift. It is one of many I am grateful for.