A Voice Crying

Can you believe that Roberts Wesleyan College closes at 3:30 on Fridays and everyone gets to go home early?! Its true! Every Friday all summer long! I finally had time to shop for all those elusive little things you suddenly find yourself in need of when you move into a new place - you know, shower curtains, towel racks, waste baskets, aluminum foil. . .

The boys and I gleefully headed out, stopping first at the credit union so I could reopen an account there, then the boys begged to shop at Wegmans, their absolute favorite grocery store in the world. Invariably wherever I am, from Illinois to Wisconsin to Connecticut, if I happen to mention Wegmans, there will be someone who will sigh, "O, Wegmans! I love Wegmans!" What fun we had gazing at all the wonderful things you could buy if you could afford them. How tired the boys got hearing me say, "Not today. Later when I have more money."

Afterward, we headed for Marketplace Mall, wandering about locating shelf liner here, a shower curtain there, remarking over some little gadget, speculating about whether that color curtain would look good in the living room. After lots of wandering, it was getting late, and we decided to head out. We had parked near JC Penneys, and I needed to make a trip to the bathroom before leaving. I entered the Ladies Room foyer, thinking about what a good day it had been and how nice it was to be able to settle in. I no sooner got into a stall than I suddenly heard someone burst into tears and start crying HARD.

"What in the world!" I thought. "Did someone get hurt?" Before I could say anything, someone else came in the Ladies Room, and immediately asked what was wrong. The young lady answered, "Nothing, really. I'll be OK. Really. I'm Fine."

"Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?" the other voice asked.

"No. No. I'm fine." Crying voice answered. After a few minutes, the other voice left, and crying voice resumed bawling with such passion, I was worried. Now she was talking to herself. Or to God. Or to someone, I'm not sure who.

"It's not like I'm ungrateful. I've just never been to a funeral before. And of all people, this one. Pull yourself together. Get a grip. Stop this. You can do it." She began breathing frantically in and out so fast I was sure she would pass out. More conversation. "Stop crying." Loud bawling pursued. "Stop. Stop. Stop. Get a grip. You can do it. You can do it." More frantic crying. I wondered who had died. Her mother? Her closest friend?

I felt guilty standing there in a stall obviously unbeknownst to her. But I didn't want to intrude on her time of grief either. So I just stayed still, waiting for the storm to pass, or the opportunity to speak without frightening her. I had no idea what she even looked like. For about twenty minutes, she carried on trying to will herself to quit and utterly unable to stop.

Life can be painful, especially if you have no one to turn to in your time of grief, especially if you are young and this is your first deep wound. I began praying for her, whatever the problem might be, that God would minister to her peace and strength. She finally told herself that she just had to get her hair finished (the salon has a private door into the ladies room) or she wouldn't be presentable, did about a hundred more deep breaths, and exited.

A second later, she re-entered before I had time to move, cried for another five minutes and exited again. I waited. Sure enough, once more she came back in, cried, told herself to stop a dozen times, then went out again. Slowly I came out of the stall.


Whew! Poor woman. I hoped she would find peace and be able to get through whatever it was she was facing. I realized how fortunate I have been to have gone more gently through life's hard things. Twice I have experienced the inexplicable peace of God in the midst of a terrible situation - once the night my son died, and once the day of my cancer surgery. It is curious to be in the midst of a crisis, yet find yourself calm without the intervention of any drugs.

It is not something you do yourself. Often people tell me I am strong. Truth is, I am just like everyone else. Inside, I have the same fears, the same feelings as everyone else. But God touches you, and you find the fear is gone. And with the fear, the sting and the pain. I've tried to think of how to describe it, but I cannot. I only know I am fortunate to have been touched by God's strength in those horrible moments when life tears you apart. I only wish I could have told the voice crying in the bathroom. I hope she finds God's peace, whatever her difficulty.