Snapshot

As I was packing up my guitar after church at Avondale Sunday, a slender, distinguished elderly gentleman in a dark suit was rising from his seat on the second pew where he had sat alone during the service. Thinning silver-white hair lay neatly combed, except for a mischievous wisp that had fallen across his forehead.

He slowly came to his feet, using the back of the front pew as a support, then paused for a moment, as if he had forgotten something and was trying to remember.

A pleased look crossed his face like the sunlight that chases the shadow of a small cloud blown away by the wind. He turned and slowly reached down into the maroon cushioned pew as if it were an open treasure chest. When his hand came back in sight it contained a familiar box. Girl Scout cookies.

He struggled to fit the familiar shaped box in the side pocket of his suit coat. But shortly he was walking deliberately out of the sanctuary, the green and red top of the cookie box standing out in contrast to his dark suit.

I don't know why the elderly gentleman and his girl scout cookies caught my attention. It was like a snapshot, a few seconds of real life. I know what I saw.

But I enjoyed thinking about what I did not see.

I pictured one of the sweet little girls of the church putting the box of cookies into the man's hands earlier that morning at church. The little girl proudly delivered the cookies, and nervously spoke her thanks to the man who was seventy years her senior. The man accepted them with a smile and gratitude and extended his hand for a handshake. The shared moment made life better for both of them.

And I am sure that this week will find the elderly gentleman enjoying cookie breaks from time to time, maybe with coffee, maybe with milk, but always with a memory of the smiling face of the little girl who placed them in his hands at church.

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