I was up a minute before my alarm rang...6:59 on the dot. I set my alarm on a Sunday morning because as I've confessed here over and over ad nauseam, I love the certain solitude of early mornings. I'm no longer a night person. There. I said it. Last night I struggled to stay awake for a movie. I lost. Then I literally couldn't read the last page and a half of a story I started. I also set my alarm because I had things to finish.
One of those things is a very important batch of chicken noodle soup. It's important because I plan to deliver it today to my new friend Martha. Martha is 89 years old and she lives in her own home. She's lived there for 58 years. She lives alone now and has for quite some time. Not surprising, she's lonely. She's also sick with a virus. We met Martha yesterday when we visited her to deliver a poinsettia from the church and some cookies from our kitchen. She was so touched and grateful for the visit, the goodies and the guys' snow shoveling. The thing is though, she touched each of us with her vulnerability and strength. I can't stop thinking about her. When I asked if she needed any groceries, you'd have thought I gave her a winning lottery ticket, but of course, she doesn't want money. I got the sense that it's been a long time since she's received a kind or thoughtful gesture. A single tear rolled down her cheek. That tear broke my heart. It broke my heart wide open. She was a little embarrassed. It's clear she was a stoic, saucy woman in her day. She reminded me so much of my Grandma Rose and Aunt Helen so maybe Teddy is right: I'm attached.
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Martha was happy to see me this morning and especially excited about the soup and the hot Polish ham and rolls I picked up on my way. I almost walked by the bakery when I saw the tour bus outside and the wall to wall people inside, but I had a hunch that she might appreciate this Sunday treat. I'm glad I waited because I was right. She had the cookie tin washed and waiting for me and lit up when I suggested I fill it again. I cannot believe she ate them all, but maybe. She wanted to pay me, but I told her that wasn't necessary. She asked me why I was being so kind to her. I told her that I was quite sure in her 89 years she'd been kind to many people. She accepted. I accepted her hug.
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Sometimes the best gifts we give aren't flashy or expensive. They aren't limited in number or on back-order. They don't need batteries or come with lengthy manuals. They come from the heart and they multiply miraculously. They remind us that smiles and hugs are free and kindness begets kindness. The most valuable gifts lift up the giver as well as the receiver. These are the kinds of gifts I want to give.
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