The older woman stood ahead of me in the grocery store line. She looked tired. Her gray hair and wrinkled face revealed her more advanced age. It made me think of Mom. I thought of her a lot lately since it was Christmas time, Mom’s favorite holiday. Last year just before Christmas, God called her home to glory. This year, despite the number of things I’d thought to buy her for Christmas, there was no need.

My eyes wandered to the conveyor belt that contained a modest selection of groceries. Like getting a poke in the ribs, God prompted me to buy a gift for Mom this year. Stepping forward, I placed my hand on the woman’s shoulder. She jumped a bit, startled by my touch. Due to Covid, there hadn’t been much touching. I told her I wanted to buy her groceries and without waiting for a response, slipped my credit card in the machine. She couldn’t seem to form words, but finally stammered, “I have the money.”

“I’m sure you do,” I replied. “Use it to enjoy the holidays for another purpose.” She tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted. With firm finality I stated, “I don’t get to buy my mother a gift this year. Let this be my gift to her.” With that, she seemed out of responses as tears filled her eyes. Maybe they were my tears, but either way, we both became a blurry mess.

After her groceries were bagged, she couldn’t seem to leave, struggling with what to say. Once she’d gathered herself, she asked, “What is your name, and would you please give me your address or phone number so my husband can thank you too.”

“It’s not necessary. I’ve been adequately thanked. Just be blessed with the love of Christ as I have been. Have a Merry Christmas.” With another stammered thank you, she gathered her grocery bags, gave me a hug, Covid and all, and departed.

The void left due to Mom’s absence seemed to lift. Although I didn’t get to deliver a gift to Mom this Christmas, I’m pretty sure she received it. Merry Christmas Mom. Thank you for teaching me the joy of serving and giving to others.