Mrs. Good Friday

It was late afternoon on Good Friday. The grocery store was bustling with customers buying sweet treats for Sunday morning’s Easter baskets. As I left the store and headed to my car, I saw her. She wore a flowered shirt and pushed a full cart of groceries. She was probably in her late sixties and smiled at me when I walked by. Her smile was contagious and I soon sensed a smile on my own face.

As I backed out my car, I noticed that she was still walking, but now had a confused look on her face. She seemed to be searching for something in the parking lot. I immediately thought of my great-grandfather. He will be 92 this year and frequently forgets where he has parked his car.

I pulled into a nearby parking space and walked up to her to see if I could help. Sure enough, she had forgotten where she had parked her car. “It’s an old Buick.” she drawled in a thick accent that told me she had spent a lot of her life in the small town of Milledgeville. I asked her the color and she said, “It’s like, well, you know that car color… kinda tanish, light brown. Those car people call it… “ “Champagne?” I offered. “Why yes, that’s what they call it… champagne…”

“Do you remember which side of the store you went in?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t remember things very well anymore. I just have a hard time in this parking lot” she replied with a frustrated crease on her brow. “I understand,” I said, trying to reassure her. “I lose my car all the time over at Wal-Mart.” “No…” she replied stubbornly, “this parking lot is worse.”

She offered me the keyless entry remote to her husband’s Toyata thinking that it might work to make her car (without keyless entry) beep if we pressed the right buttons. I humored her and tried it, but to no avail.

We continued searching for her car for another fifteen minutes or so when she recognized a friend of hers. “Have you lost your car again?” he asked. “Yes,” she replied. “and you know how I hate this parking lot”. He gave her a sympathetic look and said, “Yes, I know.”
All this time, I kept praying that we would find her car. I also was quite curious as to why she hated this parking lot with such holy passion. Suddenly, the man said, “Oh, there is your car right yonder!” She seemed relieved as she saw it.

He and I helped load all the groceries into her trunk. She looked at me with a sad smile and said, “You know, the reason I don’t like this parking lot is because this is where my husband died.” I stood there for what seemed like a minute before she continued. “He dropped me off so I could get something, and when I came out, he was gone. It was three years ago this week.” Then her eyes lit up with a smile and she said, “I sure do love him still.”

She grabbed me and gave me a hug that only a grandmother could give as she thanked me for my help. I turned to her and said, “No, thank you… God used you to make my day.” I made my way to my car, tears filling my eyes.

I had thought that God was going to use me to help her that day, but He used her to help me as He reminded me of His love through the hug of that woman on Good Friday.