Historic downtown. A place of magic when one’s seeking unique. I went today to claim my father’s birthday gift, the one I noted six months ago while window shopping with my brother. A handcrafted ornament of Garry oak honoring Navy Seabees of which my dad was one.
I parked blocks away to enjoy the walk, surprisingly lonely
for 9:30 a.m. The district was ghost-town empty except for one Hawaiian-shirt
clad man standing talking through a car’s open window to the married couple inside.
He was asking for prayer for his wife beginning some new venture. They assured
him they’d be praying. I prayed, too, having overheard the request. Serendipitous
(and unintentional) eavesdropping. Perhaps I was meant to hear, add a covert fourth
to their two or three gathered in His name.
Reaching the entrance to the small indoor mall, a sign
declared my intended destination open today. I entered the building, turned
left. The sign on the shop’s door said, “Open! Come on in.” Door locked, lights
out, no visible proprietor. Hmm. No posted store hours. What’s happening here?
Three ladies of three generations entered the building. I
stepped back to see if they’d try the door. They did not, so I scanned the QR
code under “Open!” Learned not open until 10:30. So why’d they’d invite, “Come
on in”?
As I exited to outside, I found a phone wrapped in pink
floral protector on the ground. Turned back inside.
To the trio moving in deeper, I called. “Did one
of you drop a phone?” Two looked in their bags, while the oldest kept walking.
Middle sent youngest to retrieve property. “It must be Grandma’s,” she said,
following to catch that one.
Granddaughter/daughter retrieved the phone. Looked it over. “How’d
you know?” she asked me. I shrugged. Simple deduction: There was no one else
around. “Well, thank you,” she said. I nodded my reply.
Perhaps this wasted trip had more purpose than I know.
* * *
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
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