Wheat Berries and Hope

Yesterday, my sister officially changed her name back to her maiden name.  She was divorced a while ago...it feels like a lifetime ago, really...but when she divorced she didn't change back to her maiden name name because her married name still felt like her.  It felt like the right thing to do and it was...until it wasn't anymore. According to Minnesota state law, adults can't just change their names without having people close to them affirm that they are who they are and that they have not lost their ever-loving minds.  So, my sister filled out the forms, filed the papers, and scheduled the court date and she and I and one of her long-time friends made our way to the Anoka County courthouse to let a judge know that my sister was sane enough to change her name.

The courtroom in which her hearing was scheduled was located at the very end of a long corridor lined with various courtrooms.  As we walked toward the small collection of seats arranged outside her courtroom door, we passed a variety of people who were there for different sorts of legal business.  Some of them were there for very serious matters.  Seeing those sad souls brought me right back to a time when I put on a nice dress and sensibly high heels to fake my own bravery after a sleepless, worry-filled night that gave me puffy eyes and a pinched expression.  I would have hugged those folks if it weren't socially unacceptable to embrace strangers without an introduction.  Other folks sat with worldly confidence; this was not their first trip to the courthouse and they sat with unemotional resignation and acceptance about what would happen that morning.  I simultaneously felt impressed and sad about their lack of emotion about their current situation and location.  Still others looked as they felt as unprepared as we did; they wandered around looking for their assigned courtroom and shifted uncomfortably in their chairs and shuffled paperwork and tried their best to show everyone else that they weren't there for a criminal matter and weren't planning to be back soon. 

All of the people waiting alongside my sister outside courtroom W411 were also there to change their last names.  One was a young-ish woman who had an entire entourage of people with her.  She wore a very cute red peacoat and sat in a chair flanked by all of her people on either side.  The other woman appeared to be a tidge older than us or at the very least had lived a life that made her seem older.  She was accompanied by her very young daughter and her husband.  This woman's hearing was right before my sister's so we were able to learn that she wanted to change her name to her husband's last name; she apparently had not done so when they were initially wed.  

Seeing all of these people gathered into this specific space at this specific time made me wonder about so many things.  I wondered about all of the things that happened to them throughout their lives that led them to this moment.  I wondered about their hopes and dreams as children.  I wondered about their stumbles and their triumphs.  I wondered about what they ate for breakfast or if they ate at all.  I wondered about their family members at home or sitting next to them.  I wondered about their careers or jobs and whether or not they felt fulfilled and made enough for the ends to meet.  I wondered if they loved themselves or if they felt lost, too.  I wanted to sit right next to them and learn their story.  I wanted them to know that their story mattered even if it didn't appear to have a happy ending right then.  I wanted them to know that I believed in their capacity to still write a happy ending despite whatever brought them to that building that day.  

You see, I like people.  I suppose this doesn't make me all that unique.  Most everyone likes people, I'd guess.  I just know that learning others' stories fills me up.  I don't always feel happy because sometimes the stories are sad, but I do feel something good when I learn more about other people.  I think this is important to note.  It's easy to paint one's self as this sort of angelic empath who generously gives their time to others to make them feel heard and understood.  I suppose there is something to that, but I have to admit that much of my motivation is driven by how I feel and what I get out of these interactions.  I can't tell you how many times I've walked away from a chance encounter and considered myself very fortunate to have stumbled upon that person.  

Yesterday evening is  great example of that kind of gift.  My girl scout troop is working on their simple meals badge.  We've made homemade tortillas to make quesadillas.  We've baked Christmas Cookies.  Yesterday, we learned how to make a healthy muffin.  Only, that's not all we left with yesterday evening.  I'm sitting here in my pj's, sipping coffee, and reveling in the warm glow of something good.

Our instructor yesterday evening was a woman whose pure heart and bright enthusiasm lights up a room.  We settled cozily on a comfy sectional while she led the girls in a discussion about the benefits of learning to cook and bake.  She told them about the joy she has gotten over her lifetime from making good, healthy, homemade food for her family and the people she has served throughout her lifetime.  She is quiet and unassuming and demure and she commanded the attention of the 7 girls in attendance that evening.  She showed us how she makes her own homemade flour and let the girls rub the silky stuff between their fingertips.  She laughed with delight when they said funny things and sincerely congratulated them on their lightly browned muffins baked to perfection.  We were all drawn into her light and I didn't want to leave.  I wanted to know more.  Why did she choose this life journey? What makes her so joyful? How did she get to this place of evident peace?  I wanted to plant myself back on that couch and never leave.  Of course, I couldn't, so I expressed my appreciation and thought hard about how I could bring that light home with me.  

A few days before,  I opened a bunch of packages that contained lovely gifts carefully chosen to bring me delight.  And they did...and do.   I'm very thankful for those things.  As I sit here, however, I realize that my favorite things aren't really things at all.  My favorite gifts are the unexpected connections I make with people who enter my world on accident or by chance.  I know that my two hours with that delightful woman have made me a better person.  I feel hopeful and inspired.  I want to go through my cupboards and throw out all of the junk.  I want to sit on my chair and read a book that makes me think.  I want to feel good and peaceful and I want to help others feel good and peaceful, too.  This morning, before everyone else woke up, I sat at my counter and just allowed myself to be.  I felt good and hopeful and sweet.  I felt a strong desire to really keep on doing what ever needs to be done to live a good life that inspires other people.  I might not ever be someone who mills her own flour using organic wheat berries, but I can be someone whose presence makes other people feel capable of being their very best selves.  I want to bring the same kind of light that sweet woman brought me.  

I just gotta figure out how.