Have you ever been out and about doing your errands or
walking or running—or doing anything—and have an encounter with someone, but instead of greeting them or starting up a conversation or saying something
friendly you treat them “Swedish”?
Let me explain what I mean.
When we lived in Sweden years ago, it was disheartening
to pass someone while walking down the street or standing in line at the
grocery store or waiting for a bus and the person next to me would drop their
eyes, look the other direction, and act like I wasn’t even there. I thought it was because I was an American.
Our next-door neighbor Bigitta told me one day not to
think anything of it. That’s just how
Swedish people are out in public. In
fact, she said, that where she came from around Stockholm that the people there were even MORE dour
and unfriendly, if you could believe it.
So, when I find myself face to face with someone, and I don’t
even nod a greeting or I’m in a conversation with someone and don’t act on an
impulse to say a certain thing that pops into my head, l invariably think
later, “I shouldn’t have been “Swedish”.
I could have at least said ‘such and such’”.
Then I get after myself and remorsefully wish I had a chance at that
encounter all over again so I could act differently. What would it hurt to be the first one to
look the person in the eye and say, “Hello!”
Or share a conviction I have from a personal experience. Nothing!
Well, that happened today while I was delivering notes to
the dozen women on my “ministering letter list”. The first six were in my neighborhood so I
walked while I delivered them. The rest
were across Highway 60, and I drove to their houses.
I was in the very off-beaten area just south of County Road
44 that I think was supposed to be exclusive to the rest of Johnstown. But the neighborhood didn’t develop that way
after the initial beginning over 25 years ago.
Except for a few really nice houses on larger lots, the rest are a hodge-podge
of single homes in a variety of styles surrounded by broken fences and rusted-out
cars. There are a few with horse sheds
and the requisite one or two horses in a corral to fill them. But there is no
order to any of it. I’m always glad when this delivery is over during the times I take things to my sisters.
Today I arrived at my destination and found an AMAZON
Prime delivery truck blocking the driveway.
Instead of waiting for it to leave so I could drive into
the yard where the house is, I decided to get out of the car and walk. In doing so, I came face to face with the
delivery man—and said NOTHING! He got
into his truck and left. I left my note
on Chrisanne’s door and walked back to my car, all the while berating myself
for not even saying hello as the guy and I nearly brushed shoulders.
I kept saying to myself, “Why, why, why? It would have been so easy to just open your
mouth.”
As I was driving down the winding lane to access the main
road out of Northmoor, I suddenly saw the AMAZON Prime van just a few blocks ahead
turn right into another cul-de-sac of houses.
I followed him and stopped out in the street. After he had extracted the big box he was
about to deliver and came around the back of the van to walk up the driveway, I
called out.
“Just because we are social distancing, I didn’t mean to
be rude! The least I could have done was
say, “Hello!” His face broke out into a
big smile. “Thank you! And “hello” to
you, too. Have a good day.”
That’s all it took.
It was as simple as that. I had
been granted another opportunity to connect.
My whole outlook changed, and the afternoon was sunny once again.
Most often, because of my shyness or my thinking that the other person doesn’t care anyway, those opportunities are there and gone with no
reprieve, .
Yet I have believed for years that there is a great deal of
orchestration that goes on behind the scenes.
I also believe that my job is to be in tune so I can act on the promptings
I receive. But I don’t always come
through on my end.
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