It turns out that I can be bought.

 

I was ruminating after a brief misunderstanding, driving to pick up a donation to the costume collection. I had never met the benefactor before, but her name was given to me and I contacted her. Her business of fifty years was ending, and she and her husband were dispersing their inventory. She had gifted garments before and wanted to do so again. 

 

But I was miffed. This was simply an errand I was on. My mind was obsessing about the unreasonableness of a person who had told me to make a change, and I was feeling obstinate. On the short drive my phone dinged a few times, and each time I fabricated elaborate assumptions about his communication, since I do not read texts while driving. I even practiced my terse rebuttals. 

 

I arrived at the back door of the store, and the owner let me in. Her thick accent made me curious about her heritage, as she led me through the organized array of dresses, fabric, stuffed animals and purses. She explained that she knew the costumer before me, and had heard good things about my work. Her daughter had been friends with a special needs woman who died a few years ago, and she missed her. 

 

"Give her mother my regards," she told me. I said I would. 

 

We walked through the store and she offered me clothes, some of which are the style and color of my current show and will dovetail nicely. 

 

"Would you like buttons?" Her boxes of meticulously sorted buttons was indeed alluring, having just this week spent four dollars on a pair of shiny ones. 

 

"Yes, thank you!" 

 

I recognized what was happening. God was bribing me. Well, that may be too strong a word. But in a language that got my attention, He was inviting me to cool off my outrage. It was working. 

 

"Fake fur?" she coaxed. 

 

I laughed. "The costume room can always use that!" Animal themes come up pretty frequently. I asked about her daughter. She explained that her child had suffered brain damage from a mistake at birth, since her English was poor and she could not understand the doctor. 

 

Her kindness made a stark contrast to my petty complaints. My hackles retreated further still. As I was packing the gifts in the car, she called me back. 

 

"How about this soft fabric?" Minky is a particularly cuddly cloth, and would make a fun.... something. I laughed again. Her generosity knew no bounds. 

 

Before I left I checked my phone. The texts were not what I had guessed, and made my ridiculousness even more obtuse. 

 

Driving home I reflected on the lengths God will go to to invite us back from the ledge of self destruction.