My Spot
One of my grandsons started pre-school this fall. The first three afternoons went well. On the fourth day, he came out of his classroom in tears; another student had taken his spot on the area rug during story time.
Our spots mean a lot to us, don’t they?
It seems to me that in my retirement years, they are getting even more important.
I have my spot in the grocery store parking lot, my certain chair at exercise class, even my pew at church. It seems that those places have become sacrosanct, too sacred and respected by me to be tampered with by others.
Years ago while I was on vacation in another state, I went to a nearby Catholic church one Sunday morning. I arrived early, and as I was sitting there a shadow fell over me. I looked up, and a woman was standing by me. She said, “You are sitting in my family pew.” I was startled by her words, and asked if I should move. She paused for a moment, and then answered, “No.”
It was an awkward moment, I can tell you, me being in a spot that she presumed she owned.
That memory got me to thinking about something else, about crisis.
Nearly 20 years ago, I came to the realization that there are two types of crises. There are the ones that communities rally around. The kindness of people expands to help those in need, to ease their pain. I’m thinking of the child with leukemia. Breast cancer survivors. The victims of devastating floods or fires.
It’s very heartwarming and wonderful. And it’s the way we should live our lives.
But there is a second type of crisis. It’s the type of crisis that brings on solitude.
Sometimes things are so horrible or so intensely private that people become emotionally isolated. There isn’t a lot of support after miscarriages, or when a spouse is in prison, or after a loved one commits suicide.
People walking through these intensely painful times often lead very lonely lives.
I started thinking about my spots, the ones that I have very carefully chosen, and then I started thinking about the people who dare to invade them. We usually don’t know the back story when someone steps into our spaces, do we?
What if we give them the benefit of the doubt? What if we offer them our kindness instead of our sense of ownership?
Humanitarian Dr. Albert Schweitzer wrote these words many years ago:
“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person.
Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”
If we have received the light from someone else while we were in crisis, we should know how to rekindle it and give it to someone else. Isn’t it more important to be the light than to worry about the spot?
