SOUL | THE DRAINING DAYS

It’s 11:11 and I want to make a wish. 

I can’t think of something fast enough.

I’m tired. My mind feels like it’s running thick with the day and my eyelids are heavy with the weight of it. It’s amazing how tiring a slow day can be. Moving slow as syrup. Slipping by, but you’re drowning, swimming in that time.

Too much time. Alone. With people. In general. 

People. 

Being an introvert, I have mixed feelings about being around people. Especially lots of people. If I could choose, I’d pick one-on-one time with a best friend, or a small group of my closest companions, over a big party. Most of the time. But I’m also a decently mild introvert, so I don’t necessarily mind groups either. I just tend to make smaller groups within the group. 

But honestly, knowing that, you wouldn’t think I’d love a job in retail. In a bustling mall full of... people. Colorful, shape-shifting crowds of traveling souls from who knows where. We get people from all over the world, so I mean that in a literal sense. But I do love it. (Ps. It’s a tea shop, which also may have something to do with it.)

Sometimes all those people blur together and it feels like ages ago that I met that one, or handed something to that one, even though it was only two hours ago. It can be easy to forget. Easy to brush over these people, who come and go so quickly. 

But I don’t want to do that. I want to slow down. I want to remember. 

I want to remember the young man getting a gift for the parents of his girlfriend. It was his first time meeting them, since he was flying back to China. He wanted the gift to be perfect. He took so much time picking out the tins he wanted, was so careful choosing tea he thought they would like, was so concerned about how full the tins were and whether there was any possible way they could find out what he spent on it. 

I was tempted to be annoyed. He was taking so long, worrying about so many little things. 

And then I thought about honor. And how much he was trying to treat them with honor--how he said he wanted the tins to be full, it didn’t matter the price; it would be rude to leave them half empty. And these little things suddenly became so striking to me; because there are very few people who are concerned with honor these days. 

It was worth my time to help him. 

I want to remember the family with six children, the talkative father and the mother from Dublin, where big families were normal. I want to remember all their big eyes, how young they all were, & how completely unashamed those parents were to bring them all in, overflow our small store with their six joys. The little brown-eyed girl in her purple tutu skirt with that shy smile. The baby boy with big blue eyes whose name was Samson. 

Who knows what they could do, one day. Who knows what is in store for the boy named Samson. Who knows what pillars he could shake and what parents it would take to raise him. 

It was worth my time to pour them all those samples. 

I want to remember the radiant white-haired woman who came in “just to bask in the beauty of the teapots.” I want to remember the sincerity in her voice and the ease of her smile and the way she walked so steady with her cane like she loved living. It was easy to see that when she was listening, she was really listening; and when she spoke, I wanted to listen. She asked my name like she knew the importance of names. Her name was Eleanor. And when she pulled out that tract I wanted to hug her for her gentle boldness, and I loved the look on her face when I asked, “Do you love Jesus?” and she answered, “Yes.” 

It was a joy to tell her that I did too. 

Sometimes, people tire me. Maybe it’s because we are all so busy carrying the weight of our own old soul, that we forget others are as well. 

But when I remember to look, I’m always reminded. 

Souls are beautiful. 

And it is an honor to see the soul of a stranger.

They’re unique and they’re challenged and they’re precious and they’re fighting and they’re growing and they’re changing and they are so, so affected by little things. Little moments. 

Little moments that I can be a part of. Because when souls collide they leave marks; it’s part of how the Potter molds his clay. And we are living vessels that he fills over and over again. And what is the purpose of being filled if we do not also pour out? What is the purpose of receiving if we do not also give? And what is joy, if we do not share it? 

This is what I will choose to remember on the slow days. The tired days. 

And this is for the people, whoever they are. 

Thank you for the honor. 

Thank you for the moments. 

Thank you for the little things.

I love it.

I even love the way you drain me.