There was a stiff wind blowing across the Walmart parking lot, yesterday. As I eased down a lane, I noticed an elderly lady placing bags into her car, while her still-loaded cart began to drift away. She started to go after it, shuffling in the way that elderly people do. She got to within an inch or two of it before it began to pick up speed. As she shuffled for all she was worth, vainly stretching her hands out toward the cart, it slowly got three inches away, then four, then five, until it became apparent that she was not going to catch up with it.
And so, she slowed down and just watched it roll all the way across the lot and come to rest against a curb that surrounded some landscaping. Without breaking stride, she trudged right on after it, and scolded it with a wagging finger when she got there. Then, she wheeled it around and determinedly marched it right back to her car, with its still open door, and finished placing her purchases onto the rear seat.
By this time, I was parked myself, and I was going to offer to take the cart from her there, but something told me she wasn’t finished yet. She grabbed her cart solidly, with both hands, and with a final look of proud independence, she wheeled it across the lane and slammed it into the corral. Take that, you, you, you…cart, you. Head held high, she drove away.
As I find myself approaching ever closer to that “elderly” designation, I hope I, too, will remember to be an overcomer, instead of a victim. Bravo, elderly lady with the wrap-around sunglasses. Bravo. At first, I laughed. Then, I understood.