Kroger Catastrophe

Kroger Catastrophe

Growing up in a large family, I became accustomed to the long stares and the open-mouthed astonishment we received as people confirmed that we were, indeed, one big family. There was one part of that attention that I could never seem to get over, however—the comments in the grocery store.

Sent to the store one day by my mom because of a great sale on milk and eggs, I pulled a cart from the bin and started off through the door. Here’s to a few seconds of seeming normal, I thought, dryly. I noticed the smell of fresh strawberries as I passed them on my way to the lettuce. I grabbed three heads of lettuce and two heads of the nearby cabbage. There. First astonished look of the day.

Moving on through my shopping, I quickly filled my cart. I called my mom often to check prices and the integrity of sales. Even though people watched openmouthed as I picked up bag after bag of pretzels, I continued loading the attention-drawing, crackling, plastic bags into my cart until I had a total of twelve. Didn’t those strangers know that sales are the only things that keep large families’ grocery bills to amounting to more than the National Debt?

After thirty minutes, I had, much to my relief and delight, reached the last row of the store. This is the point where I always notice the scuffs on the floor as I pass other shoppers. Nevertheless, I walked up to the egg display. The cool air permeating the area matched the cold and blank stares I felt I was receiving. For a moment, no other shoppers seemed nearby. I grasped the opportunity and called my mom. “Mama, I got six gallons of milk and eight dozen eggs. Is that all you wanted?”

Suddenly, I felt eyes burning through my back. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I saw a petite, elderly lady. Her cart was filled with various things: a bunch of three small bananas, a tiny jar of salt, a lone apple, a miniature bag of Uncle Ben’s rice, a pouch of Pillsbury cookie dough, and a mere quart of milk. As she placed her half-dozen crate of eggs into her cart with her meager supply, she stared at me and my cart like she was seeing one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

I smiled sheepishly as I hurried off to the checkout line with my elephant-sized lot and tried to imagine my cart from the elderly lady’s point of view: a single cart, a single girl, and heaps and heaps of groceries.

Nearing the checkout lines, I remembered that the U-scan checkout’s policy had been changed. I frowned at the new “20 items or less” sign swaying above me and groaned inwardly as I realized I would have to face a cashier. I found a check-out line and began unloading. As I did, I had to chuckle. Compared to the elderly lady’s cart, mine was abundantly abounding. Instead of three bananas, I had nine. Salt had been on sale, and I had three large containers. I had the twelve bags of pretzels, ten bags of bagels, nine boxes of various cereals, six gallons of milk, and frozen vegetables galore. Seven cans of tomato sauce, ten cans of peaches, and ten cans of fruit cocktail were precariously stacked to reserve space. Eight dozen eggs were carefully placed in various spaces throughout the cart, and I hoped none would be broken. Finally, three heads of lettuce and two heads of cabbage made a green mountain in the toddler’s seat and one 24-roll package of toilet paper was balanced on the bottom rack of the cart.

As I watched the belt roll my items toward the teenage cashier, I wished I could hide under the belt or among the masses of groceries. The girl behind the counter smiled sweetly at me and said, “Do y’all like eggs?” It was all I could do to have confidence like I emptied the egg display everyday of my life as I replied, “As a matter of fact, we do.” The cashier raised her eyebrows incredulously, snapped her gum, and scanned the last dozen.

There are only a few more things, I told myself, reaching for my purse. I heard the cashier sigh in frustration. The toilet paper bar-code was not registering. I groaned inwardly. People were starting to pile up behind me in line about as bad as my groceries were piled up in my cart. Conspicuous could not rightly describe how I felt. The cashier, frustrated, slid the package across the scanner once more. As she did, the plastic packaging caught on the side of the scanner and tore. At this point, I didn’t care. The girl and I sighed simultaneously as the item rung-up correctly. I placed the toilet paper back on the bottom rack of my cart, paid, and headed for the door. I just wanted to go home!
As I neared the door, my heart sank even more. It was raining. I was barely outside the door before the toilet paper package began sliding off the cart. A man commented as he passed, “You might not want to leave that on the bottom.”
Oh really. I thought. Thanks for the tip, but what else am I to do? I just want to go home!
I stubbornly pushed the package back on the cart, tried to act like I dealt with toilet paper packages falling off my grocery cart every day, wiped the raindrops off my face, and started again for my car on the far end of the parking lot. I thought I was doing pretty well, the package having not fallen off the front, when I rounded the line of vehicles and my little car came into view. Until my toe hit something. I looked down and froze.

There lay an empty toilet paper roll.

I closed my eyes and turned around slowly. The moment seemed like an eternity as I looked up and saw the white line stretching between my cart and the front door of the store. Awkwardly, I grinned my bravest grin at the elderly man in a wheelchair nearby, who was regarding my plight with amusement. He burst out in a large laugh. I couldn’t help thinking that he looked like Santa, minus the red and white suit. Good thing I was too old to go on his naughty list.
After putting my groceries in the trunk of the car and returning my cart, I retraced my steps, very embarrassed. I never knew how much toilet paper is actually on a double roll. The wet, sticky paper clung to my fingers, taunting me. In my humiliation, the car motors in the parking lot even seemed to be laughing at my quandary. Little children pointed and stared; their parents openly stared with them.

Finally finished picking up the seemingly endless line, I threw the big white ball into a nearby recycle bin. Maybe that would make my predicament look a little better! As soon as I saw the toilet paper disappear into the bin, I ran for the car.
When I was finally out of the reach of curious eyes, I sighed. And to think that they have that on the security camera! I thought, inwardly cringing. For a moment, I felt like crying; instead, I burst into uncontrollable giggles! I will never get used to the grocery store thing. Yes, well-meaning on lookers might survey my cart with astonishment and occasional disdain. Yes, I might have embarrassing moments. Yes, compared to their cart, my cart might look like it’s going to feed the entire United States Army. And yet, my grocery store experiences reflect one thing that I love: I am part of a wonderful family of nine. In light of my family – our closeness, our good times, our bad times - a few minutes of embarrassment in the grocery store is a trifle. Well worth the awkward moments, life in a large family is a never-predictable adventure.

Published in The Stonepile Writer's Anthology, December 2010. For information visit: http://upnorthgeorgia.org/

Christians are like Kites

Christians are like Kites…


A gust caught my kite, sending it diving. I quickly began pumping the string and walking backwards to keep it in the air. Still it continued plummeting. Hard I as tried to give it encouragement, in a few seconds it was lying upon the grass.

I enjoy kite flying and look forward to doing it every spring. It is calming and quiet, a simple pleasure. I especially enjoy those days when there are slight gusts, making it a challenge to keep the kite in the sky. This day was that kind of day and I was using the quiet time that I had to pray. I had been failing in an area of my thoughts, and every time I failed, I was struggling with going to Jesus for cleansing because I “had done it, again.” I was allowing Satan to fee me lies, and having trouble claiming forgiveness and grace to get up and fight again. Little did I know that the Lord wanted to challenge me, through an analogy concerning my kite and my Christian walk.


I walked toward the fallen kite. Upon reaching it, I hoisted it back up in the air and let go. Pump, pump, pump, release more string. Pump, pump, pump, release more string. Minutes later, I was quietly standing flying my kite when the Lord began to speak to me through my thoughts.

Imagine with me for a moment that you, as a Christian, are a kite in the sky of Life. Salvation, the string that connects you with the handle, Jesus, who reconciles you to the Father, the flyer, never breaks, but holds fast to you. Oftentimes a tail will help a kite to stay up; therefore, the tail is the promises of the Word of God. God, as the kite flyer, “pumps” you, encourages you to new heights as you respond to Him. And how much more does He send you encouragement when “gusts” of temptations come your way. Sometimes we, as sinners, fall even amid the multiple encouragements of our Lord. He comes and lovingly picks us up, offering us forgiveness and the chance to try again because of His Son. What would you think, if, coming upon your fallen kite, it looked up at you and said, “I don’t want to try again. I’ll just fall. I might as well give up.” After you got over being taken aback at your kite talking to you, you would probably be saddened. Don’t you think God is saddened when we refuse to accept His help, His forgiveness, His grace to try again?

Lost in my thoughts I tugged at the kite string. Confessing my sin, I asked Him to lift me up and help me fight the battle for holiness again. How foolish I had been to accept Satan’s lies as the truth! Now I saw them as they were, gusts from the enemy that were trying to keep me from doing what the Lord had called me to do, what He was encouraging me to do, what He was making possible through His Son – to keep flying higher for Him.

The Job Transfer

Having just moved to a new house, this story, written several years ago for school, has taken on new meaning:


Miriam yanks me up and plops me flat on my back on an envelope. “Ouch!” Rubbing her fingers across my face, I feel as if I have just been run over by a train. I watch while she picks up Pen and scrawls letters close to my frilly collar. Miriam does not seem to notice my panicked face in the morning sun as she carries me out to place me inside a dark box beside the street. Hours pass, and I wait in anxiety and dread while I wonder why Miriam would leave me all alone. The box opens, and a beam of light makes me squint. I rejoice at the hope of getting out, but my joy turns to alarm as I feel a hand lift me out and rather incompassionately toss me in a stifling crate. I begin to get a headache as I travel along the bumpy road with other crying, frightened, address labels, envelopes, and stamps like myself. “Where are we going?” “What is going to happen to us?” some are asking. Oh, how I wish I knew!

After a rather lengthy ride with many stops, I can hardly breathe from my place in the stack. Soon I feel the crate turn over, and, without warning, I slide out into the open. The light and elbow room feel good, and I take big breaths in and out before I am shoved into an even larger box. After what seems like forever, I again slide out and suffer bright lights and machines that stomp and roll over me with no regard at all for my comfort or pleasure. Stomp, roll, Stomp, roll, flash! The blinding lights and ‘pounders’ make me ache to the core. When will this be over? Why would Miriam send me here? I try to console myself with the thought that maybe I’ll be free after all of this is finished, but my hopes crumble as I once more get dropped into a huge box. The fear of what will happen next seems to hover over me, and I wonder if I will ever recover from all the bends and bruises I feel. Others around me in the dark are sleeping, their snores penetrating the stuffy silence. Hurt and discouraged, I fall into a restless sleep.

When I awake, I realize I must have traveled a good distance, and I wonder how many days have passed. As I fall off the roller and into a box, someone nearby shouts, “Here, Jim, the box for your morning route!” From the top of the box, the word gets passed that we are once again getting into a white truck like we came in. My heart leaps with joy as I think of perhaps seeing Miriam again. I breathe easier as each envelope above me is chosen and returned to boxes beside the street. I sing and shout for joy with my companions as we think of the happy prospect, and the wheels of the truck seem to sing “going home, going home; home at last, trouble past!”

My face shines with delight and joy as I am carefully lifted with other envelopes and placed in a box beside the street. I patiently wait, but I am tempted to bounce off the walls with gladness. When I am finally lifted for the last time, my face shines with happiness at the girl standing there. It does not worry me too much when I notice that the face is not Miriam’s. “Maybe Miriam is inside the house,” I console my fears. Once inside the girl holding me calls out, “Rachael, there is a letter for you in the mail!” Rachael? Wait a minute; where am I? In panic and worry, I am almost in tears. I thought I was going home!

Soon, I feel gentle hands lift me, and carry me back outside. I hardly notice the budding trees, the lake and flowers around me as I wallow in my own self-pity. Once seated Rachael flips me over, and for the first time, I see her face. Through my tears, I realize that in a way I was right. I was going home. This girl was like Miriam. There were some differences: this girl had beautiful curly hair, and she did not wear glasses. But there were many similarities too: Miriam had brown eyes, so did Rachael, they both wore sunny smiles and they were both seemed to relish my contents. In fact, I just might like it here. And then I realize Miriam sent me here to bring good news to Rachael; to make my home where she placed me. As I rest in confidence and surrender in Rachael’s hand, and I notice how easily the word seems to come off my tongue, HOME.

© Miriam Rainwater
Written May 4, 2005