Why I Hate the Mall

I hate the mall because it is the road to hell . . . hell being financial ruin in this scenario. What I really hate are the kiosks that run down the middle of each concourse of the mall. I had a plan tonight, a single-minded plan to go in, get what I needed--some Love Shack body spray from the GAP and dinner at Chick-Fil-A--and get out. As a general practice for many years now, I don't make a lot of eye-contact with people. Why? I don't know, don't want to appear that I'm staring, don't want to see gorgeous men react to me staring, don't want to encourage scary men to approach me, don't want anyone to steal my soul . . . ? I've realized however that I could miss a lot of things if I don't look people in the eye: eye color, facial features, hair color, approximate height/weight of potential criminals. I would be useless as a witness to a crime because I don't look people in the face. So I've begun to make a point of looking people in the eye more here lately.

When in comes to being in the mall, this application flies out the window, especially where those people manning the kiosks are concerned. Let me be specific here, I'm talking about the foreigners. My fellow, native-born American citizens just sit and and wait for you to approach them. My fellow American immigrants view eye-contact as and invitation that they must RSVP at all costs. I walked out of GAP and she was standing at her kiosk, lotion locked, loaded, and ready to fire. Our eyes met and I was cornered. I let her lotion my hands, I let her buff my nail and soften a cuticle, and then firmly told her I wasn't interested. So she turned it up a notch, she let me smell all the fabulous scents the fabulous lotion came in. Then she whipped out the entire kit in the scent I liked best. I remained firm--I'm not spending $70 bucks on a mani/pedicure kit! She came down to $40, "just for you" and I told her she was Satan, but that I'd do it so she'd let me go. I gave her my credit card and before she ran it she looked at my face thoughtfully. Before I know it she has a q-tip and is dabbing this cold, cream-like gel under my left eye. She tells me about the eye gel, that it is made from natural ingredients, which she lists, but I can't really understand each one because of her accent. Then she shows me a magnified mirror and says, "Tell me if you notice difference." I look carefully and . . . are my? . . . holy moly! My laugh lines are smoother and less noticeable on my left eye than my right!!!

Now, I'm just completely undone. Totally sucker-punched and unable to walk away without that gel . . . HOW much? $120?!?!?!?? I said, "No way! There is just no way I can conscience spending that kind of money on eye gel!" I'm but a poor, country school teacher! She comes down $20 and offers to throw in the mani/pedi-kit "as gift for you." Yeah, still can't do that. She asked me which I wanted more, the eye gel or the kit. The eye gel, of course! She comes down to $75 for the gel & the kit is "my gift to you." I said, "You ARE the devil!" She plays mock shock really well, "I'm an angel!" She rings it all up and puts in a bag for me. I find out she's Israeli, not Russian as I had first guessed. She acts insulted, but seriously, in this town? You don't run into Israelis everyday. "Can I go now?" I ask, I really am defeated. "Yes," she says, "hug?" I hug her and get back on my path to Chick-Fil-A. As I am walking past the kiosk with the fabulous hair straighteners, the young foreign chap working that gig catches my eye . . . DANG IT!!! Stop looking people in the eye! "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks charmingly. I smile and tell him that I really have to keep going. He must be invisibly leashed to that booth because he only chased me so far down the concourse, gave me a disdainful glare for refusing him, and returned to his post to make eye contact with some other unwitting soul.

As I walk out with my dinner, intended and unintended purchases, I heave a great sigh. I sigh because I hate the mall and the fact that I didn't have the strength or enough appreciation for my laugh lines to say no. I also shake my head because it just underscores the fact that in some places, eye-contact is completely overrated.

Brave in the Attempt

A few years ago before I became a Life Skills teacher, I went with the high school Life Skills class as a sponsor for the Special Olympics Summer Games. My friend Bonnie was the head coach and needed some extra help. If you've never attended a Special Olympics event, I highly recommend it. There is nothing like it. A couple of weeks ago, at Bonnie's behest, I volunteered to work part of the Special Olympics Bowling competition. I was feeling pretty low that day and had considered backing out, but I followed through and was so glad I did. It really lifted my spirits.

One of the things I love most about Special Olympics is the Athlete Oath: "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." One of the guys in the group I was overseeing had "Being brave in the attempt" on the back of his t-shirt. It is an amazing experience to watch people with disabilities give their all in athletic endeavors. They are so focused and determined and the joy on their faces when they achieve their goal . . . I find myself envying them. I see how much the athletes struggle just to roll a bowling ball. They don't care about what they look like, they just want to make the strike.

It humbles me.

I'm struggling with some things at the moment, primarily depression and sleep issues. Those things affect how I perceive my world, my life. I am frustrated over the things I've always longed for and don't have. I'm wrestling with my weight because the doctor told me I need to lose quite a bit by May. I'm weary of the thoughts in my head that keep assaulting what I know is the truth. I'm tired of being afraid and everything seeming so hard . . . and then I spend time with Special Olympic athletes.

No matter how hard I may have to fight in my own life, I will never have to fight as hard as they. Do they want to win every game they play? Maybe, but in being brave in the attempt they can be proud of themselves for not letting their struggles and limitations hold them back. I let everything hold me back. And then there is that oath, that oath that sounds more like a prayer: "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt." Of all the words that I could use to describe myself, "brave" does not make the list.

I know that I cannot heal from things if I don't put in the work. I know that I will never have the things that I want if I never try. Perhaps I am not meant to be healed. Perhaps the things I want were never intended for me. Here is what I know: By the grace of God through the blood of Christ I have already won. But I still have to be here until He calls me home, so here is my prayer:

"Father, let me live--REALLY live as though I have already won.
But if I stumble while living, help me be brave in the attempt."