She was singing.
Not really singing, I guess. But more than just humming. The only word I can think of for it, is lilting. She was kind of lilting a tune just loudly enough for us to hear it as she checked out our groceries.
We have always thought that our local Metro, even though it's part of a chain, really is a wonderfully warm neighbourhood grocery. And this was one more confirmation of our impression.
The cashier's cheeriness and warm spirit were obvious as we waited in line. She showed such easy kindness and patience with the woman ahead of us who was having trouble with the PIN for her debit card, that we could not but be drawn into sharing and showing the same spirit of patient compassion.
Even so, when it came our turn to have our groceries checked, the singing -- sorry, the lilting, caught us by surprise. After greeting us and making us feel welcome, as the cashier settled into scanning and carefully (one might even say lovingly) packing our items, we heard the lilting begin ... and carry through the whole time she was serving us.
Who sings in public anymore?
This was not someone with earpods in their own little universe, humming in sync with some tune only they can hear as they walk through the world, separate and isolated in the little techno-bubble of piped-in distraction they create for themselves. Nor was this someone singing out loud -- maybe even at the top of their lungs, but inside a car with the windows rolled up -- just a bigger and more dangerous moving bubble of separation and isolation from the world around them, lost in the private emotion of whatever they are listening to the rest of us can't hear. And usually looking a little odd to us, because of it.
No, this wasn't someone essentially cut off from the rest of us by what she chose to pipe into her head. This was someone who was reaching out to us by sharing the delightfulness of a tune she felt in her heart, that made her feel good, and that she was happy to quietly share with us.
We didn't know the tune. Didn't recognize it. Don't remember it.
But we do remember the effect it had on us. How it brightened our time in the check-out line. Reaffirmed our delight in that store and its staff. And called us without words or pressure to live a little more openly, lightly and humanely ourselves.
Makes me wonder ... in the way we in church go about sharing the song of faith, the tune of grace, the anthem of God's love ... are we like those who walk through the world with earpods in our ears, or who drive through the world with windows rolled up and car radios on, feeding ourselves on the music of faith, and deeply enjoying it (yes!), but just among and for ourselves in our own little moveable bubbles ... or are we like that singing cashier who has a song so deep in her heart that she cannot help but lilt it out, and quietly share it with whoever happens to be in front of her at that moment?
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