I only needed to run inside the Dollar General and grab an Amazon gift card for a baby shower, plus a regular greeting card in which I would enclose the gift card. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes, tops. 

How impersonal. Who gets an Amazon gift card for a baby shower? Me, sitting in the back of the class, shyly raising my hand. I’m your huckleberry. No diapers, no wipes, and certainly no cute monogrammed outfits. Age hath wrought with a vengeance an ADHD-addled brain that sometimes can’t see my afternoons for my mornings, much less my tomorrows from my todays. 

But five minutes in a Dollar General store can make a miracle happen. That yellow-and-black logo represents far more than a quick stop on a rural two-lane road. It’s like a wormhole torn into the fabric of space-time, where beautiful people from all walks of life meet to purchase both their everyday necessities and their Christmas presents, their Saturday night pizza and Pepsi and their Sunday morning ingredients for the cornbread casserole to be served at the church dinner, their posterboard for the last-minute school project and their medicines to unclog their sinuses and, just maybe, to sleep through the night.

I found the baby shower card first. It was pale yellow, with a generic message on the front, and another nonspecific blessing on the inside, which needed a slight change: “little one” became “little ones,” for the expectant mother is carrying twins.

Next, I made my way to the gift card section and located that chunk of rectangles colored like brown package paper. I pulled one from the shelf and made my way to the checkout line.  

A scant minute had passed since I walked into the store. Just four minutes to go.

There were three people ahead of me, all women. 

The first in line was a lady having a lively discussion with the gentleman behind the counter, who stated, “And that’s where I go to buy my vodka and whiskey.”

“Ok,” she said, “I’ll have to remember that.”

“Yes,” continued the gentleman, as he checked her items, one at a time, “this county is dry. Gotta go other places to get your drinks.” They continued chatting, mostly about the town and her visit and the restaurants and the weather, killing time while three others, including me, waited.

The lady just in front of me gestured for me to cut ahead of her, while she rolled her eyes and muttered about folks taking the time to have their conversations. She had a few items in her buggy, but for whatever reason, urged me to move up.

We began talking. I told her of the reason for my purchase, of the mother having the twins, of the baby shower, and of adversity that had befallen the growing family.  

She nodded her head, “I know who you’re talking about. Bless her. She’s got so much to bear, plus with bringing two babies into the world.”

I responded that I wished I could have gotten her a real present, instead of just a gift card. Even diapers would be better.

The lady said, “I had a daughter, lived to be 33, had to wear diapers and had the mind of a child. I don’t know how I made it.”

Then she said, “Yes, I do. I cried every night, and then I prayed. And I got up the next day, and just kept going.”

By this time, the vodka and whiskey woman was gone, and the second lady had moved into her place. I did not notice what she was purchasing, nor did I hear any talk between her and the gentleman behind the register. What I did see, however, was a short-haired lady approaching me from the back of the line like a freight train. She was holding a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

“Please,” she hurriedly said, “if you don’t mind, I really need to get this and get back home.”

“No problem,” I said, thinking how enduring hardship and heartache seemed to be the theme of the day, and how waiting can be so hard. How nice it would be to cut line and skip all the worst parts of life. 

Then again, we would miss the details. We would miss the beauty of interesting people.

We would miss the lesson.

I turned back to the woman behind me and said, “My husband mentioned to me today that he noticed all those at church who are going through hard times. Some have lost loved ones, and they still show up like clockwork. Some have been given just months to live, and they still serve with a smile on their face. Said it made him think of his blessings.”

The lady seconded me. “I once knew a lady who had been told she was at the end. Went to church on a Sunday. Was gone on Tuesday.”

Then it was my turn at the register. I purchased the gift card and the greeting card with cash and paid with exact change. A whole dollar amount and eight cents. I was proud to find a nickel and three pennies in my wallet. I said to the man at the counter, “Sometimes things just work out.”

I don’t think he really heard me. Instead, he cautioned me, “Don’t forget your receipt.” Three $5 off $25 coupons valid the next Saturday trailed along, leftover from previous customers. I don’t suppose he advised the vodka and whiskey woman, the unknown woman, and Pepto-Bismol woman to save their receipts. I offered them to the gentleman for another customer.

“Oh, I can’t take them. I’ll have to throw them away.”

My new friend behind me also said no, so I gathered them up and carried them with me.

They will ride in my car this week, cluttering the floorboard with other receipts and styrofoam bowls from my breakfasts on the road—just like my loosely connected thoughts that don’t always make sense, but that sometimes, in a flash that rends the fabric of space-time, assures me that things will always work out.

I dare not throw away the hard-earned receipts of living. I’ll save them, not to make an exchange, but to remember the cost.

As for the coupons, maybe I’ll remember that I can use them this Saturday to buy what I need, or help out someone else standing in line with me—all of us one great beautiful mess of humanity making our way toward the ultimate checkout. 

It might only take five minutes.

Then again, it might take a lifetime.

In any circumstance, it will be, as always, a miracle.