In Honor of Mr. Grganovic

I was cleaning out a cupboard this afternoon while the kids were in school. They just went back after having a week off for a term break that sort of coincides with the American Fall Break. I came to a pile of old notes, letters, Christmas cards, ungrouped photos…you know the routine. That pile of things that I just can’t figure out where to file…so they end up staying in a pile…and in our case getting moved from country to country. Have I painted the picture well enough? Good!

I reread some of the notes and cards and letters and thought through the pictures one by one, treasuring the memory, the person, the people who were represented by the words and photos when I came across an address scribbled on the back of an envelope. Instantly, I was replaying in my mind a fifteen minute conversation that has left me wondering at times.

I don’t remember which month or what year it was while living in Australia when the conversation took place, but it left a rather firm mark in my heart and mind. The place of the conversation was an aisle in the Safeway at the St. Helena supermarket, but the time of day slips my memory. Being raised in a small town where my parents were employed by the school corporation, I had learned how to have conversations with strangers at a grocery store. Up and down the first aisles I went. The funny thing was this one older man I kept seeing looked very out of place…almost as if he had never before been to a grocery store. He proceeded to put something in his trolley and then take it out again. We greeted each other with a nod each time as we passed in the aisles going the opposite direction from each other. By the third or forth aisle, we laughed at ourselves and I took the hint and asked him if he needed any help finding anything. I was a PRO in the grocery by this time…Well, it was as if I had just turned on a faucet. He began to tell me how his wife always did all the shopping and that she had been sick and his kids were coming home for a visit and there wasn’t any food at the house and he didn’t know what he would fix when they came…and…and…and.

I politely commiserated with him and helped him find some things he might need by asking questions etc. He had a noticeable non-Australian accent, as did I, so we began the “where ya from” scene. He was from Croatia. That was all I needed and I was hooked. The wife of the Best Man in our wedding and long time dear friends is from Croatia. So, I felt drawn to listen even more. He told me of immigrating to Australia, raising his kids there, of his being Catholic and having a dear friend who had switched religions recently and how it broke his heart…I could not believe the questions he had about what I believed about God. I couldn’t believe how I felt like I had known him much longer than three grocery aisles. He told me that his wife would like to meet me he was sure of it. He gave me his address on the back of an envelope I dug out of my “needing to be cleaned out purse”. I said I would stop by sometime, but I would ring first as he had included their phone number. I kept it in my wallet and thought about ringing for many weeks. Then I cleaned out my purse and the address ended up on my desk in the pile of things to do. I wanted to ring, I had every intention of ringing, but I never did.

A few months later, as I was sitting at the computer, the phone rang. On the other end was a voice I had never heard before. I thought it was a salesman, so I probably wasn’t as kind as I could have been. What I soon realized, however, was this man on the other end of the phone was trying to find out who I was. He had found my address and phone number in his dad’s wallet after his dad had died that weekend. He was trying to take care of his dad personal business matters. The son had come across my number thinking it was a tile related job of his dad’s that he would need to follow up on. I was shocked! I couldn’t believe this man still had my address as I had ripped off the return address of the envelope he had written on and had given him my address. (Which, Mother, I don’t usually do.J) I couldn’t believe he had died. I couldn’t believe I had never rang to go over for a visit. I just couldn’t believe…So I explained the story of how I had met his father and all the wonderful things his dad had said about his kids and how much he said he loved his wife…all in the aisle of the Safeway in St. Helena.

And that’s where it ends!

Now what should I do with his address, now that I have found it again? I decided to blog about it and share the story with anyone who needs to be encouraged to follow through and love in the small ways.

Hebrews 10:23&24: Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.