12.05.06
Florence
by Greg EnglandEach Sunday after church, anywhere from a half dozen to twenty-five or more of our members will converge on the local Arby’s just a block south of the building and pretty much take over the place. I’ve yet to figure out the appeal of Arby’s, but then I’ve not found a fast-food joint that really impressed me. But I do enjoy the fellowship off-campus.
And each Sunday, sitting in the same place, eating the exact same meal, is a small, frail-looking, white haired lady who seems to enjoy watching our crowd.
Months ago, my wife and I arrived too late to get a seat with the church crowd, so we sat just behind the little lady. We cordially said, "Hello" to her, awaiting our meal. She engaged us in conversation … wanting to know who all those people were that came in each week. We moved from the table behind her to the seats beside her and enjoyed lunch with her that day. She introduced herself as Florence.
Since then, we’ve made it a point to go to Arby’s for lunch at least one day each week. Not that we like Arby’s, but that we enjoy the friendship of Florence. She’s been eating there for over 30 years and is an icon. Absolutely refuses to let anyone pay for her lunch. Stubbornly independent. But a sweetheart of a lady. If she goes a day or two without coming in, the manager of Arby’s, Margarita, will call her on the phone to check up on her.
We’ve come to know a lot about her, her life, her family, and her passion for a clean lawn! She lives on Olive Street, which is lined on both sides with magnificent jacaranda trees that spread out over the pavement with a purple canopy each year when the trees are in bloom. Otherwise, they provide a wonderful shade for residents and drivers. I will often drive down Olive Street just to enjoy the beauty of those trees.
But our friend finds in those trees a reason to go outside each morning. She rakes leaves. Her leaves. Her neighbor’s leaves. And the leaves out on the street. Then she comes to Arby’s to sit, relax, and slowly eat her lunch. The conversation is always the same … how much the leaves have covered her lawn. That her neighbors never rake the leaves out of their yards, so she has to do it for them lest they blow into her yard. Then she cleans them out of the street in front of her house. Each day, same routine.
And each day we eat lunch with her, we hear the same story. Then she will point out different people in the restaurant and tell us about them. Same people. Same stories. She’s become so close to us that she now will even pull some pranks on us. Like holding the door when we try to open it. The other day, she came back to the table with some napkins and "goosed me" in the side with her finger. "Gotcha!" I jumped and she laughed like a teenager. She told me, "I got you good, didn’t I? I would only do that to someone I love."
But in time, she has shared some of her burdens and we’ve prayed with her and share with her what’s going on in our lives and in our church family. Florence has become a dear friend. And on those days we drop in and she’s not there, I wonder about her. Is she okay? Is there anything we can do for her?
In many ways, we have a closer fellowship with Florence than we do many who attend our church. We love on her and she loves on us. There’s nothing better in life than the love of another person. Love given and received. And one never knows where that love might be found. Even in an Arby’s on any given day.