Widows and Chick-fil-A Sauce

There’s a widow in our community whom I have long known from afar. I wrote an open letter to her years ago, after her husband was shot and killed on duty as a law enforcement officer.

I am pretty sure I spotted her in the corner booth at Chick-fil-A this week.

Not in a creepy way. And not that I exploit my family discount at any particular establishment. Let’s all mind our business.

I said to my guys, “Should I go say hello to her?”

I thought they might have some insights, as they had once been the children in a similar situation.  Sometimes people talked to us when we were them.  I wasn’t sure how my kids felt about it, in retrospect.

My son said, “Mom, I need for you to seriously consider your appearance. I mean, do you feel good about how you look right now? You have chick-fil-a sauce on your shirt.”

My appearance hadn’t actually crossed my mind. Now that he mentioned it, I decided to just pray that our paths would cross another time. When I might be dressed more appropriately.

It’s good to have teenagers.  Good for the humility.