it was an old fashion ice cream shop and i was sixteen, ready for independence and spending money. family owned and homemade everything. the kind of place you don't see much these days. it was where everyone went after church on sunday nights and housed my grandpa's favoite flavor, black cherry.
the uniform, a combination of a hot pink shirt, white denim and a white hat was less than flattering. especially if you know me and the hang up i have with hats and pulling my hair back.
the owner, a tall, intimidating man, watched us to our cars each night in a fatherly way. once in a while one of us girls would have a fella waiting for us when the shop closed and he would say, "got one waitin' for ya" followed by a wink of approval.
the manager was a young woman, twenties or so, absolutely beautiful. she had hair way down to her bottom which most people wouldn't notice because of the previously mentioned hat. she was polite and always encouraging. her name was joy, suiting her perfectly.
she was pentecostal, though i didn't know that word at sixteen. i had only heard that denomination referred to as "holy rollers," whatever that means. somehow a discussion about speaking in tongues came up. young, southern baptist raised, i spouted off all the things i had been told about speaking in tongues. i acted like i knew what i was talking about. i acted holy. i was condescending. she responded with grace.
it's okay if you don't understand it.
it's okay to say you don't know.
it's okay that we think differently.
nearly twenty years later, her thoughts resonate deep within. it's okay if we don't understand each other. it's okay if we don't know the answers. it's okay if we think differently.
food for thought by john wesley:
though we cannot think alike, can we not love alike?
When I was young I was sure of everything. In a few years, having been mistaken a thousand times, I was not half so sure of most things as I was before. At present, I am hardly sure of anything but what God has revealed to me.