Merry Christmas from the Armstrongs

If you were in Publix on Wilmington Island yesterday, by chance, you might have found it easier to navigate Atlanta traffic than find dates in the produce section.

Old fellows like me, who take grocery shopping seriously because I have nothing better to do, find such an intense accumulation of people fantastic and frightening, and there wasn’t even a hurricane or snowstorm in the forecast!

There’s the lady wearing furs and jewelry, who I suspect has not shopped much for herself because she seems a bit confused about the process, and a man trying to decipher his grocery list who looks at me puzzled. Another fellow my age wearing gym shorts of my youth and prancing about like a reindeer asking for attention and a woman who snarls when you look at her. There is a young mother with a baby strapped to her chest humming Christmas carols and an older woman comparing prices on turkey gravy.

And I did not let one of them pass me without my “Merry Christmas” and a smile, and except for the snarling woman who did say, “Same to you, buddy,” they all seemed to brighten and smile and return the festive greeting. You see, Christmas brings out an undefinable feeling in me, a connection to people and my spirituality. I think I inherited this from Mom. She loved, no she adored, Christmas, and I try to keep that feeling in my heart to remember her and for the reason for the season.

Christmas can sadly be like funerals and weddings, over which I have both presided; the season can bring out the best and worst in people. I like to think and believe that sharing grace and blessings this time of year helps us find the better parts of ourselves during the season.

I am the kind of fellow who believes that one day, walking these aisles, I will unknowingly meet and converse with Jesus.

He’ll wear an old pair of Tecovas boots and khaki cargo pants, a yellow T-shirt with a BIG HAPPY SMILEY face, a radiant smile, and a neatly trimmed beard.

We will be in the bakery department, where the devil has sent me to eye the decadence baked by my favorite ladies with hair nets. It is not that they set out to cook sinful delights.

Our eyes will meet as we preview the latest assortments of cakes, cookies, and bagels.

“Some fine-looking goods today,” I’ll say, trying my best to walk away from the 10,000 calories plus Red Velvet Cake that seems to have radiated its sinful allure onto my innocence.

“Yes, sir. I always come here at Christmas to shop. I especially love their desserts,” Jesus says as he discreetly checks out the cookies.

The baking crew at Publix is known to offer a cookie or bite of pastry now and then if we look longingly enough – samples, you know.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” searching my mind for the memory of the face of kindness, good humor, and sweetness.

“Oh, it’s quite possible,” he’ll say. I see him eyeing the Angels’ Food and Devilish chocolate cakes.

Suddenly, my mind recalls, like a quick run movie, every beautiful, good, memorable, and glorious Christmas experience I have ever had. I can see my Mom smiling, my kinfolk laughing, my friends and their kids, and my wife all enjoying themselves. I can feel every touch of love I’ve had in my life. And I feel cocooned in overwhelming love.

And I smile and say, “Merry Christmas, sir.”

And he says with the sweetest of smiles, “And Merry Christmas to you, my son. Remember the reason for the season.”