I saw a tired woman in the grocery store doing her best to get her children to behave.

The kids were a bit rambunctious, giggling and chasing each other, and mom was unsuccessful in getting them to quiet down.

My first reaction was judgmental – that woman should either learn how to control those kids or leave them home.

My second reaction was shame. Has it really been that long since I was in her shoes and have I forgotten what it’s like to be overwhelmed and exhausted.

The answer is obviously yes.

Our son just moved into a house he’s been building for two years.  His previous home burned to the ground, and he lost everything. He’s been working shut downs and saving every penny to build a house for him and his children.

He moved in a couple of weeks ago and he’s slowly but surely furnishing the house. He let his children pick out the beds they wanted, and he posted a picture of their bedrooms on a family site.

My first reaction was pride – he’d accomplished what he set out to do after life dealt him a hard blow.

My second reaction was – why didn’t he make the beds before he posted the pictures.

My third reaction – shame on me.

This single dad is doing everything himself, from putting furniture together to cooking to making sure his children are safe and fed and I was worried about whether or not the beds were made for photos.

Many of us make snap judgments about what others are doing based on a single snapshot of their day.

The people in front of me in the grocery store line in the middle of the day using food stamps initially made me wonder why they weren’t working like other people.

Then I looked a little closer at what they were buying – formula and off-brand diapers. Perhaps that young mother was doing her best while trying to rear an infant, but my first judgmental reaction was “get a job.”

I see able-bodied people parking in handicapped spots, and I can feel my shackles rise because I have friends who need to park closer due to age or an illness. Here’s someone who seems to have it all together taking that spot.

Then I remember friends who have anxiety attacks and need to get out of a stressful situation in a hurry. There are autistic children and adults who have melt downs – not because they want them but because they can’t help it, and they need a close and safe escape route.

I remember the times I forgot my checkbook or my wallet at the grocery store. People behind would sigh loudly and angrily move to another line while I stood there embarrassed.

I remember changing lanes without checking properly because I was distracted, worried about a family member. Usually the person I’d almost smacked into would lay on the horn and scream obscenities at me.

As a young mom, one of my toddlers would throw a hissy fit in the store, and most people would back away with a glad-that’s-not-me look on their face.

But there would always be one person who’d smile and quietly whisper they’d been in my shoes plenty of times.

I need to be that person.

I need to be the person who reassures, not the one who steps in as the judge, jury and hangman.

Please, Lord, let me be that person.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.