The other day, while running a typical errand at the grocery store, I met Jodi. She was my cashier, and like many of us, Jodi had a lot going on—probably more than most. But it wasn’t just the groceries or her job that weighed on her that day.
After putting my groceries on the conveyor, I looked at her nametag and simply said, “Hi, Jodi, I hope you’re having a good morning.”
She continued scanning and responded without making eye contact, “I’m here.”
I could sense she was burdened by something. “Has it been a rough start today?” I asked gently.
That’s when she looked at me… really looked at me with the kind of look that says there’s more beneath the surface than just work. She hesitated for a moment and then quietly said, “I’ve got some things going on at home, and I’m tired.”
(Okay…open door) “Oh, I’m sorry. What are they? I’ll pray for you.”
At that point, she paused from scanning the groceries, took a deep breath, exhaled, and gave me a guarded, cautious look. Then it came out, “I take care of my father-in-law, who is dying at home, and my autistic brother. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and now I’ve got a long shift today.”
She glanced at me again, perhaps wondering if I was sorry I asked.
“Oh my,” I said, “That’s a lot on your plate. Thanks for sharing that. I’ll be praying for you and them, Jodi.”
She seemed both surprised and relieved to hear her name and know someone acknowledged her burdens. In that brief moment, Jodi’s exhaustion and struggle weren’t just a passing comment—they were heard, acknowledged, and respected. I was fully present and engaged with her story, and she could sense that I saw her as more than a cashier; I saw her as a person carrying heavy burdens and struggling to keep her composure.
She thanked me, and I felt her sincerity.
A Few Weeks Later…
Weeks passed, and I found myself back at the same grocery store, standing in Jodi’s checkout line again. She didn’t recognize me right away, but I remembered her.
“Hi Jodi, how are your father-in-law and your brother doing?” I asked. “I’ve been praying for all of you.”
She looked up, surprised. She took a long look, and then it clicked—she remembered me and our conversation.
“They’re not getting any better,” she replied softly. “But Hospice is helping with my father-in-law now, so I’m not as overwhelmed. My brother is still very needy, though.”
Despite the heaviness of her words, she smiled. She seemed amazed that I had remembered her and her situation. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate you asking. I hope your day is going well.”
It was a simple exchange, yet one that held a lot of meaning. At that moment, I saw the impact of my presence and interest in her burden.
This encounter reminded me again of the second and third steps of living connected—be present and listen, and be curious and interested. We often rush through our days transactionally without truly engaging with the people around us. But when we pause, lean in, and show genuine interest, we create space for people to feel seen, heard, and valued.
A few days later, I met Rose, a Walmart cashier. She seemed sad as she scanned my items, so I began the same as I had with Jodi: “Hey Rose, I hope you’re having a good day.”
She didn’t answer, so I gently asked, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can be praying about for you?”
She looked up at me and paused. There was a heaviness in her expression as she said, “Hope. I could use some hope right now.”
“Hmmm,” I replied, “I can sure pray for that, Rose. Lucky for you, my Heavenly Father specializes in that. And I pray, I believe better things are coming your way.”
It was a simple exchange—there was a line behind me, so I didn’t linger. But I left with a sense of connection. She knew someone had noticed her pain and was lifting her up in prayer.
Living connected doesn’t mean offering solutions. In both Rose and Jodi’s cases, they didn’t need answers—just someone willing to notice and listen without judgment and offer to pray or share in their pain.
We may not be able to take away others’ burdens, but we can offer them the gift of empathy, prayer, and connection. And sometimes, just knowing that someone cared enough to ask and pray is enough to make someone’s burden a little lighter.
An Unexpected Encounter with Maurice
After my encounter with Rose, as I walked out of Walmart, I noticed a man sitting on a bench outside the exit. He looked disheveled and had a backpack beside him—someone who had clearly seen better days. He looked at me and asked, “Got any change?”
I stopped and replied, “Sorry, I don’t, but do you need anything else? Maybe a meal?”
He responded with a smirk and looked down, “I’m not hungry, but I’d like a beer.”
I could have walked away as he expected, but instead, I asked, “What kind of beer?”
Surprised, he said with some disbelief, “Just a tall can of Budweiser.”
I looked him in the eyes and said, “I can do that. Anything else?”
Still skeptical, he said, “No, just a beer.” I turned back into the store and bought him the beer. When I handed it to him, I introduced myself, “My name is Tim. What’s yours?”
“Maurice,” he replied.
“Nice to meet you, Maurice. Is there anything I can pray about for you?” I asked
He paused, then said, “Thank you for the beer. And, you could pray for my two sons and my wife. I need peace in my family.”
“I sure will,” I said, and we exchanged a fist bump. “Nice to meet you Maurice.”
As I walked away, Maurice smiled and said, “Thanks, and God bless you.”
Living More Purposefully Now
These brief encounters with Jodi, Rose, and Maurice reminded me again of the healing that can begin to happen when we connect with people soul-to-soul. The world is full of hurting people, often hidden in plain sight. A cashier at the store, a man on a bench—they all carry stories, burdens, and pain that we rarely stop to notice. But when we pause, ask questions, and truly listen, we offer something that can’t be bought or earned: empathy, connection, and the gift of being seen.
None of these conversations were long or elaborate. I didn’t solve their problems, and I didn’t need to. What mattered was the act of listening—being willing to be present and interested in their pain and offering the smallest gesture of sharing in it through prayer.
Whether it was a prayer for hope or a can of Budweiser, these moments of connection allowed Jodi, Rose, and Maurice to feel like someone cared enough to notice them, to hear them, and to lift them up. And in those small acts of kindness, healing can begin.
I’m thankful to be living life more purposefully these days…loving God and loving others, guided by the Six Steps of Living-Connected.