Goodwill to men

On Saturday I was out book shopping at the Goodwill near my parents' house. I was quietly and intently searching the titles for something interesting. Just as I was turning to take the three books I'd found to the check out, a voice began speaking to me.

The wee voice said, "If you see a copy of The Shack, could you pass it to me?"

The voice had short, curling gray and white hair, a strangely formed, pinched-up sort of nose, skin all be-speckled like a tan egg, and blinking eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. She was a short, rounded lady of around 75.

"Yes I will," I said, smiling.

"I read it a year ago and then today, can you believe it, there was an interview about the author in the Guideposts!?"

"Really? Interesting. I haven't read it yet."

Then she got really excited. "The photographer in the interview had decided to give some money to someone in need about 5 or 6 years ago, and he came upon the story of a man who needed some money, so he snuck up to his little house and slipped a couple hundred dollars under his front door."

"Then what?" I asked, knowing that this conversation was bound to be a long one, but not minding talking with this lady. That morning I had awakened to an empty day and had resolved to roll with the flow of what came my way, and see it as a sort of divine adventure. This was surely a part of my divine adventure.

"Well, all these years later he goes to take the photos for this interview of the author of The Shack and he arrives at the site and it is the same house where he put the money under the door. He couldn't stand it any longer, so he asked the author if he lived there 5 or 6 years ago. He said he had. The photographer asked him if he got an envelope filled with money one Christmas. The author said he had, again, and asked if the photographer had put it there. And of course he had. The author told him that the money had enabled him to get a few copies of The Shack printed for close friends and family as a Christmas gift, and that one of those copies had found its way to a publisher, and the rest was history."

"That's crazy! What an amazing meeting! And after all that time!? I love stories like that."

"And have you read Nora Roberts' books?"

"No." I replied, thinking of the stack in my hands: Faulkner, a book about the Mason Dixon line, and a book about rivalry between two magicians in 18th century England.

"Well, you should read this one," she said as she held up a book with roses and flames on the front, "it is about finding a husband. My daughter-in-law has it too. She loved it."

"Wonderful" I thought sarcastically, "sounds horrible."
"Sounds neat!" I heard myself reply instead, beginning to doubt the divinity of this adventure.

"And this book, The Bride's Necklace, is about true love and whoever wears the necklace finds their true love."

"That sounds cool too." But not cool, and certainly not divine, not adventurous.

"Oh, I'm also looking for a book called The Blue Dahlia," she said.

"I'll keep an eye out for that one too." At least that one sounded better.

"Thanks so much. What kind of books do you like?" she asked.

"Well, that's hard to say, I like lots of sorts of books. I have a William Faulkner book here, The Sound and the Fury. He's really great. I like American short stories. I read a lot of classics. I love poetry too. And history, these other two books I have are about history. I was an English major in college, so I read a lot. Well, English and Art. I read a lot of art history/theory too. And Ayn Rand. I love Ayn Rand, and A.S.Byatt."

She didn't really say much of anything back, but instead stared smiling, blinking, back at me. I repeated my offer of looking for The Shack for her, and she thanked me again.

I looked for a few more minutes, and then I started to leave. I realized I'd missed a shelf, so I walked over to it to see what was there. The first title I read: The Shack.

I was so excited! I walked over to her and said, "It's your lucky day! Look what I found. I can't believe it!"

She squealed, made all sorts of happy sounds, hugged me very tightly about my waist, and said, "I knew you'd find it! I knew it! Thank you!"

"Well, you're welcome," I said, stepping back, "you have a good rest of the day."

"You too sweetheart."

Adventure. I wondered at her 'knowing' I would find the book for her, and at my willingness to discount the meeting as non-adventure-material when I heard the names of the books she liked. I used to think the line between the divine and the mundane was a blurry one, but I think I've come to the conclusion that there is no such line. Everything is divine, everyday.