HOBBY LOBBY EASTER BLESSINGS

Two weeks ago we returned from the land of great friends, the land of Northern layoffs. A friend from another land of layoffs came this week to visit her daughter and grandkids near us. So I planned an Easter soiree with an egg hunt for them! I needed plastic eggs.

“Mom . . .are you going to Hobby Lobby?” Bud’s questions often led to Buddy answers. “Every time you go , you call Mrs. W!”

Of the ten trips to Hobby Lobby, I believe I only talked thrice with my Heart to Heart Friend. The first chat was under an hour; okay, maybe it was an hour. I walked up and down two, okay, maybe three 66% Off aisles, but I know I only bought one item, even though my kids stood arms crossed, snidely commenting, feet shifting . . . for an hour.

Though the Northern church arranged that we be friends, Mrs. W and I still connect often. This Holy Week the family received an Easter Card with her blessings.

Which brings me back to Hobby Lobby Easter blessings. For those not in the states, Hobby Lobby is an arts and crafts mega store, full of everything artsy plus home décor. The CEO operates his stores by the Good Book. Hobby Lobby employees have Sundays off and weekdays they get off early enough to spend evenings with their families. The workers seem happy, especially Uncle or “Tito Nacio.” 

Bud and I first connected with Uncle last year. When I overheard his Pinoy accent I rushed over to him and chatted about pancit, adobo, and other garlic delights. Bud would hunt him up every time we visited.

“Kumusta Ka?" Tito asked how I was. I would fumble “Mubuti naman” which I know my mom would correct to the high form, “Mubuti po naman,” or “Fine, sir.”

We should have bought our plastic eggs from him, instead of the folks at the market. But Providence had us return the eggs to that market where we saw Uncle typing on a computer. In an orange vest, a motorcycle helmet beside his feet, he was not at his second job.

We tried to chat happy with him because Hobby Lobby wasn’t closing. But fewer we learned would remain to do the same workload.

As we exited, Buddy shocked me. “Mom, didn’t he break your heart?”

My eyes popped. I fumbled, “Honey, Daddy’s my sweet heart. Uncle can’t break my heart...”

“I mean ‘sad,” it’s so sad,” he quickly corrected.

The land of layoff invades the South like Kudzu sucking the life of forests or the death angel killing the Egyptian first-born but saving those under the blood of lambs.

This Easter I pray joy for the sad, the jobless. I appeal to the Lamb who willingly laid down His life to bring us true joy.
Jesus died and rose to mend broken hearts and erase sad with Easter glad.
Allelujah!