In his memoir, Mailman: My Wild Ride Delivering the Mail in Appalachia and Finally Finding Home, author Stephen Starring Grant recounts how he lost his job in corporate America and became a postal worker. His new job allowed him to reconnect with his hometown and community, taking on the role as a “lifeline for lonely people,” providing “continuity, safety, normalcy, companionship, civilization.”
I believe Mr. Grant’s experience reveals something about human nature, something about the way God designed us.
It’s the reason I don’t mind going to the grocery store.
When my wife, Lori, says she can order groceries to be delivered to our doorstep so we don’t have to get out, I intervene. “I’ll go,” I say. “I don’t mind.” Anyone else who happens to be in the room during this conversation looks at Lori with raised eyebrows, glancing at each other as if to say, “Is he okay?”
After all, who would volunteer to make a trip to the grocery store when someone can deliver them to your doorstep?
I do. I might run into someone I haven’t seen in a while, and we might have a chat together at the fruit and vegetable aisle. Or someone may call me by my name in aisle 3A, someone I haven’t seen for so long that I have to ask questions to remember where we’ve seen each other. Sometimes it’s not until I get to aisle 12B that I recall how I knew them, so I’ll scurry back, hoping to ask about that person’s wife, husband, or kids. And I’ve reconnected with people that way.
Then there are the labels. I’m a label detective. It’s only by going to the grocery store that I can look for those odd items on my wife’s list. The allure of unique foods (at least unique to me) like lentils, chia seeds, coconut oil, edamame, and tahini presents a location challenge, sometimes requiring the help of an employee, the finding of whom is a hunt in itself. But I can ask how the clerk is doing, and if they respond, provided they aren’t wearing ear buds, I may inquire a little more. I discovered that one worker had just celebrated her 14th year of employment there, so I congratulated her with a “high-five.”
The odd items are not only a challenge to find, but they are often hard to retrieve. Their lack of popularity usually places them on an upper shelf, which may require stretching to reach. Like a mountain scaler, I’ve held on to one shelf and then another to bring that cherished item down to my cart. Once, while I was climbing the shelves, I turned around to see a man staring at me. “I just wanted to see if you would make it,” he said before moving on. So, I’ve persuaded taller shoppers to reach for me. They feel better about helping someone who is shorter, and I get my item in exchange.
The self-checkout is quicker, but I prefer the old-fashioned checkout. Here is an opportunity to ask the checker, “How’s it going today? How much longer is your shift?”
Returning home, I show my wife and whoever happens to be in the room something I saw on Instagram. It explains how changing your routine is an excellent brain exercise that keeps you mentally younger, and how getting out enlarges your space, expands your horizons, and, in effect, helps extend your longevity. “You see,” I say, “Going to the grocery store makes health sense.”
God made us for one another. After God created Adam, He said, “It is not good for the man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). God not only made us for community, but He also instructs us on how to behave toward one another: “Be kind and compassionate to one another” (Ephesians 4:32).
We are all, as Mr. Grant wrote, “lifelines” for each other.
And one of the wonders of our human nature is that we can at least partially fulfill that calling with a simple trip to the grocery store.