It’s slow work but worth the wait. His speckled hand pulls the lever. Tiny shards spray from a frozen brick and gradually fill a styrofoam cup.
Mr. A turns toward the open window and shouts in a New Orleans drawl, “What flava’d you say you wan agin?” He squints, cups both hands around his hearing aids to amplify the voice of the nine year-old on tip-toes at the counter.
“Pina colada with cream, please.”
“Ah, thas right,” he laughs at himself. “Always dah pina colada wid cream fah dah lil one. Always.”
He pulls the jar of pale yellow syrup from the rack and pours liberally, turning to smile at us periodically with eyebrows raised as if to say “How do you like dat?”
A year ago, Mr. A’s trailer showed up in a nearby parking lot on a warm Spring afternoon. Conversation is hard, slow. One question per visit. Repeated two or three times. The answer dissected on the drive home as we take turns guessing at what was actually said, translating from cajun to English by vote: where he moved here from, how he came to make snow cones in retirement, his wife’s name.
“OK, who thinks her name is Sandra?”
Hands are raised and we test our consensus on the next visit.
“How is Sandra feeling this week?” I ask.
He thanks us for our concern and the kids exhale – there are congratulatory fist bumps.
Weeks of questions, answers, and guesses before we heard about Sandra. And for weeks afterward a story unfolded of a man who married his best friend, a long-awaited retirement together cut short by a cancer diagnoses. Mr. A and Sandra moved to Nashville hoping to receive experimental treatment at Vanderbilt. We promised to pray, wrote down our number in case he needed anything.
Then the leaves turned yellow, the trailer stopped coming, but Gabriella kept praying. Every night. “God please heal Sandra, get her into that experimental treatment place.”
A few days ago Mr. A’s trailer reappeared and, though it wasn’t hot enough for snow cones, we bought some anyway.
“We’ve been waiting six months for this,” I say.
“What flava’d ya wan agin?”
In time a shaking hand slides a generous cup of ice and sugar through the window. I’m afraid to ask…
“Evra day since we closed da shop, I been wid er at dah hospital.”
Sandra did get into Vanderbilt’s program and there was progress but the latest scans revealed three new tumors in her head. “Jess keepin’ ‘er comf’table now.”
The kids are teary-eyed and tight-lipped on the ride home.
“This is compassion,” I finally say.
There are major drawbacks to being my child. The thirteen year-old sighs. Knowing I’ll say it if someone else doesn’t, she recites from memory: “Compassion is suffering with people who suffer.”
“But at least we get lots of snow cones,” says the nine year-old.
There is that. Over a hundred snow cones we figured out – to turn a stranger into someone we suffer with.
Please pray for Mr. A and his wife Sandra. And, honestly, I’m at a loss for what more my family and I can do to show our love for these two. So if you have any ideas? Please share in the comments of this post. Thanks.
Ben Stewart says:
My first thought: I want to move down there and do that with them.
My second thought: Wait, I should be doing that up here instead. People need compassion here, too. Crap.
Tracy Edwards says:
Yep, that’s why I love your family!! I bet when he is working, he really wants to be with his wife. You could visit her while he is gone, or even volunteer to help him clean up one night so he can get home quicker. Also, cards that your kids made would mean a ton, I bet. I know you have a million ideas floating around!!!
Brad Richardson says:
Shaun, you keep wrecking me with these articles, in the best possible way. I want to learn that kind of compassion.
Kris Camealy says:
Oh my. Could you visit her in the hospital? What if you went and sang for her, or just went and sat with her? Could your kids make her cards, or a special craft thing that can be kept there at the hospital for her to enjoy? (Or in her home, if that’s where she is now)…? I am at a loss too, but I will pray, and also thank you for these beautiful posts that challenge and inspire me. And make me weep.
Michelle Rausch says:
I bet she would love some drawings of her husband making those snow cones for your children! And maybe they could draw pictures of them enjoying the snow cones too…. Give them each a word (like Hope, Love, Heaven) and have them illustrate their word. I’m big on children’s art from the heart…
They could also read her their favorite short stories, scripture, and Daily Inspiration type readings into a recording device so she could listen at her leisure. You could add a few songs sang expressly for her if it doesn’t violate some recording clause or such….
I just love your family and your values. To be honest, I didn’t really know the definition of Compassion until I read this article….
jennnahrstadt says:
what should you do? you’re doin’ it. i have the opportunity, the privilege of doing this daily with folks who come through the line at my starbucks. some take a LONG time to come around, but it’s worth it every time they give you a little nugget of information.
if you can find out where she’s admitted, i’d suggest taking a simple dinner and sitting in the waiting room with him. doesn’t sound like there’s family nearby, and he’d never in a million years think of asking you for anything. not that there’d be much you’d need to say; we all know Job’s friends talked too much.
offer to sing something to Sandra at the hospital, and then tell him you want to stand with him at the funeral. you may have to travel to attend it. that would be true compassion!
you’ve already done more than countless many: you’ve chosen to SEE him, to VALUE him, to accept what he has the capacity to give you in terms of what he shares. kudos, man. kudos. keep us posted.
Yvonne Reynolds says:
Maybe ask if your family can provide them with a couple of meals, or maybe gift cards for meals? And I am sure your kids would love to make cards for Mr. A and Sandra.
MartinMom says:
If money is an issue, you could always get a food handler license and work a shift for him. Turn the day into a community love event to fill his tip jar! I’m thinking lots of people would show up to support it. I would love to send my tip from Texas! Praying for everyone! Thanks for making me think hard……again.
MartinMom says:
Any updates, Shaun? I was just thinking of them today. Blessings~
Brandice Yelton says:
what a great example you are for your kids and the internets. Will be praying for Sandra and Mr. A. I have a tender heart for Cajuns…what great, colorful people they are.
Jessica says:
Dangit, Shaun. I had forgotten how much you make me feel all the feels. ๐