Tile floors are beautiful but they are unforgiving. The bathroom door was closed. I didn’t hear the thin glass tube shatter as the liquid Lancme and shards traveled together across the Moroccan inspired geometric shapes of olive green. A little more than finger length, the vessel didn’t stand a chance. The impact was harsh against the ceramic.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.” Mark came out with his shoulders shrugged in shame. “Uggh, I know you just bought that.”
It was only our second morning in Jerusalem after a rather grueling travel drama that was full of delays. Mark arrived into Tel Aviv not feeling so well. He had a slight fever and a sore throat. But his under-the-weatherness probably saved him a scolding from me because travel perfumes were difficult to find.
The days of nabbing tiny samples were long gone but fortunately the Colorado clerk discovered a 10mL, even though its content wasn’t my favorite. To admit that I that I was relieved when Mark knocked my last minute purchase off the counter, would not have supported my role as victim, so I didn’t mention it.
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied. He had already cleaned it up by the time he confessed. La vie est belle lingered in the apartment until nightfall. “Just go back to bed sweetie, you look terrible.”
That was six weeks ago.
Initially I talked myself into waiting to replace the broken perfume but walking past Jaffa street’s scent shop today, was more than my self discipline could take. I gave in. The back retail wall beckoned. It highlighted the top perfume houses of Europe. They were displayed beautifully. Versace’s new Dylan Purple intrigued, along with several others. I looked around for a paper strip on which to test them.
A lady my age headed my direction.
“My God,” she said loudly with a bold Manhattan accent. She was shorter than me. “Are you American? What the hell are you doing here?”
I was tired.
Dear reader, I know you don’t believe me but I wasn’t in a chatty mood.
“I’m making music and trying to alleviate a bit of the sadness,” was my quick response.
I was hoping she’d just leave me be. Her badge said, ‘manager.’ But she quickly devolved from her official position into a depressed Israeli citizen. She grabbed my hand, which seemed to be a daily occurrence here.
“Honey,” she looked up at me with oversized black fashion glasses. “It’s getting worse. I’m so upset by it all.”
I quickly straightened up my attitude. We moved towards the corner. She needed the privacy of conversation. It wasn’t necessary though because no one else was in the high end space. Tourist and retail haunts were a ghost town since October.
She told me of the city’s economic woes. It was indeed bad. We had seen that for ourselves.
“No one is coming here so we’re in big trouble,” she warned.
We talked more. The range of conversation was now predictable; the horrors of October 7th, family and friends on the front lines, politics, and national security.
“And what hell is going on with crazy Joe?” she questioned. “The whole world is against us. We didn’t expect that from you.”
“No,” I firmed up my voice. “We are not abandoning you. Millions upon millions of Americans are praying for you. We love you. Do not believe what you see on the news.”
Then I apologized for the White House. That felt useless but necessary.
“You are so sweet for saying that,” she said. “It gives me a little lift today. But soon I’ll go home and watch the awful news anyway.”
She tired of talking about it. Then she transformed back to saleswoman.
“Let’s find you something wonderful to replace your broken one. Try this.” It was their best seller. “But it’s the young local girls that are buying it. What do you think?”
It was too floral for me so I went back to the Yves SL section.
“Yes, that’s you,” She replied as I retrieved a black square bottle off the shelf. We walked back to the register.
Dropping my legal Opium into a small but thick white paper bag, she ran my debit card. She handed me the flimsy receipt and then walked me past the front opening until we were out onto the sidewalk.
Then I instructed her to be like Joshua, “be strong and do not be dismayed.”
Her response was, “I’ll try, honey. I’ll try.”
Is there ever going to be a day here without carrying another’s burden?
My guess is no.
I love how God uses you in the most interesting and unusual ways. Your willingness to love on this woman in spite of your mood in the moment is why God can use you so powerfully. And what you shared with her is what I pray over you and Mark - "Be strong and courageous!" Love you both dearly.