Paper or plastic

On the way to meet friends in Uptown over the weekend, I saw the best billboard. It’s for the YMCA and it says “It’s OK if your gym bag is from the grocery store.”

A couple things passed through my mind after reading this. First, it’s infinitely better than the billboard for cottage cheese that I see on my way to work that says “the little curd that could.” Honestly. Who thought that was a great idea? And second, a gym where it’s OK if I walk in with my tennies in a red and white plastic Target bag is a gym I’d actually go to. Which says a lot, as I’ve only been a member at a gym once in my life for about a year. And, in fact, it was at a YWCA. But for some reason, the billboard warmed my heart. It’s just endearing. And then suddenly bag...grocery bags...made me think of something else.

I always went to the same beach in Cali with my friends. I’d park in the same general vicinity. Walk down the same trillion steps to the water and make my way to the same area in the sand. In the summer, this was done at least once a week, more if I was lucky. And every time, EVERY time, I saw the same homeless woman, who I came to think of as the “bag lady.”

She had long gray hair and skin sun-wizened and leathered. She always wore a faded blue ball cap, but the clasp in back was broken so it never fit quite right. The rest of her outfit was what you’d expect a homeless person to be wearing. Dirty, holey, dusty. But distinguishing her from the many other homeless people in So-Cal were her bags. On each of her arms she carried two grocery bags filled with other grocery bags. So that’s four grocery bags with what had to be hundreds of other grocery bags inside. Then she also had a filled grocery bag somehow attached to each of her hips...I think tied to her belt loops. She always walked slowly, seemingly without purpose. Her face was expressionless. I saw her every time I went to the beach. Sometimes she was walking alongside the train tracks on the other side of 101 from where I was parking. Other times she was walking along the beach behind where I was sitting. Sometimes I’d see her from afar. Sometimes she’d pass me. And I remember asking my friends if they saw her all the time because I certainly did. No, they didn’t! How could that be, I wondered, that I always see her and no one else does? Weird.

A couple weekends ago, I was back in So-Cal visiting my friends and was able to hit up that same beach like good ole’ times. And I thought about the bag lady as we packed up after a day in the sun and headed to our car. I, for once, hadn’t seen her, and I wondered where she was. Perhaps after a year she had finally moved on. And then, as we got to the top of the trillion steps, there she was! Coming out from behind the public restrooms with all her bags. That’s her! There she is, I told my friend. See?! Every time! A year later and I’m still seeing her!

I often contemplated doing something for her. Should I bring her food? Give her some money? Or we always brought coolers of food, I could just give her our leftovers. I could save bags if she collected them and got money for them? I don’t know. But you know what? I never did anything. I saw her every week, and I never did anything. And if I’m really honest it’s because I thought I was too busy, too important. Maybe there was some fear mixed in with that thinking. I stereotyped and assumed being homeless, she’d waste the money I potentially gave her on drugs. And maybe I even thought she should try to get a job instead of walking around with thousands of plastic bags.

So, I thought of her and the billboard’s words: “It’s OK if your gym bag is from the grocery store.” I want others to be OK with my grocery bags but I wasn’t OK with the bag lady’s bags.

We’ve all got bags. They look very different, and may not be as obvious as the bag lady’s bags, but we carry them around--drag them around--much like she does. They’re deep wounds inflicted by others’ actions and words. They’re disabilities. They’re financial troubles. They’re insecurities. They're addictions. Whatever, but we’ve got ‘em, and we want others to love us in spite of them, and maybe even because of them.

I got to thinking about how God is the perfect gym! With Him, your bag can be from Cub or Rainbow or Byerly’s. And for Cali peeps, Von’s, Ralph’s or Albertson’s. (Paper or plastic too) Or it can be Eddie Bauer, Lowe Alpine or Nike. It doesn’t matter. For Him I don’t have to put on any airs. And no one should have to put on any airs (or take them off for that matter) for me to accept them, to show compassion on them. He loves that bag lady with all her grocery bags. And so should I.

I nearly missed my exit off of 94 thinking about gym bags, but I was struck by the meaning behind the billboard. Pretty sure I took the phrase in a direction the peeps from YMCA weren’t really after, but nevertheless...God accepts any gym bag, loves all. It’s one of the reasons I follow Him! It’s why I walk into His gym every week. But in turn, I, too, am to love all, including the bag lady.