It happens most every Wednesday. I climb the steps. Four of them. To find her on the other side of the counter. Only I’ve made the climb so often that she grabs the cup and pen. She know’s my name. Many of them actually.
She puts on her imagination cap when she sees me coming. I never know what it will be. It always ends in ia. Sometimes sounding adventurous, other times nostalgic. But every time creative and thoughtful. Personal.
She knows my real name. My given name. She values me as I step into her presence. Maybe as a customer. maybe as a human being. Today, she didn’t even ask what I wanted to drink. She, Catherine with a C & an ine, grabbed a cup and pen and made me what she knows I’ve ordered every week since March. It allowed more time for conversation with her, which I love and look forward to. Today as she chose to give me the name Iridia, she explained something having to do with the periodic elements chart. It didn’t have to make sense. I enjoyed every moment. Our conversation turned to the European’s tradition of naming of children. Before we knew it we were in Ireland. The land of both our ancestors. I love getting to know her.
Does it matter if anyone knows your name?
Does it matter if you take time to know theirs?
I deeply value interaction with other human beings. I think it comes from being known and deeply valued by God. It changed the course of my life. Words of life freely given back and forth between us — they matter. They can kindle a fire within us. To keep going. To not give up. We never know.
When was the last time you noticed your waitress as a person, not just in her role serving you?
When did you ask the cashier at the grocery store her name, which stopped her in her tracks and brought a smile to the middle of her shift?
When was the last time someone noticed you and valued you when you least expected it?
Will you share? I ‘d love to hear.