A Suit, a Coat and a Snow Shovel

Nine thirty on Wednesday morning, I found myself southbound through the town of Coaldale, Alberta. It all seemed ordinary – I mean, I have driven my Super B grain truck through the small town who knows how many times? This morning, however, things were different. As I rolled through the stoplight and passed the school, I was alert for moving cars, trucks and people. About a block south of the school, something caught my searching eyes. It was a young man dressed in a black suit and standing beside a pure white car. Our first snow had fallen overnight, and the streets weren’t exactly the place to stand in your shiny black dress shoes. I did a double take. Nevertheless, there he was, big as life.

My second look was longer than the first, and in those few seconds, I formed an opinion. In those few seconds, I jumped to conclusions that, while not certain, I felt that they were probable.

The car was a clean, white hearse. Just in from the curb, where the car sat, an old lady walked on her snow-covered sidewalk. She was holding a snow shovel and looked careworn. From its colours, her coat appeared to be borrowed from the 1970’s, yet it seemed sound. Compassion welled up within me as I took it in. The clean-cut gentleman, standing by the white car, appeared to be waiting for her. She had probably just lost her husband, yet there she was, cleaning her walks and wearing a coat that she had carefully looked after for decades. Perhaps she had looked after her failing husband with the same tender care? My semi rolled on by, but I was left with a chest full of feelings. Compassion. Respect. Admiration. Would I just go about getting things done if I had just lost my wife? I felt convicted by my conscience. If that happened to me, I would most likely be holding the pity part of the century! What an example of doing what all living things should do – live. Live, in spite of whatever troubles may come.