A little more like MacKenzie…

I pushed open the door and looked inside. A loooong line. My heart sank just a bit. I was at the Cricket cell phone store with Julie, as her phone had been lost or stolen or otherwise no longer with us.

The lobby was full of people, all of whom looked homeless. We were in a rough part of town. I clutched my purse a little tighter and held the door for Julie. Her face lit up when she walked in the door, “Oh good! MacKenzie’s here.”

Julie called out, across all the people, “Hey MacKenzie! I lost my phone again!”  

The girl behind the counter smiled. She was young, tattooed on both arms, and stood with arms folded as a toothless, elderly man at the front of the line waved his arms around. “You’re taking all my money! Just like women!”  He hollered, laughing at himself for his cleverness.  Julie and I took our place in line and waited. For 15 minutes the man messed with her, asking questions and getting confused and pretending he wasn’t going to pay her. Then came the next customer–an angry young girl. Then the next. One older man in line, with a little red-haired girl no older than Heidi, tired of waiting, turned, storming out the store. “I’m outta here! I’m OUTTA here!” He shouted twice, dragging the little girl away as he went. MacKenzie’s face darkened slightly, then she turned back to the next customer.

Nearly an hour went by.  She juggled customers, often helping two at once, processing bills while people tested phones, programming and talking and answering phones all at once. She bantered, smiled, and stood her ground, as hard as nails, when needed.

Someone commented on her tattoos. One was an elaborate drawing, and another a long sentence in scripted font. I couldn’t make out what it was.

“What’s your tattoo say?” A woman asked.

She said it quietly, but clearly, looking straight in the eyes of the woman who asked.

“Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future.”  Then she turned to get the woman’s new phone.

Our turn was next. Julie relayed her story about the phone.  MacKenzie smiled and listened while simultaneously, with quick hands, pulling out the least expensive phone and programming it for Julie as she listened. Julie told her about her new home, “I’m 125 days clean and sober!”

MacKenzie stopped her hands. She looked up, into Julie’s eyes, and leaned into close.

“I’m so proud of you, Julie.”  Julie smiled, eyes full.

When it was time to pay, I had to use a large bill, and felt a little bit uncomfortable. I slid it out and held it low. MacKenzie instinctively reached around and slid it from my hand, behind the paper bag on the counter. She slid my change back into my hand without counting it out loud. She smiled into my eyes.

“It was great to see you, Julie. Take care.”

We left the store. Julie went to catch the bus, and I went home. But MacKenzie haunted me. I don’t know her story, her past, but I do know that this young tattooed girl, working long hours at the dingiest cell phone store in a rough part of town, understood the grace of God because it flowed through her to every person in that store. She stood behind that counter, embodying Jesus to every person she met. The toothless ones, the rude ones, the obnoxious, impatient ones. I watched her doing her job, juggling things joyfully, looking people in the eye. Listening. Not taking flack but bantering when possible. Giving people dignity.

Later that day, I got another call. We needed to go back to the store and pay Julie’s bill. Inwardly, my heart leapt, excited. I wanted to see MacKenzie again. Heidi hopped in the car with me, and I prayed she would still be there. Sure enough, when I pulled up, she was there. And no one else was in the store.

As soon as I opened the door, she beamed. “Hey, I wanted to tell you, it’s really nice of you to help Julie like this.”  I smiled.

And then I told her. I told her I followed Jesus too, and that I saw Him in her, as she interacted with all those impossibly irritating people, how her beautiful tattoo was such truth–all saints do have a past and all sinners do have a future. I told her she fulfilled her job with such excellence, even though she was the only one there. I could tell she worked for an audience of One.

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, I am a Christian. Thank you.”

Then I awkwardly asked if I could take her picture and write about her. She laughed and agreed.

And I clicked a picture of her, Cricket worker for the glory of God, shining the light of His love in the midst of the darkness there. 

And I prayed the whole way home that God would let me be a little more like MacKenzie.

Thanks for reading.