A chance encounter, an unexpected Lenten gift

By Mark Lombard
Clarion Herald

Have you ever thought you were proceeding along one path only to discover you were on a completely different one?

It’s a bit confusing, I know, as my wife and I did begin and end on the path we started, though it seemed very different by the time we ended.

Let me try to explain. Mary and I arrived on the weekend at a quaint, picturesque village in the Appalachian Mountains in New England to cross-country ski. We were focused on skiing, something we have not had a chance to do this winter due to the unusually warm weather in the Northeast.

Yet, getting out of the car, we crossed paths with another couple, who, as my wife was lacing up her ski boots, I started chatting up. While I am something of an introvert, I’m told I have a particular aptitude for doing that. That one action changed the day.

Series of coincidences

In the course of a 15-minute conversation, I found that the middle-age couple – dating as it turned out – had traveled a distance and happened to stop at this village path, frequented by cross-country skiers. But beyond that, I found out we had lived in several of the same places and, in fact, that the gentleman had grown up in the neighboring town from mine and attended the high school that was our fierce rival.

Keep in mind, I had never met this couple, never run into them, but our paths must have crossed over the decades. In that short back and forth, the four of us were asking each other about further connections, and we shared our favorite places to eat in that village and laughed out loud about the serendipity of the moment (and drawing some attention from other skiers who were arriving).

We said our goodbyes. They told us they were going to a coffee shop within walking distance to secure, for their trip home, the establishment’s unusually delicious lemon bars that were “to die for.” We thanked them for the tip on the café and treat, and headed off to ski.

As we trekked out and then literally made tracks off the main path, Mary and I talked about how we so enjoyed the delightful couple and how we both were working up our appetite to split an apres-ski dessert after packing away our gear. Coming up over the last bridge and skiing to the edge of the parking lot, we looked out to our car and saw something brown on the windshield.

A windshield surprise

Immediately, I thought someone had placed a flier advertising something about which I was not going to be interested. Instead, there was a to-go box, with a carefully wrapped lemon bar, bigger and thicker than I imagined, tucked inside. We were completely stunned.

It was then that I realized I had never asked their names. While I knew much of their history – where they grew up, what they did for work, places they have lived – I never thought to share or inquire about how to identify them or get in touch with them.

After sharing that lemon dessert, which we agreed was maybe the best we ever enjoyed – or at least it seemed so at the time – I tried to track them down, going to the café and speaking to the wait staff, hurriedly walking the main and side streets looking for their vehicle or them on the sidewalk and then returning to the parking lot, hoping that they may have returned there.

All to no avail.

They did what they told us they were going to do: grab a dessert to go and head out of town on a four-hour drive back home.

A clear perspective

My wife, always philosophic in such times, saw the bigger picture much clearer than I am usually capable.

“They didn’t need a thank-you as they already knew how much we were going to enjoy it,” she said, adding that maybe they wanted to offer it, as it were, anonymously.

Maybe so, but I ultimately did not just want to express my appreciation for the dessert. More importantly, I wanted to let them know that the surprise gifting, without any hope for the feeling of elevation for having that gift acknowledged, left me speechless, overcome with the joy associated with the best of humanity being on display.

I also wanted to share our contact information so that this one-off meeting would not be our last, which I felt as a loss of a friendship that I never really had.

Pure gift

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I had their contact information, the gift somehow would have meant less. That it was goodness – just for its own sake and not for any other gain– that gave the simple gesture of the gift its power.

It also reminded me, most fitting for this time of Lenten renewal, that I too can reach out to others with unexpected gifts of presence and presents as gifts.

Mark Lombard is the business manager of the Clarion Herald (and an avid cross-country skier). He can be reached at [email protected].