I recently got a notification that my package had been delivered by Purolator (I’m moving, and my generous parents got me a couple of chairs from Wayfair, so this was a substantial (large, awkward, aprox. 50lb) package.
Wayfair sent me a text to say that it had been delivered and I thought, “that’s weird, no one buzzed to bring it up.”
According to the Purolator website, my package had been delivered two hours before I got the notification from Wayfair. I checked my door; no package. I checked my email; no notification of delivery. I checked my phone; no missed calls.
“Oh no,” I thought, “I hope it hasn’t been stolen!” The chair set was worth about $400. I live in a large apartment complex, and we have had a package thief monitoring doorways recently, so I supposed it could have been taken.
But...(I thought hopefully) I didn’t get notified that it had arrived, and I had been situated in my living room all evening, so I would have heard a knock if it had been left at the door.
I called Purolator the next morning, to enquire about the delivery. The human on the other end of the line let me know that my package had indeed been delivered, by an overflow driver. Meaning, one who has been hired to help offset the mayhem of this season for delivery folks, and who ‘must not have been aware of the protocol to leave it at the door’.
You see, my large, awkward, relatively pricey package had been left in the foyer. An open concept area of an apartment complex with 12 floors, and hundreds of humans coming and going. No buzzer had been rung, and I received no notification from Purolator that it had been delivered.
Now, I understand, and appreciate that this is a crazy time for delivery drivers. I get that they are on a schedule, and that, at 7:53 at night, they likely had no time or desire to bring a package up to the door.
They also had no idea that I use forearm crutches to get around, that I’m strong but have atrocious balance, and that it would therefore be very difficult for me to bring a substantial package from the ground floor, into the elevator, down my hallway and into my apartment.
I could do it, by jiminy, but it wouldn’t be easy.
They also don’t know that because I’m susceptible to lung infections, I’ve been really, really careful about spending any amount of time in enclosed public ‘foyers’ for nearly a year.
“Well,” I thought, “I might as well go see if it’s still there.” I said a hopeful prayer, donned my mask, and made the trek downstairs.
After a long descent and some more hopeful muttering, I hopped out of the elevator and rounded the corner. There, sitting in front of rows and rows of small silver mailboxes, was a large brown cardboard box.
I was so happy. Still flabbergasted that whoever had dropped off my package had left it there without a word, but thankful that nobody had run off with it. In hindsight, that’s probably because it wouldn’t have been worth trying to get it upstairs without a dolly cart, as I was now going to do. 😂
I pushed the box up on its end, and with no small amount of effort or awkwardness, began shoving it across the foyer. I’m sure I was a sight, with my crutches and a box nearly as tall as I am, but I was determined.
I would not be defeated by a cardboard box. I, Jenna Lambert, Lake swimmer, athlete, advocate, stubborn-mule-of-a-human would get this darn thing upstairs, if it was the last thing I did.
I made it most of the way across the hall toward the elevators (💪🏻😩😂), when a man approached. In all of my shuffling and muttering, I hadn’t heard him come in.
He was young, I’m guessing in his late teens or early 20s. Super tall and (helpfully) long-limbed.
He looked at me, with a smile in his eyes, and asked if he could help me bring the box up to my ‘house’.
I looked at him, then down at the cumbersome cardboard thing, and sighed gratefully, “Would you mind? That would be so incredibly kind.”
He picked up the massive box like it was neither awkward, nor weighed anything at all. In three long strides he had hailed the elevator, ushered me and the box inside, and tapped the button for the tenth floor. As we ascended I asked him about his day, and thanked him again for his kindness.
Stepping off the elevator, I directed him to my door. Easily, he navigated the long hallway, and set the box down gently. With a smile, he nodded to me and went on his way.
I had come downstairs frustrated and stressed and wondering what on earth I was going to do next, and now I was nearly bursting with light and gratitude. To God for His provision, and to one thoughtful young man.
One human, with his kind heart and long arms, made a huge difference in my day. He went above and beyond to help a stranger - now a neighbour - and sent a ray of hope my way.
Could I have shown the box who was boss? You bet. But, I’m really glad for kind human hearts who, even in the midst of their own busy lives and Covid chaos, look out for others and lend their long arms.
My strength doesn’t lie in balance or boxes or in the length of my arms, but i do have other strengths and talents and gifts; small kindnesses I can use to bless my friends and strangers and neighbours.
We have no idea what our brothers and sisters are facing during this time, or what proverbial ‘package’ is waiting for them - ominously, awkwardly, heavily - in their foyer.
When we are able, let’s be helpful. Even when we are tired and don’t want to, let’s be thoughtful. Let’s assume a posture of curiosity and kindness, and aim to relieve burdens, as opposed to creating them for our neighbours. 💕