(Or How I Accidentally Started a Years-Long Spiritual Practice at Walmart)

by Jena Barber

When we lived in Arkansas, I made a biweekly trip for groceries to Walmart. I cooked everything from scratch, so I generally filled the cart to bursting. I was a busy mom with two kids in school, a full-time job, and various volunteer obligations. I was getting pretty involved with the church, leading both a preschool Sunday worship and a Saturday women’s group.

When I went to Walmart, I wanted to get in and get out as quickly as possible. I wrote my lists by department, and by aisle. I color-coded the lists and brought menus to refer back to in case I couldn’t remember how much of something I needed. I was efficient.

This part of the state was Walmart Country. I was in Springdale, where there were three Super Centers and as many Neighborhood Markets - or more. I was often derided for going to the “ghetto Walmart” instead of a shinier one. But the newer stores had the new layout, and I liked how quickly I could find things in my store.

Every other Sunday, I parked my car in row five, got a squeak-free cart at the front, and then headed to the nonperishables. I’d start off fine, checking the time and telling myself I had 40 minutes to get everything and get to the checkout.

This was before self checkout, or at least it was before self checkout was a thing for people who had overfilled shopping carts.

The Talkers

Generally, around my third or fourth aisle, I’d come across The Talkers. You know the ones. The people who seem to have a family reunion in the aisle at the store. You’re trying to get your shopping done, but you have to wait for them to move along. You clear your throat. You make distracting noises with items in your cart. Finally, you’re forced into the only other course available to you: Loudly and dramatically turn your cart around, go one or two aisles over, go down that aisle, and then come back to the original aisle and straight up to the people talking and - very obviously, of course - look for the items on your list. If you’re lucky, your performance will garner an, “I’m sorry,” or at least a guilty look.

I was that shopper. I was always so annoyed by my shopping duty. It was a chore. It was an aggravation. It was a menace.

Perhaps, I was the menace.

But surely not. I was a good and faithful United Methodist.

The Good and Faithful United Methodist

We had an evening study at church which was very behavior-oriented. That’s right up my alley, of course. I watched videos about groups setting up lunch under a bridge for the unhoused, standing around laundromats putting money into machines, and mending literal fences at homes in disadvantaged neighborhoods.

I suggested we start a similar group, which we later dubbed the ARK Team (Acts of Random Kindness). We served hot chocolate at the local free indoor ice rink; we provided lunch in the park. We did more. I was so proud of what I was doing in service to others!

Imagine the cognitive dissonance, then, as I seethed with self-righteous outrage every other Sunday afternoon. At Walmart.

Who were these people standing in my way? Didn’t they know I was a GOOD PERSON?

And then it hit me. I was in a mission field every other week. On Sunday, no less.

I was in a very abundant mission field.

My New Mission Field

My new mission field was - well - Walmart. And it was time to get to work.

I began by giving myself a whopping four hours to get my shopping done. In no reality would it ever actually take four hours to shop, but that was the point. If I wasn’t in a hurry, I didn’t have to get annoyed with people for unintentionally slowing me down.

Second, I started looking people in the eyes and smiling at them. Saying hi to them. Offering to help find items. Chatting with children. People started thinking I worked there.

I even had the courage to go up to The Talkers and say something like, “Hi, y’all! How are you doing? I’m just going to sneak by you here.”

My Super Power

I found I had this super power. Sometimes, when I was smiling away and being overly and intentionally kind, people would have that startle reaction - the one they have as if they were just waking up - and begin to smile, too. I saw my kindness literally rolling across

Walmart in waves. I would be nice, and then that person would be nice to someone else.

This might sound like an exaggeration, but I literally saw it. It took a while, but with years of biweekly - then weekly - encounters, I realized being nice to people at Walmart is a ministry. I kept it up for years. I don’t go as often, now that there’s curbside pickup and my beloved Aldi, but I still keep that attitude when I’m at the store.

I realized relatively early on that I was receiving much more than I was giving. My Walmart ministry made me a better person. I thought I was a good person. Then I became a good person. And the better I treated people, the better I expected myself to treat people. When I wore my church t-shirts on Walmart shopping trips, I knew I was serving as an excellent witness.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that Walmart ministry was a type of spiritual practice. It did more for my self esteem and for my fellow shoppers than anything else I had ever experienced. And it was a powerful spiritual practice.

This Year’s Practice

This New Year, I’m considering taking on a new spiritual practice. Maybe I’ll give other drivers the benefit of the doubt, and I’ll slow down and stop worrying about getting to and from work one or two minutes earlier. Or maybe I’ll start picking up trash around my neighborhood.

Whether you’ve already started - or discarded - a resolution this year, or whether you think the whole idea of a New Year’s resolution is pointless, consider adopting a new spiritual practice. It can be great for you, for others around you - and for the Kingdom of God!

Read on for other thoughts and ideas about ways to make the new year the fresh start you’ve been dreaming of.