Reflection 54: A Quiet Reminder at H-E-B

Last week I was at H-E-B—my all-time favorite grocery store. If you know, you know.

We ran in because we were out of bread in the middle of the week, and E is currently obsessed with a piece of bread with butter. Not toast—specifically not toast—just bread with butter. So of course, we had to make a trip.

We were doing our usual thing, walking the aisles, and ended up in the bread section—which, conveniently (or dangerously), also has the crackers. And I love a good cracker. Sea salt and chive is my current favorite, so naturally, that’s what I was reaching for.

There was a woman next to me with who I assumed was her husband, talking about how there wasn’t much in stock. And having worked at H-E-B, I knew that was normal—inventory is always lowest later in the day. So I didn’t say anything. I just kept grabbing my crackers, a little too excited to see my favorite on the shelf.

Then she looked over at me and asked, “Are those good?”

Of course, I said yes.

She told me the crackers she was looking for were out, and then she pointed down toward the bottom shelf and asked if they would be good with that cheese.

And on the bottom shelf… was spray cheese.

I kind of paused and said, “I’m not sure, I don’t really eat cheese. I usually have these with deli meat.”

Then she went on to explain that she’s on a diet and trying to stay away from pasta because it’s “bad for you.”

And in that moment—internally—I was judging.

My mind immediately jumped to, That’s not healthy. That’s not how you lose weight. Crackers and spray cheese? That’s not a diet.

But externally, all I said was, “Oh, okay.”

And I’ve been thinking about that moment ever since.

Because the truth is—we meet new people every single day, and we know nothing about them. Nothing about where they came from, what they were taught, what they’ve had access to, or what they’re trying to work through.

What felt so obvious to me… wasn’t obvious to her.

I grew up learning about nutrition. I knew what carbs were. I was taught that pasta and crackers fall into that category. I understood that spray cheese probably isn’t the best option. I’ve had the education, the conversations, and even the resources to make different choices.

And that’s not something everyone has.

It hit me later—I wasn’t seeing her fully. I was seeing her through my own lens, my own knowledge, my own experience. And then judging her based on that.

But she was trying.

And isn’t that how the Lord sees us?

So often, we don’t fully understand the truth. We get things wrong. We make choices that aren’t the best. And still—He sees that we’re trying. He meets us there. He sends people into our lives to guide us, to gently redirect us, to love us forward.

And yet, how quickly do I forget to do that for others?

I’ll probably never see that woman again. I’ll never know her story. But I do know this—she was making an effort with what she knew.

And maybe that’s the reminder:

Instead of assuming the worst, we can choose the best case scenario.
Maybe they don’t know better.
Maybe they weren’t taught.
Maybe they’re doing the best they can with what they’ve been given.

And we’re not called to judge that.

We’re called to love them in it.

Because the truth is, I am incredibly blessed. I’ve had opportunities—education, stability, support—that not everyone has. From finishing high school, to earning a bachelor’s degree, to completing a master’s degree… those are privileges. Real ones.

And while I may be well-educated in some areas, there are still so many ways I fall short.

Which is exactly why humility matters.

This small moment in the bread aisle was a quiet reminder:
love people where they are—not where you think they should be.

Even when it’s different.
Even when it doesn’t make sense to you.
Even when you’re tempted to judge.

Because we don’t know their story.

But we do know what we’re called to do.

Love anyway.