The story behind the story:

In today’s post, I am remembering my maternal grandmother, a God-fearing woman who somehow made her way from Jamaica to Canada and always seemed to dance to the beat of her own drum. This story is for her:

Miss Winnie

Somewhere on a production line sits Winifred Madora Arbuckle, though friends and acquaintances more often call her Miss Winnie, as her full name is too much of a mouthful.

In truth, she would prefer to be called at least Winifred, mouthful or not, but somehow she has never felt quite brave enough to voice her objection to those who seem to have rechristened her. 

But I digress; somewhere on a production line sits our lone worker (Miss Winnie), who has, over many years and despite much provocation, whispered a prayer over each and every batch of product she has direct contact with, blessing every item that comes under her watchful eye. 

Her prayer is simple: ‘May this item bless and keep you, bring you joy and grant you peace and protection.’

Whispered with deep conviction and love for each recipient, but also more quickly as the speed of the line keeps increasing. Miss Winnie would prefer a slower, more dignified rate of delivery, as in the early days, before the men came with their stopwatches, and their sharp eyes asking endless questions about the processes and how they could make things go faster. 

There were more people on the line then, a veritable gaggle of voices that laughed at her early attempts to bless the products but who soon asked her to pray over them as their jobs came under threat. 

Miss Winnie is not concerned with knowing the people who will receive her product. She simply wants them to be blessed, joyful, content, and safe. She will never know their exact locations, but as the products are shipped out, each carries her love, her protection, and her deeply held conviction that life can be good.

A conviction passed down from her paternal grandmother, Miss Eva: that all life is precious and should be honoured.  Though sometimes you need to attend to the fires where they spring up. Life has taught Miss Winnie that some lives are not held as preciously or as carefully as others. She has seen with her own eyes that certain lives are deemed more expendable, easier to snuff out.

In a world where life is unpredictable and nothing is certain, Miss Winnie also sees how people struggle to keep a roof over their heads, food on the table, and their dwellings warm and secure.

So, it doesn’t matter how bone-weary she feels after a twelve-hour shift; she firmly believes she is fulfilling God’s work inside an almost noiseless, highly optimised factory. That is why she’s been placed here to offer additional protection to those who need it. To anyone who applies one stick of deodorant from the factory where she works.  

And if you look closely enough, you will notice her lips are continually moving as she aligns the bottles jostling to be filled. Her thinning hair scraped back in a tight bun inside her cap as her dark eyes scan the production line.

Saying a prayer over the thousands, millions of bottles of deodorant is her way of giving her day meaning. Her way of reclaiming herself, her purpose and her sanity. Her one small act of rebellion.

It is her way of taking some measure of control of the line and its unrelenting, unremitting pace. Her prayers bring her a peace that she would like to share with others.

Until next time