One Day This Summer

It was going to be a special day. We had been working hard finishing our deck, a project that we had been thinking about for months. I had visions of what it would be like to have this deck done, and to sit outside with our family on pleasant summer evenings, or to sip coffee in the morning as the sun peaked over the hills. I had the comfortable, fashionable furniture picked out. We had waited through the rainy days of June, and spent hours day and night building, sanding, and staining.

And now, it was time for the reward. We were going to treat ourselves to dinner and make a trek to Wal-mart to purchase the said furniture set, the classy, reasonable, comfortable set, and we would put it together and have our outdoor room complete before the weekend.

So, when the special day arrived, I woke with the kids and dressed them in my favorite outfits. Plaid shorts and a blue motorcycle shirt for Ethan, and her orange cheerleader outfit for Kate.

Also, our wonderful babysitter Barb would be visiting that morning.

I sang to the kids as we ate breakfast, telling them what a special day this was.

I knew in the back of my mind that I was way too excited about buying a material possession. It's just deck furniture, and it's wrong to be so thrilled to be buying something, not to mention from Wal-Mart.

I told myself that it wasn't just the furniture, but what it represented that excited me. It was the hope for togetherness and memory making that it would bring our family. Looking back over the summer, it has been a nice addition to our life, and I have spent many evenings with Tim or the kids or by myself, enjoying icee-pops, talking, reading.

On that special day in June, the morning passed and Barb had to postpone her visit to the afternoon. At 5 o'clock, when she was leaving and I was excitedly preparing to get the kids in the car to drive to the restaurant, Tim called to say that he wouldn't make it home for dinner that night. This rarely--if never--happens, that he is required to stay at work passed his typical hours. A supervisor was in town and wanted Tim to join him for dinner.

Immediately I was disappointed, but also realized how thankful I can be that Tim has a good job, and that his hours are ideal, and that we are healthy, and safe, and that the darn deck was almost done, and it wasn't raining for the 2nd day in all of June, and at least I could make whatever I wanted for dinner.

So that's what I did. I made myself a frozen spinach pizza, and I scrambled some eggs for the kids, and since I couldn't imagine sitting down for yet another typical meal at our table, trying to make small talk with a toddler and a baby, we made a picnic on the family room floor and watched Little Einsteins.

Then we went for a walk. The kids ended up falling asleep along the way, and I reflected a lot on how necessary this silly lesson was in my life. I knew I was being materialistic to be so excited to buy that furniture set. It had occupied my thoughts for several days, at least, and I knew I was anticipating the pride I would have in showing it off to our guests.

When we got home from our peaceful walk, I couldn't bring myself to move the kids to their beds, so I found my book, which happened to be My Sister's Keeper (brings out the blessings in one's life, for sure), I pulled out a camp chair (which, as I recall, was plenty comfortable), I turned the adorable kids towards the street so others could enjoy their cuteness, and I relaxed for a few glorious minutes outside with my kids, reading a good book, and they were dressed in cute clothes, and never interrupted me once.

The next day we were able to make our trek out for dinner and to Wal-Mart, and we spent an hour mulling over which furniture set to buy, even though my heart had been set on the classy urban comfort ensemble. In the end, we went with the cheaper, smaller, less-classy, but totally suitable option, and I'm happy with that. Birds poop on it anyway, so why pay more?

Various times this summer I have thought back to that day. There would have been times in my life that I would have shed tears over such a disappointment. Sometimes we hope for something. Then we are disappointed. But God turns our disappointment, our anger, our confusion, whatever it is that we're feeling, into something once again hopeful. I know it's hard to see the hope, and even to understand that it comes from God. I have prayed for things, and trusted, and known that prayers would be answered, only to find that they are not at all answered the way I expected, and it's hard when that happens.

Recently I ran across the Dayspring (In)courage site. It's a new site with various faith-driven blogger contributors. The theme for the month is Hope. Please visit this site for some thoughtful write-ups on hope. I am loving it, and I *hope* you will too.