Ooooo.... perhaps you always have Springtime in February, but we in Buffalo usually do not. Forty and fifty degrees lately! And yesterday, feeling better, I got outside in the sun and, with my long-handled squeegee, washed two picture windows. And felt like singing, though it would have set me off to coughing.
But oh, what a day out there and also while reading The Moffat Museum at my gleaming glass-top table inside.
I've felt more contented than usual lately, too contented to write anything, really, (uh-oh!) so here you go with one of my very favorite re-runs.
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"... I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows)." ... John 10:10
Years ago, our then-church held a Sunday picnic in the park once each month of summer, beginning in May.
I remember the first picnic. Families shared tables, so as we walked along to secure a place to share, I stopped at the table of some friends: I was enchanted! They'd covered the scarred, old table with a pretty sky-blue cloth and in the center sat a glass canning jar filled with water and purple, pink and white flowers. "Oh! How pretty!," I told my friends. "What a lovely setting."
And actually, I was mesmerized. Truly inspired. I'd been on many picnics, but never had I thought to bring a pretty cloth and a vase of flowers.
On the next picnic, I carried one of the white linen tablecloths Tom had found on the curb, a white vase, flowers and something different--my favorite dishes, instead of just plain ol' paper plates. Always, I've enjoyed being creative and a little different--it's fun. And this time people stopped and commented that our table looked like a picture from a decorating magazine, like a setting for a backyard party.
The following month, the creative table ideas had spread like a good disease. Other families brought their nice things from home to share with their friends at their own picnic tables. I loved it. Our church picnics began to resemble genteel, Victorian parties. Well, kind-of-- in our own imaginations, at least. And I even scattered a few small Victorian-times photos (more curb finds) upon our table, also, for added decor and conversation starters.
But that's when I began hearing murmurs from some of the women. They stood in little groups near our table and smiling, said to each other,
"You start something like that and then everyone expects you to keep it up."
"Yeah, or top it," another woman said.
"Right. I'll just be bringing the usual paper plates and cups. Count on it..."
And then a bit later one woman (who never liked me much) stood in the food line very near our table and asked, "So, Debra... Does the food taste better on your real china dishes?"
The people around us got quiet. Heads jerked my way, eyes stared. I sat down my stainless steel fork, smiled my most beguiling smile and then looked up at the woman and said, "Why yes, Tricia! I believe it does."
Women giggled. Tricia looked a little confused, started to say something, then moved along the line.
Oh, I want to enjoy my life! To create and dream good things with the gifts God has given me and inspire others, never becoming so jaded, so bored, so average-seeking that I walk, with sad eyes, only the easy paths.
Jesus died to give me more than that and may I always search for the 'more,' even at something like a simple church picnic. Even during a normal day at home alone-- for it all matters.
Every moment, yes, even during these Last Days.
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What a distressing contrast there is between the radiant intelligence of the child and the feeble mentality of the average adult.
Free Kindle books:
Dying to Read
Forever My Home
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