That part about hockey is a lie. We both know that. But now that our initially planned two hours in Canada has morphed into 10 unplanned days, comedic relief is my go-to.
THE PERPETUAL HOLD UP
Yesterday, we spent the day as expats during our nation’s birthday. We received a few “Happy 4th of July” wishes from our kind Canadian friends, but the day proceeded much like any other. I was tempted to stream the song, “Proud to be an American” over our outdoor speakers as a fun change of pace for our RV park neighbors. However, our limited internet stopped that idea before it had time to fully blossom. Trent thinks its just as well.
Today marks the third day that we await a phone call from Mr. Mechanic telling us he’s finished spending quality time with our engine. We’ve stopped holding our breath and started alternative forms of distraction.
Two days ago we made a big batch of caramel corn and watched “Anne of Green Gables: the sequel.” The kids roared with laughter seeing that Anne’s kerfuffles continued into her adult life and when the red shores of Prince Edward Island lit up the screen, our memories on PEI were warmly rekindled.
Yesterday Hunter won the all-boys, multiple-hour family Monopoly tournament. That evening the kids played alternating rounds of tag and cement tic-tac-toe with a piece of found chalk while Trent and I witnessed a sailboat race on Lake Ontario. The race unfolded before us through binoculars while we texted with one of the crewmen we’d met two days prior.
Afterward we all met up with a dear college roommate who, we recently discovered, just happens to live nearby and has produced a remarkably adorable red-headed baby boy.
PLAN A WAITING
Today the kids are jumping off a diving board into a refreshing pool. Our week has been filled with very lovely things, just not our plan A. ‘Plan A’ involved time with family and friends. ‘Plan A’ had us spending birthdays together. ‘Plan A’ kept money in our pockets rather than Mr. Mechanic’s. However ideal it seemed, ‘Plan A’ is not our reality. Our reality is waiting.
What is it that makes ‘plan A’ always so alluringly attractive? Choice. Freedom. Flexibility.
From my first world perspective, these three words represent the quintessential ideals of American life. Darn it all if they don’t also foster an expectation of entitled immediacy within my heart. Waiting never ceases to be challenging. Waiting without complaining? Nearly impossible. This week I’m battling both.
THE EDGE OF DISBELIEF
I sit on the side of the pool watching my kids leap into the water. Their squeals of glee echo around me as my heart feels mired in a quotidian* distance. I’m nursing discontent. My toes swish back and forth in the water as my mind ponders the Old Testament Israelites. The reality of their 40-year desert wandering (Numbers 14) is alarmingly apropos*. Embarrassingly, because of our brief Canadian hold-up, I find I can already relate to their weary plight.
The Israelites’ unbelief in God’s provision landed them in the longest personal time-out in history. However, to truly understand the problem, I believe it is necessary to look at the prelude. Preceding their doubt and distrust was grumbling and complaining. Their ‘Plan A’ didn’t play out as expected. They decided God got it all wrong. Hearts began to transmute*.
This heavy realization ushers in a humbling reality. How long does one have to sit on the edge with a heart of dissatisfaction before falling into the pit of doubt and disbelief? I don’t want to find out. Quite honestly I’ve grown weary and have been flirting with a complaining heart. It’s time to remind myself that none of this is a surprise to God. He does not have a ‘Plan B’.
While my current struggles are admittedly light in comparison to the deep hurts that many are going through, I feel it’s important for me to be transparent about our journey. It is my hope that in doing so, you can find encouragement in yours. Be blessed dear reader.
Quotidian |kwōˈtidēən| ordinary or everyday, especially when mundane: Their squeals of glee echo around me as my heart feels mired in a quotidian distance.
Apropos |ˌaprəˈpō| very appropriate to a particular situation: The reality of their 40-year desert wandering is alarmingly apropos.
Transmute |tranzˈmyo͞ot transˈmyo͞ot| change in form, nature, or substance: Hearts began to transmute.