After driving for over seven hours, we are stopped in a mile-long jam, a half-hour short of home. I am thankful we’d made a bathroom stop not long before. And I am especially thankful that the sirens squeezing by on the shoulder of these three lanes of trucks and cars are not coming for me. I send up a prayer for whoever is the object of this commotion and settle in for the wait.
We’d driven the four-hundred+ miles to Virginia to see our ten-year-old granddaughter in a school chorus production. Neither set of grandparents has ever gone to one of her school functions because both live in the South, so my husband and I decided to “just do it.”
But as we were happily motoring north, (I kept Bob engaged in the long haul by reading Joel Rosenberg’s, The Third Target) a snowstorm was barreling up the east coast. We arrived the day before it did. It just skimmed the D.C. area. Just enough. Just enough so that when we woke on the day of the concert, we learned School Was Closed.
Our granddaughter may have been the only child in that multi-state swath of snow who was utterly crushed to have a snow day. She had treasured this visit—this first time of having her relatives in the audience. I’d suspected it was important, but I hadn’t realized how much.
I dug back—way back—trying to remember how I felt about my moments “on stage.” Usually my parents couldn’t come to school functions, but those times they did, or at least Mom did, I remember searching the crowd for her face—for her smile of pride that puffed up my own and made me feel I was the star of the show.
Such a little thing—to just show up.
Such a big a big thing—to just show up.
Well, we didn’t let the change in plans stint our merry-making. (Bob is any child’s delight, being full of silliness.) And all was not lost.
The concert was rescheduled for next Monday. I cannot be there this time. She knows I’ll be there in spirit, but I have an idea about how to send my proxy. It’s kind of corny. Well, ok. More than kind of. (see above pic)
I’m sure my granddaughter won’t want her mother to pull me out and wave me about during the concert. But I think she’ll secretly smile to see me there.
Got somebody in your life who’d be really happy to hear from you today?
The little things.
They’re a big deal.
Blessings abundant, friends,
In the joy of the Lord