What A Wonderful World

The worship service took place in the shade, facing the lazy river and the multi-colored rock cliff behind it. The light breeze made the Texas evening heat bearable. So did the beautiful surroundings, both geographical and human.

We sat on the third of four rows. People we are very fond of but see only once a year filled the other seats. A group of them had just stood before us and delivered an energetic and moving reading of a portion of Genesis. They ranged from young children to the middle-aged to those long retired. We mix seamlessly here. It’s always magical.

To conclude the time together, the worship leader played a song to emphasize her message. As soon as the song began, the teens behind us began stirring.

“That’s from Shrek!” one said excitedly.

“No, it’s from Toy Story.”

“Madagascar.”

“No, I’m telling you – it’s Shrek.”

“Remember? It was playing while they floated in the boxes in the ocean.”

Their voices tumbled over each other, everyone talking at once but still hearing each other too. Jane and I looked at each other and smiled as the song continued on.

My husband turned his head to the side and stage whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “It’s from Louie Armstrong!” The kids all laughed and then settled down to listen. I closed my eyes to take it all in.

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world

The teens behind me were giggling. Just ever so softly. Not irreverently or disrespectfully, but they were obviously enjoying something. I opened my eyes to see what they were seeing. I didn’t see it right away but when the view collided with the words of the song, it didn’t matter. The images around me were so much better than those in my head.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They’re really saying I love you

And that’s when I saw him. One of the youngest members of the conference – a boy not quite school aged. A boy we had watched grow a little bigger over the last several years. He was running in giant, lazy, looping circles in the grassy space between us and the river. As he looped closer to the front row where his parents sat, he’d lift his arms out to his sides and dip toward them like a plane banking on a turn.

And then he’d be off again. Not in a hurry, not making a scene, just moving to the music. And it was beautiful.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more than I’ll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world

As the last notes faded away and the boy fell into his dad’s open arms, my husband summed up what had just happened.

“That was the most beautiful liturgical dance I’ve ever seen.”

And so it was.

The readers had practiced their lines several times and they did an outstanding job. But it was the carefree expression of the music delivered by a child that carried the day. Truly, you just need to leave room for the wonderful to happen and it will. The question is, will your eyes be open to see it?

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When Things Go Missing

Let me tell you a story about when things go missing. I’m not talking about little, day-to-day stuff like you set your keys down on the couch instead of the table, where you always put them, and then after some brief confusion you find them. I mean those times when you are completely baffled by the disappearance. This is a story of one such mystery and the happenings behind it.

Jane was preparing to do a load of laundry and asked if I had any bras that I wanted washed. “Yes,” I replied, “they are in my delicates bag which was sitting right in front of the hamper.”

Now, I should probably take the time to explain how we wash our “delicate” items or the story won’t make much sense to you. One of our loads of laundry is the “delicates” load. That’s when we wash sweaters, dresses, anything that should be washed in cold water, and our bras. Since bras are bad about getting wrapped tightly around other objects or snagging sweaters if the hooks come undone, Jane and I each have a mesh bag that we put our dirty bras in. This also makes it easier for us to extract them from the load and hang them to dry. Now that you are up to speed on our laundering habits, let’s return to the story.

Jane returned from our bathroom and reported that the bag wasn’t there. She checked the hamper and it wasn’t there either. So I began the search for the missing bras. I checked our bathroom, all the hampers, our bedroom, our closet. I stood blankly in the hall. I checked her room and her hamper. I returned to stand blankly in the hall. I checked the hall bathroom and even looked in the boys’ room and checked their hamper. The bag was missing.

Jane didn’t seem particularly concerned. She kept distracting me, asking whether she could go to a movie opening with a friend that night. Exasperated, I finally said, “I’m not going to talk about that movie! Do you understand that at least a hundred or hundred and twenty dollars worth of bras is missing?! We’ve got to find them. Where could they be?”

All of the logical places had been checked. They were not anywhere that anyone who had any business messing with the bag could have put it. That left one likely culprit. Hal.

I started checking cabinets. I looked under his Thomas train table, behind the treadmill, in the play kitchen. I just knew that he had decided to play with it and it could be hours before I finally found it in his pajama drawer or maybe the back of the refrigerator.

Asking Hal if he knew anything about it would be fruitless. The only chance to spark his memory on the matter was to show him what I was looking for. I asked Jane to bring me her bag. She went into her room and after a brief moment, I heard “Oh” and then a brief pause followed by a slightly puzzled quiet question to herself: “This bag had both of our bras in it?”

I entered her room to see her pulling the bag full of dirty bras out of her underwear drawer. Neither of us could figure out what would possess her to pick the bag up from the bathroom floor, assume they were clean, and put them away in her drawer.

Over the next day or two, I mulled over the mystery from time to time. Between the two of us, we eventually figured it out. The previous Saturday, I had anticipated that she would be washing a load of delicates so I put my mesh bag in front of the hamper. Soon after that, I noticed two of her sports bras sitting on my bed. I didn’t know why they were there but assumed they were dirty and she was preparing to wash them. So… I put them in the bag, on top of all of mine.

She didn’t do the load that day. The following day, she was dressing for a volleyball game and called out that she didn’t have any sports bras. I grabbed the bag and walked into her room. Tossing it on her bed, I said, “I guess you’ll just have to wear one of these.” In my mind, it was clear to all involved that they were dirty.

When we returned home from the volleyball game, she saw the bag on her bed with one of her sports bras on top, assumed they were clean, and put them away. Why would she assume they were clean? Simple. The bras are hung to dry in my closet. If she doesn’t promptly collect hers, I often throw her bras back into her bag, which was hanging to dry with them, and then I… toss the bag on her bed. She then sees a bag of bras on her bed and puts them away.

Each of us made reasonable assumptions based on the information at hand, yet our actions alone – no mischievous intervention from a four year old involved – resulted in the bag effectively disappearing.