It's officially wedding season...love and wedding consultations are in the air. We have one April event, two in May and two in June so far. I am so excited to see a little color in my landscape that I can hardly stand it! My yard is still a drab greyish yellow. Julie and I get a little giddy sitting down with the bride and her entourage to check out hot pink gerbera daisies and lime green Yoko Ono Poms. This year the tread seems to be with green. Not that I have anything against green, it's just that it is not a stand alone color. That is when we pounce with our palet of plenty. Gorgeous orange day lilies and fragrant yellow freesia...it makes my head spin with delight. I have never been so happy to talk about colors. I'm not a huge fan of Gypsophila (baby's breath) but even that sounds glorious right now. I know that it happens every year, this rebirth that brings daffodills and tulips, crocus and lilacs. But even so I get nervous that the drab greys will be this years pinks. I am holding my breath until I see that first yellow bloom poking its way up toward the warm sun. I have selfish reasons for wanting summer to come quickly, but not too quickly. Just one wedding at a time!
I just need a little reassurance here. I need to know why it is that life just keeps throwing curves one right after the other. I just want to put the bat down and walk off the field! It's not for myself really, but as a mother I need someone to figure this mystery out. My son, "the missionary" has been away from home almost 18 months. He is living in the Czech Republic, working hard and teaching. First, there was THE FOOT. The never ending pain in the foot. "OK" we conceded. "Stay off THE FOOT and let it heal, it is an old injury that has been aggravated by a lot of walking". Then THE FOOT got worse. "Alright" we agreed. "A blue cast and crazy crutches add color and design to the missionary's accessories". Then it was Plantar Facsiitis. "Well then" we announced. "Let's send some better insole supports and for heaven sake ice the bottom of you feet with frozen water bottles in the evening when you get home. Take 4 ibuprofen every 6 hours". But wait...then there was the hernia. "Holy Cats", we shouted. "What on earth is going on over there? Were you lifting weights on Preparation Day"??? So...1 ultrasound, 1 plane ride to Frankfurt, 1 hernia surgery, 1 night in a German hospital, 2 weeks of recovery, and he's well again. Or Not. In my state of denial, I am assuming that it takes a few months to completely get over the pain of surgery. And yet, it is his pain, not mine. And a mother feels his pain even more that her own. He's a gazillion miles away from home and I can do nothing. but Wait. I can pray that he will be well. that somehow it will all work out. that the man he spoke to on the street last week and cried with over family photo's will realize just how much the missionary loves being there talking with him. Do trials refine us? Make us better and stronger? Keep us in the game for one more pitch? Stay tuned...I think we are about to find out!