Be Still. I Will Retrieve That Parasol

A long-distance trip to visit my only daughter and her two adorable boys is perfectly timed to overlap with Mother's Day, AND it teaches me a fundamental and important trust concept. 

It seems that most of my daughter visits are extended stays, for one intriguing reason or another. This time is no exception. A lengthy stay includes attending a Mother/Daughter banquet, for the second time ever, with Daughter "Rachel."

Stay-Day 9 is the evening of the banquet. After handling dirty diapers, slimy worms, and all things baby and boy, we enjoy having a girly estrogen event for which to prettify. Rachel chooses flowy and heels, with an up-do. I choose sparkle and flats, with a down-do. Rachel inherited intrinsic style and fashion flare; I diplomatically dabble. After her 4-year degree, she wanted, and we chose to invest in a year of cosmetology school for her. Some would think the money was wasted because she now shies away from being a beautician. I see it as a prep school investment that continues to pay back, in hair cuts for me.

My daughter has always been unusually timely, even now with two little crumb-snappers. Is it the nature of my obsessive genes, or is it nurture? As we timely arrive and prepare to shut the car doors, ominous nearby skies compel Rachel to reach for her just-in-case umbrella. My trusty cell phone weather app indicates a conclusive zero percent chance of rain, until 10 pm. I am the queen of just-in-case, but uncharacteristically say: "You don't need that umbrella. According to my phone, it won't rain."

Rachel gives me the look: "Oh sure, Mom. I believe you! Look at the dark clouds!"

She wisely chooses her battles and knows that after 9 vagabond days as well as one irrational Pseudo-DeDe mishap, Mom has earned a well-deserved control-fix. So, Rachel hesitantly leaves the umbrella in the car. I reassure her that no matter what: "If it's raining when the banquet is over, come floods or high water, I will retrieve the protective umbrella for us."

Would you guess it? A downpour of rain arrives just before dessert time and I'm squirming. It is a monsoon that we later learn floods the building's basement. I jokingly whisper: "Don't forget, Rach. No rain... 'til 10:00 p.m. Crazy!"

Dry skies expectations are waning, and I'm nervous. Being dressed up and drenched sounds unpleasant. Fortunately, 45 minutes of entertaining game-watching and a message distract all of our unsettled minds, for enriching focus. As the banquet closes and chatting time subsides, so does the storm. We stroll to the car under calm skies. Dessert-time moments of umbrella-regret were unnecessarily experienced. Retrieving the just-in-case parasol wasn't needed after all, but it was reachable. 

Our M/D banquet table-setting, princess-themed
"He raises the poor from the dust
 and lifts the needy from the ash heap;
 he seats them with princes
[or princesses??]..." (I Samuel 2:8).

In my day-to-day world I squirm, about looming changes as well as regrets about the past. God's Word repeatedly reminds me: Don't wallow in regrets and "if onlys." 
BE STILL to experience God's extreme magnificence. Especially when expectations wane. Focus on the GoOD things, which are like succulent, tres bon desserts. 

A simple Mother/Daughter banquet reinforces that I need to chill and refrain from putting God in a box. Flexibility will help me to fully engage in a season of character-defining instability:

I [God] will retrieve that parasol, IF you need it.

In other words, God has us conditionally covered... (conditionally meaning as we acknowledge our dependence on His saving Son, John 3:16 & I Samuel 2:8). Every day... no matter what, when, who, or how... no downpour at departure time or downpour. Tangible purpose or not. Nearby grandchildren or not. Dreams realized... feeling settled, safe and validated... or not. 

I will T.R.U.S.T.

These rambling ideas, as well as the next, are either deep or flighty-as-fairy-tales: Isn't it curious to see our soul's substance when deprived of the superfluous, fortified castle?