Tip of My Iceberg

We have a tradition. An annual event that delights many and serves as a great space of interaction for those with huge people needs–and not so huge.

We host a barbecue for the group of folks I work with. People who’ve done life differently for almost ten months, who have grown in understanding and love for one another. A remarkable group.

Add two massive waterslides, a passel of children, tons of sugary snacks, great barbecue, and you’ve got a party.

This year we added rain.

Not something I asked for; not what I wanted. The one hundred plus people moved their wet selves from the outside to the inside for dinner, fun talk and watching the running of the Kentucky Derby.

Does it get any better?

People were amazed at our tolerance. I actually stepped outside with a few other adults during some of the chaos for quieter conversations and a bit of fresh air. But honestly, this is a house. Our home. Not a place that needs to be enshrined and saved for posterity because of its historical value.

More for its hysterical value.

The best fun of the day was watching the big people go down the waterslides. Barreling down at breakneck speed, causing a huge splash zone that soaked those sitting close by. Kids were awed by parents doing what they hadn’t expected.

Knowing we’d have these slides for two days, John decided to do it big. Have another group of one hundred plus people the next day, the group of folks he’s working with this summer, and do it all over again.

And it rained.

Wet bodies trooped back into the house. Mess increased exponentially.

Conversations were happening all over. With all those folks in the house, it became obvious quickly that our air conditioning wasn’t working as it should.

It quit.

Not part of the plan.

At the end of two days of entertaining, enjoying interactions with a variety of folks I don’t often get to talk to, watching young and old alike swishing down those waterslides, it was a very good weekend.

I’m tired. The house was hot and messy. Much of the outside was brought inside. But it didn’t take away from the value of the time spent. The adventure of doing life in the moment with such a variety of people was a gift.

Life is the great adventure. I’m limited in my understanding of what I know; I’ve no way of knowing what tomorrow will bring. I can plan, provide for what I’d like to see accomplished, but I’m not in control of much more than my attitude.

When the rain falls–and it always will–and plans go awry, my comfort comes from knowing that God knows my yesterdays, todays and all my tomorrows. He knows and values my story; He walks with me in it.

I don’t want to be afraid to risk what’s comfortable to be able to experience the amazing. It’s easy to sit back and do nothing. Pushing myself past my believed limits is freeing. I’m becoming more the person God has made me be.

All that rain? It’s great for growth.