Perfection is Overrated

Recently, we attended a wedding that was very nearly perfect in every way.  It was an outdoor wedding in a lovely setting, with the clear, blue sky above us (the oppressive Carolina heat notwithstanding).  The minister’s word was inspiring, the flowers and gowns were lovely, the food was delicious and plentiful, and the band kept us dancing for hours.

The most perfect part of the affair, in my opinion, was the cake.  Four layers of almond cake covered in a million tiny sugar flowers inspired by the lace on the bride’s gown.  After the bride and groom had cut the first slice, and servers began feeding the eager guests, the caterer rescued the dainty top layer and whisked it away to the kitchen.  I’m sure it was carefully wrapped and frozen so the happy couple can enjoy it a year from now.

This scene always reminds me of my own first anniversary.

We were married in January, and our first anniversary brought us a snow and ice storm the day before.  But the storm would pass quickly, so we knew the roads would be passable and allow us to enjoy dinner at our favorite restaurant.  For dessert, we would have year-old wedding cake.  In preparation for our special day, I pulled the cake out of the freezer and set it on the kitchen table to thaw.

When I woke up early anniversary morning, I was cold.  I slid out of bed and scooted to the living room to bump up the thermostat, then hurried back to my warm bed and sleep.  A while later, I woke up again, and my nose was cold!  The entire house was cold.  The furnace was out.

Poor Mark donned work clothes and crawled and grumbled his way under the house to find the reset button on the old furnace.  He pressed it and … nothing.  So he called a repairman.  I got ready for work, certain that by the time I got home, the house would be toasty and we’d go on our date.

It turned out to be much less simple than that.  The oil tank needed to be replaced, but that would take a couple of days.  We needed to find a place to stay.

Lucky for us, Mark’s parents lived next door.  “Sure, come on over!” they said.  “We’ll rent a couple of movies.”  OK, not perfect, but we could enjoy an evening of laughing at a silly comedy.  

We canceled our fancy dinner reservations and planned to eat with Mark’s parents.  That’s when we learned the rest of the news:  our nephews – young, rambunctious nephews – would be there for much of the evening.  That changed things.  I mean, an evening of comedy and adult conversation was one thing, but little boys and kiddie television was quite another.  We decided to go out for pizza instead, a quiet dinner just the two of us.

We arrived at the restaurant and it was crowded.  The last seats available were at a table next to the salad bar in the center of the room.  At one table nearby, there was a screaming baby.  Another table held triplet toddlers.  And at the row of tables next to us was a child’s birthday party.

Our perky waitress, Wendy, took our drink orders and asked how we were doing this evening.  Mark said, “We’re doing great!  It’s our first anniversary!”  “Wow!” Wendy gushed, genuinely happy to be part of our special day.  Then she beamed at me, “Really?”

“Yeeeeeeeees …” I wailed and burst into tears.  The frustration of the day finally caught up with me.  Mark quietly ordered our drinks and the pizza, took my hand and told me he loved me.  Suddenly it was as if we were alone, and everything was better.  We lingered over our meal, then spent our first anniversary night in his old bedroom in twin beds.  Oh, and that wedding cake didn’t thaw out in time to have it for dessert.

I like to share this story with young couples, not to warn them, but to encourage them.  Their wedding day may be the only perfect things about their marriage.  And that’s just fine, because perfection is overrated anyway.  Perfection will stress you out!  And perfection never becomes a funny story to share.

Random Act

Mark and I were just finishing our quick shopping trip and making our way to one of the express lanes at the grocery store, when I noticed her.  A young African-American woman in the next line with half a cartload of groceries, waiting her turn.  Clearly more than twenty items!  Usually, I would think to myself (or even whisper to Mark) on the rudeness of sliding through the express lane with such a huge load of cargo.  But that day, I didn’t see a rude woman; I saw a tired woman.  Someone in a hurry to just get home for the day. 

As we began to place our items on the counter, I glanced back at the woman.  She had two young children beside her, and a baby on her hip.  Her face was expressionless, but her eyes spoke of the raw fatigue that she must slog through every day.  I have known those times myself, and my heart broke for her.

I felt a nudge inside me, a command.  One that I couldn’t push aside.  “Mark, I want to pay for her groceries.”  Mark turned back slowly, then turned back to look me in the eyes.  “I’m serious,” I said.  He asked if she had started her transaction, and when I said she hadn’t, he handed me our debit card.

I was so excited.  For about two seconds.  Then I was nervous.  My heart felt like it would pound out of my chest!   I began to second-guess myself.  I began to ask why on earth I was doing this!

Then I worried about the mother.  What if I embarrassed her?  What if I offended her?  What if she thought I was trying to make some statement?  I mean, some random white lady is going to buy her groceries for her?  Oh.  I began to imagine the scene – her protesting her offense, me trying my best to apologize.  I nearly panicked.  And just as I was about to call this whole plan off, another child – a young girl of about twelve -- approached the mother, lifted the baby from her hip, and placed the baby on her own hip.  Mama’s little helper.  She looked weary, too.

Well, that did it.  I was all in.

When the mother was busy placing her items on the counter, I sidled up to the cashier and said, “Miss, I don’t know this next customer of yours, and I’m not sure why I’m doing this, but I want to pay for her groceries.  May I do that?”  The young gal said, “Um, yeah.  Sure.”  She let a tiny grin spread through the confused look on her face and proceeded to scan the grocery items.

I stepped back and waited, wondering how this would all play out.  I decided that the smoothest way to do this would be to quietly keep the mother from being able to pay.  I stepped up to the credit card machine in front of the cashier, asked if I could swipe my card right now.  “Sure,” she said. The mother never t even noticed me! 

The last item to be scanned was a single pack of M&M’s that I guessed would be shared among the three children.  When the cashier had placed the last item in the bag, the mother reached into her wallet to pay.  That’s when I stepped back up to the counter to sign for my credit card payment.  With a quick glance at her, I said, “Actually, I’ve got this.”  Beside me, I heard her ask quietly, “Wait … what?  Um … what?”  The cashier handed me my receipt, and I turned to the mother and said, “I was told to pay for your groceries today.”  Her mind was still catching up to what was happening, and her look of confusion changed to the most lovely smile.  “That’s so sweet!  You’re so sweet!”  Then, as if she didn’t know what else to do, she carefully approached me for a hug.  I readily accepted, and we just clung to each other for a moment.

When I stepped back, I told her to be blessed today.  “You, too,” she said.  I turned to walk away, and realized I had the receipt.  “Do you need this?  You know, in case you have to return something.” 

“Oh, no … I don’t need a thing!”  She beamed at me.  She looked like a different person.

I turned and left, and nearly danced out of the store.

Mark was waiting for me and had enjoyed watching the whole thing.  He saw things that I didn’t – the faces of the children and the cashier.  The mother embracing me.  The look on my face.  And he reminded me that my simple gesture could bless more than just that mother. The cashier would surely tell that story.  The mother, too, would share what happened.

We were both reminded that day of what can happen if we take the time to look at people not with our eyes but with our hearts.  Instead of a rude customer in the express lane, we can see a tired mother.  Instead of our own tight budget, we can see the needs of others and simple ways to meet those needs.  Instead of differences between us, we can see how we’re all alike in some way.  And if we act on what we see, we can touch the world from our own neighborhood.

Jam Session

We were treated to a small concert in our living room a while back.  Our unexpected blessing came to us courtesy of an overnight guest.  A visiting caller who needed a place to stay after a dance came home with us.  The next morning, Diane pulled out her fiddle and encouraged our son, Damon, to grab his guitar and join her.  A jam session!

Damon was learning classical guitar, beautiful pieces by Bach and Tarrega, but had not, at that point, cared to strum.  The chords have never been as interesting to him as the individual notes, hammer-ons and pull-offs that flow together so beautifully.  Besides, and most importantly, he is content to play alone.  What he wants to, when he wants to, where he wants to.  I will often hear him from the next room playing a song made up of equal parts “Malagena,” “Scarborough Fair,” and “Classical Gas.”  He can follow the written music or not, stop and start as he pleases, play as long as he likes.

Playing with someone else is a vastly different experience, as Damon learned that morning.  Damon’s first question to Diane as they tuned their instruments was “What will we play?”  Well, that’s a good question.  What songs would they even have in common?  None, as it turned out.  So Diane opened some music and chord cards and began to teach Damon a song.  Even then, they were limited to the chords Damon knew.  But there was enough to work with, and so they began to play.

Along the way, Damon’s chord changes became smoother, more fluid.  He listened to Diane’s cues and picked up speed.  By the time they were playing a tempo, even Mark and I were humming along.  Together, they built the song, and it was good.

It reminds me so much of relationships.  As we enter a new relationship – work, college dormitory, marriage – we arrive with our own ways of doing things.  We organize a certain way.  We have our preferences in the kitchen or on the computer.  One is a morning person and one is not.  To make the new relationship work, the first thing we automatically do is find out what we have in common.  We might start by asking where someone lives, or where they were born, or if they attend church somewhere.  Even children on the playground know to do this.  “You have a puppy?  I have a puppy too!”  Soon, talking about the puppy turns into play.  They begin to build a friendship.

Sure, things may be easier if we play alone without having to coordinate or communicate with anyone.  But when we decide to make music with another person, if we are going to play together, we have to find out what we have in common.  We play a few notes together, decide that it’s fun, and long to play more.  The only way we can do that is to learn more about each other.  You teach me your ways and I’ll teach you mine.  And we’ll make beautiful music together.

Leave the Map Behind

I have a friend who is a lot of fun to be around.  He is spontaneous, always ready to try something new.  The one hindrance to this may be his poor sense of direction.  He can get around town all right, provided that he sticks to routes he already knows. But if he has to deviate from the planned course – say, for a road detour or a change of plans – he must stumble around and eventually stop to ask for directions.

This limits his spontaneous personality quite a bit.  If he takes a trip to the Blue Ridge Parkway, it must be mapped out for him.  There will be no side trips, no wandering down lonely roads.  He will have fun, but he’ll pray the whole time that he doesn’t take a wrong turn.  That’s a shame, really, because I have found that wrong turns give you a chance to see some special things that you miss when you keep your eyes only on the map and the road.  If you are simply looking for the next road sign, you’ll never look around at the scenery along the way.

Miles of trees close to the road suddenly opening to the majestic valley below.  The view of Pilot Mountain from a lonely road up north.  Christmas trees growing in Jefferson in a crazy quilt of grass and evergreen.  Snow melting on the banks of a creek.

Dogwoods and pear trees in full lacy bloom.  Daffodils and tulips looking regal in even the most humble garden.  Cows in the pasture, lying down in anticipation of the coming storm. 

Myrtle trees heavy with bright, fragrant blooms.  The big lazy dog relaxing under the tree, too relaxed to fool with chasing cars today.  The old couple sitting on their front porch.  How many afternoons have they spent together?

Then there are the humorous things that you may only see once in your life.  I once saw small building that housed only two stores – a pawn shop and a bridal boutique. Then there’s that little building shaped like a strawberry where I think they sell – of course – strawberry ice cream.  Numerous coffee houses with quirky names like Common Grounds or Bean There Done That.  And I think I found where old washing machines go to die – they stand together in a field on Highway 158 in western Warren County.

I have never been permanently lost.  If I get a little turned around, I don’t panic.  I figure that as long as I’m generally headed in the right direction, I will eventually get there.  So far, I have been correct.  And I always enjoy the trip, because I always see something new.

Plans for life are important.  Goals are important if you ever want to achieve anything.  But those who see only their goals often miss out on life happening all around them.  It makes for a fairly boring journey, if you ask me.

In my life, I sometimes feel the urge to cling to my map – schedules, plans, even certain people offer security along the way.  And sometimes I am only looking out for the next goal and the way to get there.  But if I stop and look around, set the plan aside when necessary, ignore the nagging schedule, take time to meet someone new . . . well, I find that I have a lot of fun and make some great memories. 

So some time this week, deviate from your course just a bit.  Have lunch with someone you don’t know very well.  Listen to a story told by an older person who has himself made more memories than you can imagine. Take a day off work and get reacquainted with your spouse.  Let the dishes soak in the sink while you hear about your daughter’s day at school.  Call a dear friend you haven’t spoken to for a long time – he’ll be glad to hear from you.  Or do something small, like taking a different, longer way home from work.  Don’t worry – you’ll make it home just fine.

When schedules and plans aren’t enough, a good sense of direction will keep you on track, and allow you to enjoy the journey.