After my latest misadventure, I decided it would be fun to do a year in review of Sarah's dummest moments. Plus, I thought some of my friends out there could use a good laugh. There has been much sorrow in my circle lately and as I recall, laughter makes the heart glad.
Let's start with Monday night. My friend Kristie and I drove all the way to Birmingham to here a dear sister working in dark places speak of her ministry. After driving around the church several times, harriedly looking for a parking place while, at the same time, trying not to drive down the wrong way on a one way, we decided the Budget car rental lot located behind the church building would be as good a place as any to park. We drove through the open baricades, glanced inside what we thought was a darkened office, and pulled, nonchalantly into a space toward the back of the lot. We got out, locked up, and headed to the church.
After a couple of hours of hearing how God is using one single, devoted woman to bring the gospel and medical care to some of the most hopeless people in the world, we headed out of the church, rejoicing and hungry. We hopped in the car and headed out the way we came. That's where things started going south. Where there was once a wide-open, welcoming space there now stood a mennacing, 3 ft. tall barricade. A little surprised, but not yet frantic I backed up and calmly drove around the parking lot looking for what was sure to be another exit. None was to be found. The thought sunk in. We were trapped!
A bit embarassed, but determined not to have to drive back the next day to retrieve my trapped car, I bit my lip and headed back into the church for some manly help. Thankfully, the church also functions as a sort of half-way house for men trying to transition back into society after getting out of jail, so finding a way to remove the barrier that held my helpless, little blue station wagon hostage, was well...right up their alley. One brought a crow bar, the other a hammer. They weren't going to let a little padlock stand in their way. Who knows what locks they had broken in their past? But, this time, they harnessed their skills for good and with each crash of the hammer the lock steadily gave way until...pop, it opened. I took a deep breath, thanked them profusely, and got the heck out of Dodge. But not before Kristie offered to pay for the lock, which miraculously, had not broken after all and could be replaced, as though we had never been there at all. I'm sure there are several spiritual lessons embedded in that whole, convulated tale, but I am way too tired to dig them out.
And then there was the time, late in the summer, when I decided that I would fill the unsightly hole my sons had dug in the backyard (boys are a lot like dogs that way) with a pond. Those of you who know me, know that the words "Sarah" and "pond" should really never be spoken of in the same sentence. But, I was undeterred. I imagined myself relaxing peacfully on the back porch gazing contently at my lily-padded pond. Like I ever sit on my back porch. But, I was sure the pond would change all that. I purchased, what the lady at Home Depot promised me was an all-in-one kit. Let me just say, never trust a woman in an orange apron. I had to buy a cleaning pump, dechlorinator and baskets to hold down the wayward lily pads, which by the time I was finished, just about doubled the cost of my all-in-one prize.
Finally, after digging and positioning and digging some more we got the thing in the ground. And oh, how my heart soared when we filled it with water and turned on the tiny fountain. Why I had my very own Buckingham fountain right in my own backyard. I proceeded to fill my peace-inducing water utopia with several, carefully chosen water plants and two lovely koi. At this point, however, I had not figured out that my all-in-one pond needed a cleaning pump and so after a few short days, my pond morphed into the Slough of Despond. Toads took up residence in what I'm sure they thought was the newest swamp in town. The koi dissapeared in the murky mess and I, to my shame, let the pond go. Everytime I would walk by the bubbling mess, I swear I could hear it choke out the words "clean me". Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. Resolutely, I grabbed our wet-dry vac and marched to the pond, orange extention cord trailing behind me. I would suck the muck and yuck out and start fresh. I banged on the edges of the pond, giving the toads fair warning that there eviction was about to begin, and then I thrust the hose into the murk. Plugging my nose, I waited for the drum to fill with heaven knows what, when I caught a glimpse of something orange darting through the water. The koi! Desperately I grabbed at the hose and yanked it out the the water. Did I suck him up? Who could tell? The water was murky as ever. With great trepidition, I slowly began to unscrew the lid on the drum of the vacuum, all along praying that he somehow escaped the vacuum of death. I leaned in, sloshed the bucket around a bit, and then ever-so-slowly, I began to pour the water out of the drum down the side of the hill, watching for a glimpse of orange. He wasn't there! He was alive! Our little koi had survived over a month in a slimy pit, and because his owners thought he had died long ago, the only food he had came from the water plants. What a little trooper. I cleaned up the water, fed him heartily, and skipped back to the garage thankful my little fish had survived such a cruel fate. Too bad the cat ate him the next day.
Of course, I can't forget the time I tucked my cell phone into the top of my swimsuit, so I would be sure not to miss any calls. I jumped in the pool and felt something bump up against my toe. Was it my long lost koi? No, it was my little pink Razor, sinking into a watery grave.
And then, last week, I tried to steal a man's coat. You see, we were all leaving church after a lovely fellowship meal. Absent-mindedly, I slipped on my wool, black coat. I'd know that coat anywhere. Gathering up my unruly little brood of boys, I proceeded to try to slip out the door when a kindly man of about sixty or so set his hand on my shoulder. "Excuse me," he said. "I think you're wearing my coat." I looked at him, my thoughts shifting quickly from unbelief to embarassment. I slipped my hands into the pockets searching for the familar rip on the right side. It wasn't there. My hood, that would prove whose coat this really was. But alas, there was no hood either. The truth was crumpled up in his hands. There rested my coat. Quickly, I unbuttoned the coat that I was so sure was mine, and meekly returned it to its rightful owner. Now, I will be forever seared in his memory as the "Sunday-morning coat thief."
So I had a mishap or two or three or twenty this year. They just remind me of Who is really in control and that though I can make a royal mess of things, He is always there taking my ashes and turning them into something beautiful. Oh...what a Savior.
