Change of plan; or, Easter dance party

The Riddle Easter Extravaganza swings into high gear in less than 24 hours. I’d better get my dance move ready.

Like most holidays in our household, this year’s Easter didn’t go as planned. The day started off with a glorious bang as son Jonah whommed on the timpani in the church balcony and the congregation belted out some glorious Easter-morning tuneage. Afterward, we trotted home, visions of spiral-sliced ham dancing in our heads. Our adult kids were coming that afternoon, and I was all eager anticipation to celebrate a special day in my favorite way ― hanging out with Peeps and my peeps.

Then my son texted. He was sick, the kind of sick nobody wants to be around.

My daughter texted next. Her work shift went longer than she’d expected, and she couldn’t get to our house until late.

Doggone it, I had the day all planned. I’d remembered the pineapple and everything. I wanted my special day, and it wasn’t fair that it wasn’t going according to plan.

Fortunately, the little pity-party I threw myself passed quickly, and we chucked the plan and agreed the kids would come this weekend, instead.

The husband and I spent Easter afternoon and evening napping, watching basketball, and eating Hungry Howie’s, loving every minute of it. Tomorrow, we’ll try our family day again, and I can’t wait. The hash brown potatoes are still in the freezer, canned green beans still in the cupboard, jelly beans still in little bowls around the living room, and I still get to wrap my arms around my kids and celebrate with them the unfathomable Love that hung on a tree for me.

My eldest, excited about the reboot, dubbed our second-chance holiday “Easter 2: Electric Boogaloo.” Always ready to crank the silly fun up a notch, my daughter suggested we all prepare a dance move for the occasion. I suspect she’s going to hold us to that, so I’d better get working on mine.

The day before Easter, while picking up the last of the groceries, I bought the prettiest little bundles of yellow tulips to brighten up the house. At home, I tucked them in glass jars, smiling at the thought of sending flowers home with each of my much-loved guests.

A week later, the tulips are still in their jars, but not standing upright. The stems lean from the jars in dramatic curves, the heads of the flowers dangling from them like soft lemons.

The flowers may be droopy, but they’re still pretty.

It’s just a different kind of pretty.

Our holiday didn’t go as planned. But that’s OK. In fact, it’s better than OK. It’s dance-party good.

When our plans don’t go as planned, it doesn't have to be the end of the world. Sometimes it’s just a different kind of pretty.

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Too often, I yelp and snarl when a surprise comes along to change my plans. I don’t WANT this or that to happen, I pout. I don’t want this rain, this train, this inconvenience, this intrusion. I don’t want to have to put the ham back in the fridge, not when I had it all figured out and knew what would make me happy and make life feel right.

And then the pout passes, and I realize everything is OK. Sometimes even better than OK.

I don’t know about you, but I spend way too much time in the pout phase. It’s too easy, and too tempting, to get so rooted in what I want and how I think things should go that I forget that the people around me have plans, too ― plans that slip out of their grasp and turn their lives topsy-turvy.

I fuss that my car ran out of gas or my wallet is empty or I have to wait in line or I can’t be as lazy as I’d like. Meanwhile, people around me are reeling from the real plan-changers. The abrupt door closures that smack you in the face. The surprises that knock the feet out from under you and leave you sprawled on the floor, gasping for air.

Yeah, sometimes when plans change without our say-so, we need a minute. Maybe our pout is little and silly, but it’s real, and the Heavenly Father who let nothing stand in the way of his plan of making us His is ready to listen to even our petty problems as we lay our heads on His lap and sigh a little sigh.

But we need to be ready, then, to hear his gentle urgings to get up and get going, looking past our own upset plans to see a world that needs us. A world of people who need to be seen, even when it inconveniences us to see them. A world aching for people willing to set their own plans aside to take a stand for what’s right and reach out a hand to those who need it.

Will that upset our plans? Absolutely. Being God’s hands and feet means you’re going to end up with a lot of droopy tulips. But, you know what? Droopy tulips are just a different kind of pretty.

And, once in a while, you even get to have a dance party.

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On this weekend after Easter, I find myself thinking about people who didn’t get to have an Easter dinner at all. Or a Monday dinner. Or a Tuesday dinner.

I think I’ll do some poking around online today to see who might need a donation of food that I could pick up next time I head to the grocery store. It’s not a be-all, end-all fix. But little actions add up to big things.

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To those of you who know my husband: I’m offering a candy bar to anyone who can get video of him doing his dance move. If he tells you he doesn’t HAVE a dance move, he’s lying. He does, and it’s adorable.

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To the new folks who have joined my blog mailing list since the last time I posted: Welcome! Not all my blog posts are about tulips and dance moves. Honestly, I’m not really sure WHAT they’re about. But I’m glad you’ve joined us. Here, I have some flowers for you.