During the Great Shut Down I was one of seven people allowed in our sanctuary on Sundays for worship service. The room seats 400 people easy, which made the 6-foot social distancing rule for us seven people easy, easy, easy to follow. I was allowed in because I am the musician and the piano is in the choir loft. I sit on the equivalent of the third floor above the congregation. As is normal, members who attend on a regular basis sit in “their” places. It was sad to look out, week after week, and see empty seats where I usually see my friends.
Two week ago, in the middle of the service, it popped into my head that I had not checked the lottery that morning. To do so had not even entered my consciousness. I was too filled with anticipation. Not for random numbers that probably were not going to fall into the lottery basket, but because of two other things – one big and one really little: friends – the big anticipation and sweet peas – the little anticipation.
Regular worship service was going to resume and, the next Sunday, instead of empty seats, I would see my friends. I was so excited, I could hardly stand it. In my mind, it was like the final scene of a disaster movie where the people slowly come from their dark and scary hiding places and gather together in the light. I know, I know, that’s over the top melodrama. But we were going to be praying and singing and praising all together again! That’s an awesome thing to anticipate.
The other anticipation, sweet peas, is special only to me. When I was growing up, we had sweet peas in the garden every year. The rule with sweet peas is if you cut the blossoms, more blossoms bloom. I would cut a bouquet in the morning, and in the afternoon there would be enough blossoms for another bouquet. I love the scent and the colorful blossoms just make me happy.
Sweet peas do not grow that well where I now live. I have planted sweet peas every year for 35 years and never got a single nose gay, much less a bouquet.
But this year, I could see the buds and I knew I would have flowers. I would be able snip those beautiful blossoms and I would be able to smell that wonderful scent.
Two awesome things to anticipate on one day!
Anticipation by itself is awesome. It gets us up in the morning. It makes us prepare for something. It gives us hope.
It is with anticipation that I hand over my $3.00 every Saturday. The anticipation that this will be the week my numbers roll out of the cage is what gets me to my Personal Lottery Central. It is what makes me make sure I have my three $1.00 bills. It gives me hope to plan all the wonderful unselfish things I am going to do with the winnings. (You do get the self-deprecation of that last sentence, don’t you?)
The downside of anticipation is that it can thud to despair. If a specific fulfillment of a anticipation it the foundation of my happiness, I am in big trouble. If I am only going to be satisfied if every seat in the church was filled, only if my sweet pea vines produced a bouquet as big as my head, only if I won the Big Jackpot – I am doomed. My anticipation needs to be tempered with “what will be, will be”, “hope for the best and plan for the worse”, and all those other truths – clichés though they may be.
The next week, anticipation melted into happiness. Most of my church friends were at the Sunday service, and I had a lovely little bouquet of sweet peas on my desk.
As for the lottery – ah well – two out of three isn’t bad