Receiving Good Gifts: Part II

Rain.

It’s not that I really mind it.

But some days, when I have to run errands in it, tote kids in and out of cars in it and drive sloshing around town in it, well . . . I like it a little less then.

And some days, when I am already on a slope down, sitting on that edge, I think I let the rain just come right on inside and settle on my soul.

I had one such day like that recently.

Fox had a doctor’s appointment – just a routine well-child visit.  But we have been struggling with locating a family doctor that we love, like, ummm . . . tolerate here.  (We miss you Dr. Strong.  We really, really do.)  And this appointment was with a new doctor (because of insurance changes and blah blah blah).

Fortunately, dear and sweet Lanier was in town recording a little album with Nate and he offered to hang out at home with the non-doctor-appointment Keiglets.

This was, actually, miracle enough on its own.

I have been to the doctor, in the rain, with all five young ones.  Often.  I have waited in a tiny, sort of dirty office room with five children touching the floor, the wall, the trash can.  You name it.  And it’s not impossible.  It actually isn’t even horrible.  But it is less than desirable.  And with this being an unknown office and an unknown doctor to me – I wanted to experience it sans extra children for the first time.

So Lanier came over early to eat breakfast with the kids while I loaded up a tiny little man and mucked through the puddles to our appointment.

I was so grateful to Lanier, but I felt guilty.  (Because that’s what I do.)

So I wanted everything to go quickly.

That’s why I frowned and sighed when I saw a sign in the doctor’s office that read . . . .  “You will be asked to wait for up to an hour.  We see sick children and well children.  If you cannot wait or if you are an impatient person, you should leave now.” Uh-oh.

And then I felt like the strikes kept coming.

The doctor was . . . fine.  Mediocre.  Not impressive.  Not horrible.  I felt rushed through.  And not listened to.  And I was given a prescription for Fox when I mentioned a cough I had noticed but she said she heard nothing in his chest.  What? (If this had been Baby The First I would have been panicked.  At Baby The Six I trust myself a bit more but I still like a touch of reassurance from a titled person in a white jacket.  You know?)

The appointment over, the rain settling deep into my being, I felt like I was taking advantage of Lanier’s generosity and tried to rush home.

Of course the fridge was empty and I knew we needed groceries.  I texted Lanier and he assured me to take my time.  But I still felt guilty.  Because it’s hard to accept gifts of kindness. Even from my friends.

And it just felt like I couldn’t shop fast enough.  I couldn’t find the jalapenos.  Where were the olives?  Oh, I forgot to get dog food.  You know that feeling?

Then I even felt guilty about the older lady who bagged my groceries and pushed my cart out to the car, even though I insisted that she didn’t need to.  (And I knew she didn’t want to – by then the rainfall was torrential.  And the groceries wouldn’t fit in the back with the double stroller so she was shoving them on the car seats and the floorboard.  Lots of wet and dripping bags.)  And I was soaking wet and trying to keep Fox dry as I loaded him into his carseat.

Next, I drove down the wrong stinkin’ lane in the Publix parking lot.  At which a very angry man decided that my action was of great personal offense to him and he screamed at me “WRONG WAY” in no unclear words, all the while forcefully pointing his finger at me multiple times.  I got the message, man.  I got it.

When I finally reached the house, certain that Lanier has decided I am a useless, advantage-taking friend and he will never again offer to spend time with our kids, I collapsed into our home – wet and sheepish, apologetic and depressed.  And there’s Lanier (plus a few other kind summer staffers as well), washing dishes, smiling and managing the situation beautifully.

I could have cried.

(Maybe I did.  A little.)

Because it is still so unexpected, so appreciated, so perfectly divine, to be loved in practical, life-nourishing ways.

To have a friend who takes action, who just does.  Who plays Legos with Bergen and “Family” with Piper and eats cereal with sleepy Keiglets and cuddles and laughs and colors and washes dishes and unloads groceries in the pouring rain and continues to put those groceries away and laughs all the while as if it is all okay.  As if helping out is natural and even (gasp) enjoyable.

It’s hard to know what to do with love that looks like that.

And so far,

the only thing I can think of to do with that kind of love is

to

imitate it.