a party. a magic kind of party.

The idea was a simple one born out of a desire to help our friend.

Hilary and her family are moving to Bangladesh and you know, from what I assume, having never made a cross-the-universe move before, I think it’s a pretty expensive little venture.

And as much I would like to sabotage their plans and keep them as my neighbors and nearby confidantes for the rest of all time, I know that’s not what is supposed to be happening here.

So Jo and I wanted to help.

We figured a fundraiser where people gave them money and we gave people something in return could be pretty fun and fairly profitable too.

All I really had to do was offer up the use of the field beside our house and asked kind people to help organize cookies and such.  Jo offered up her incredible voice and that of her husband’s musical skills and a handful of buddies too.

It was an idea and it seemed like a little work and kind of a gamble because what if no one even felt like attending this little shindig in my yard.

But, you guys, it turned out so fabulously sweet and fun and yes, magical, that I kind of want one of these every month now.

The premise was simple really.  A band.  Homemade cookies.  Yard games.

And lights.  Stringy lights.

The lights were essential.  Seriously.  When Jo first pitched the idea – and, let me give her all the credit – it was her idea and mostly all of her hard work that made it such a successful evening, but when she first suggested the event and asked if we could have it at my house, I instantly said, “Yes, but only if we have stringy lights.”

I wasn’t kidding.

Probably a few too many seasons of Parenthood and envisioning that backyard of theirs in TV land.

You know what though?  The lights are pretty much a magic all their own.  I don’t know why that is, I just know it is true.

In fact, the lights are still up in the yard and I am still trying to bribe the light’s owners to let me leave them there forever.  For-ev-er.

But back to the party.

We had a silent auction with lots of generous donations from local restaurants and businesses and artists.

In the yard kids were playing soccer and volleyball.  Corn hole games were going and the slack line was getting tested.  The zipline was zipping through the woods.  Garlands were hung from trees.  Chairs were scattered over the lawn and friends were chatting and laughing and truly beautiful music was underscoring the entire evening like the perfect montage in a really good film.  (Not like the pathetically lame films I’ve been watching alone late at night when I cannot sleep.)

The rope swings were being embraced by all ages.  I have to admit – our yard features maybe the best combination of rope swings and tree swings of any yard I know.

I couldn’t let myself listen too closely to the bittersweet songs Jo and Jason were singing.  And I absolutely couldn’t let myself think of the evening as the ending of something really deeply special in my life.  If I had let my thoughts wander in those directions, I couldn’t have kept up with my kids and monitored the silent auction and had chitchat with so many lovely guests.

From the parking in the field to the cookie table’s beauty, we had the help of unusually generous and kind helpers.  And that, of course, was a magic far sweeter than stringy lights.  The kind of magic that makes friends say “yes” when you ask “can you help?”.  The kind of lovely that has people from all walks of life gather on a Friday evening to pay money to stand and sit in someone’s yard to say to one sweet family, “We love you.  We support you.  We are with you.  We want to help make this happen.”

You know I love community.  I love the hands and feet of Jesus that show up to set up slack lines and carry in water and donate hand crafted porch swings – all these labors of love that get lost in the general hubbub of music playing and friends greeting and set up happening.

Friends who drive your dogs to a different friend’s house who is kind enough to keep them during the party.  Friends who don’t even complain but just laugh when said dog vomits in their car.  (Yeah – vomits.  I mean, that’s a good friend who doesn’t drop your dog off on the side of the road when that happens.)

And magical nights with stringy lights and good music just never even stand a chance of occurring without the help of such fabulous friends.

The kids were wondering what people who drove by our home that night were thinking.

They said, “I bet people who drove by thought – that looks like a good time.  I want to go there too.”

And London laughed and said, “Those people should have just come.  They could have, you know.  It was for anyone.”

It was, I guess.  It was a party for anyone, really.

A party celebrating love and friendship and a trip across the world and the ending of one adventure and the beginning of another.

A party for anyone.