As we struggled to figure out next steps, I always imagined that there was a director watching from the sidelines.
First, it was his job to suggest new challenges that we would be required to face. "Let's see how they handle brutal winters!" "Okay, now, let's watch them figure out how to deal with wild animals." "So they say that they want to live in the country; that will be fun to watch." And on and on it went. I discovered that we did better when we were willing to laugh at ourselves. And, yes, we made many mistakes - but we prayed that our mistakes wouldn't be too costly.
My imagined director's other job was to be vigilant and ready to step in and change the script if things became too difficult, unmanageable, or simply unrealistic. And that's precisely why I'm thinking about my director friend tonight. I'm wondering how long it will be before he steps in and changes the script.
In just a little while, Molly will be leaving for New York. It's our last night together as a family at home - and here we are acting as if she's really going to leave! The time is getting short, but I'm utterly certain that the director is just about ready to shout from the sidelines: "Cut! You're not really going to do that! You're going to do something else instead!" And my director friend will give us some new instructions about the next part of this reality show that we call our lives.
While I've been writing this blog this evening, a few more minutes have passed. I keep waiting to hear his voice. I keep waiting for the plan to change. We're all continuing to say our lines and go through the motions. That is what's expected, after all. And we're pretty convincing; we're all acting as if Molly is really going to leave tomorrow . . .
The hour is late. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe there won't be a surprise ending this time . . .