My son and his wife came to visit last month. In preparation I had hired a woman to help get the house ready, and she did not disappoint. Here it is a few weeks later and I am still enjoying the results of a pleasant place to be. 

 

I dreamed that a friend came by, noticed the spaciousness of the living room, and asked to play volleyball in it. I was not amused. The potential for broken lamps and windows made the request ridiculous. I furrowed my eyebrows and said no.

 

The funny thing is, I have played volleyball in someone's living room. Many years ago my sister was the cook for a large estate and one of the after dinner recreations was to push the furniture back, lower a net, and toss a ball. This was adult sanctioned, and felt especially lively. Indeed, it is the strongest memory I have of visiting my sister that summer. 

 

When I was the mom who made such decisions I bought a book by a publisher named Klutz whose title bounced along the edges of naughtiness. 

 

"Kids Shenanigans; Things Your Mom and Dad Will Just Barely Approve Of"

 

Our brood explored the not quite dangerous escapades it depicted, and it added spice to afternoons that usually revolved around Lego. It all echoed the escapades of my mother's family of origin, whose adventures are recorded in a book by my grandfather. Things like driving in a car whose front door had fallen off, and leaping from the roof with an umbrella for loft were routine for them. Shockingly, all twelve children survived to adulthood. 

 

Recently in a small group I asked people to tell about something they can hardly believe they survived. It was tender to hear about the near misses. While my intention was not to highlight the miracle of God's protection, I felt it. 

 

When my mother lay dying she muttered a monologue that still makes me catch my breath. Her wonder was in sharp contrast to the limp body that still housed her spirit. Barely. 

 

"I can't believe it! You did THAT? Amazing. How could we dream it? I'm not quite ready to be unveiled..."

 

I tingle, to imagine the possibilities. When we step into eternity, we will make outrageous requests, and our Parent will open his eyes wide and say "YES!"