Big Plans

The summer when I was seven years old, I came up with a plan that I was absolutely certain would catapult me and my family straight into a lifetime of riches.  It all started with a vacation to the Smoky Mountains.  There were all kinds of things planned for that trip.  But the best part was something that wasn’t planned at all.

Along the way we kept seeing signs for some sort of a petting zoo with “exotic” animals.  The sign that really got my attention was one for a five-legged cow.  I couldn’t believe it.  What a great vacation!  Just as soon as I saw the five-legged cow sign, I started begging to stop in and see that wondrous animal.  And then I saw the next sign -  it seemed almost too good to be true.  The same place had a two-headed pig!  Unbelievable.  Who knew that such marvels even existed?!  Please, please, please, Daddy – can’t we stop?  Pleeeeease.  Pleeeeeease! I won’t ask for anything ever again.  Really.  Ever.  Daddy stopped.  We all piled out of the car.  Mama and Daddy already knew that this was a critter style freak show.  They tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.  Are you kidding me?  There were signs!  There were pictures of the animals drawn on them!! They couldn’t put those signs up if it wasn’t true!   Well . . . yes, they could.  That five-legged cow – the one that was supposed to be walking around with four legs in the usual places and one coming squarely from its belly – oh, my.  Disappointed doesn’t begin to describe my feelings.  That fifth “leg” was barely a hoof sticking out of that poor cow’s hindquarters.  And then, of course, there was the matter of the two-headed pig.  It wasn’t even a live animal that they were trying to pass off as a two-headed pig.  It was two pig heads stuffed and mounted – just like you would do to a fish or a deer head.  Even my gullible seven-year-old brain figured out pretty quickly that those two heads had not started life on the same animal.  I could not have been more disenchanted.  I had been hoodwinked.  My attitude was in the tank.  And then . . . I saw the bear.  Everything changed.

There was a gift shop at the “zoo.”  Seriously, it wasn’t much of a gift shop.  It was on par with the five-legged cow and two-headed pig.  But, in front of that gift shop, standing in the dirt and gravel parking lot, was something that made up for all my disillusionment.  It was an Indian with a bear.  A live bear on a leash.  In the days before being politically correct was more important than anything else, there were Indians.  They are now Native Americans.  This was an Indian.  He was all dressed up in buckskin-like clothes and a magnificent headdress full of feathers.  He scared me half to death.  But, he had a bear cub on a leash.  And . . . it drank chocolate milk.  Yep.  You could buy bottles of YooHoo or something like it in the “gift shop” and the Indian would then give the bottle to the bear.  That bear would turn it up and drain the whole bottle in a few seconds.  It was awesome.  I loved that bear.  I wanted one just like him.  

I knew we would be millionaires in short order if I had my very own chocolate milk drinking bear.  There would be so many people who would want to give him chocolate milk! I might even be able to teach him to drink Dr. Pepper or at least something more exciting than chocolate milk.   I could charge each person just a tiny bit of money and we would get rich quick.  I knew that my grandmother would make me an Indian outfit if I asked.  I was certain that nobody in Alabama had any sort of a milk-drinking bear.  This was a great plan.  I just needed a bear.  So, I asked Mama if she would get me one for my birthday.  Mama said, “No.  Absolutely not.  Bears are wild animals.”  She said no?!?  I should have asked Daddy.  So, I did.  His answer:  “No.  I thought you wanted a Barbie.”  Pleading was to no avail.  Now what.  No five-legged cow.  No two-headed pig.  No bear.  This was headed straight toward being the worst vacation in history.

Nonetheless, I still had lots of questions for that Indian.  Where did you get him?  What’s his name?  Does he like anything besides chocolate milk?  Can he use a fork?  Does he sleep in your bed? How old is he?  Does he bite? Does he have any toys? Can I have him?  And that Indian didn’t answer any of them. He never said one word.  I concluded that he was an Indian who spoke only an Indian language and he just didn’t understand English.  I had seen Indians like that on television.  I think it is much more likely that he took one look at me, saw a bottomless pit of questions, and decided that playing deaf would get rid of me a lot quicker than anything else. I left that “zoo” empty-handed except for the consolation prize of a bottle of Nehi Grape.  

Some of the problems I bring to God might seem as foolish to Him as my request for a chocolate milk drinking bear.  I am thankful that God understands my needs and listens to my prayers – even when I must seem to Him just like I seemed to that Indian -  yet another bottomless pit of questions and petitions.  I am thankful that He doesn’t lure me in with promises that He won’t deliver.   I am thankful that when I am facing something scary, He has already given me His promise of love and protection. A sweet Internet friend sent me this verse:

 So do not fear, for I am with you;
   do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
   I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

If you are keeping up with my ongoing journey, my cancer surgery will be on March 23^rd.  Psalm 91 is my prayer. Pray it for me, please.  And, I really like Isaiah 41:10, too.