I called our local Habitat for Humanity office a few days ago and let them know that I had some things I’d like to donate from my old townhouse. They said they’d pick it up this morning and, sure enough, they were right on time.
As the men began loading up my boxes of discarded items, I decided to look through my kitchen closet one last time to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. And that’s when I saw it: my picnic basket.
Looking back some seven years later, I realize that it was a ridiculous purchase for an incoming college freshman. While most of my peers were buying twin bed sheets and boxes of Ramen Noodles, I was looking for the perfect picnic basket.
You see, I had this idea in my mind that I was going off to college to meet the love of my life. And, for me, that translated into late afternoon picnics in the park down the road from my university. And so, for weeks I searched until I had found all the needed supplies: the perfect basket, the cute utensils, etc. The night before I left for college, I lovingly packed each thing into the basket and then put it in the front passenger seat so that it would be beside me as I drove to my new dorm. That basket didn’t just have cute picnic supplies in it; it had a lot of dreams tucked inside, as well.
And yet it remains unused.
Of course, I went on dates in college — but nothing progressed to the picnic stage. And yet, every year, from dorm to apartment to townhouse, I lugged that picnic basket with me, quietly telling myself that I’d get to use it one day.
When I saw it in the back corner of my kitchen pantry this morning, I instantly felt like that 17 year old girl again, just walking through the Target aisles looking for the perfect pieces to put in my picnic basket. And, if you want to know the ugly truth, I was angry.
At myself. For being silly enough to have thought that I would see that dream be realized.
I swept that picnic basket into my arms and marched it right out to the truck waiting outside. “Here,” I said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I won’t be needing this anytime soon.”
The man seemed confused. “Are you sure, ma’m? This is a really nice basket. It doesn’t even look like it’s ever been used!”
“It hasn’t.” And with that, I turned and went back into my townhouse to get my purse and head back to the office.
I decided to go out my back door, via my porch, to make sure I hadn’t left anything out there that I wanted to take with me. I hadn’t been out there in months, but we’re always better safe than sorry, right?
As I began walking down my porch steps, I noticed that a hanging basket I had put up last summer had fallen and spent a year on the ground, unnoticed by me or my old roommate Katie. Everything in it, all the pretty flowers I had planted back then, were long gone leaving some dirt and withered leaves.
Except for the one gorgeous flower growing in the very middle of the basket.
I walked over to where the basket lay, confused about how a flower could have grown in the basket again. After all, the dirt was old, the seeds were long gone and we hadn’t even bothered to water it in over a year. But still, the flower grew.
And then, suddenly:
“I can grow things in places you thought were dead, Amy Beth.”
I’m sure you get awfully tired of hearing me talking about not wanting to be alone. I’m sure that there are some of you who want to tell me to quit looking so desperate, to stop wanting something that will come in time.
I understand that. I’ve read some of your emails.
And yet, please remember that we don’t ever know everything inside the hearts of those whose blogs we read. What may come across as desperation to you might simply be a God-placed response in my heart to my childhood. There are reasons that the theme of having a family, even being a part of a family, is so important to me. Read between the lines, my loves.
We don’t know if the woman writing about her latest miscarriage is writing that she’s doing just fine while secretly hoping that someone will realize that she’s not fine at all.
Read between the lines.
We aren’t sure that the woman writing about the funny comment her husband made to her a few nights ago isn’t sitting up way too late wondering why her husband isn’t home yet, again.
Read between the lines.
We have no way of knowing that the woman who posts a Bible study each morning is so deeply wounded that she can’t begin to dream that the promises she writes about could be for her, too.
Read between the lines.