Tender Mercies: Birthday party edition

Susan turned five on Saturday, but her party was the minimal style I’ve perfected over the years. Step 1: invite grandparents and cousins that morning. Step 2: shop for decorations at the Dollar Tree, ingredients at the Walmart, and then cook the birthday girl’s easy favorites. Step 3: Let Dick watch/listen to football in exchange for laundry folding and house vacuuming. (I cannot call someone who likes football and Ultimate Fighter “Mr. Bennet.”)

Sally had a friend’s birthday party to go to, but in the packing for and going on of our trip to Idaho this week, we lost the invitation. By “we” I mean probably Susan or Spot saw the pretty princess card and put it in a special place. But I neglected to email myself the details (the only way I can be sure to remember something).

Things like that I can’t shrug off easily. Neither can Dick. Sally was upset, quietly for once, eyes brimming with tears, bursts of anger at Susan who admitted to playing with the card. We looked everywhere, convincing Dick that some serious stuff-straightening was necessary.

We searched the church membership directory online, called information for Sally’s teacher’s name (I don’t know if she would’ve given us a phone number anyway).

I even stopped on my last-minute shopping trip at the house of a family with the last name of Sally’s friend. I asked if they were having a party today, and they said, do you want us to?

I drove on, knowing that at least we had done just about everything you could imagine. I wasn’t sorry much that Sally would miss a party, but I have enough entertaining anxiety memories to imagine the other little girl sad when no one showed up because all the girls had younger sisters with epistolary kleptomania.

I thought to myself: I wish I could pray about this. I wish this was something I could bother God about — I see myself holding a divining rod, eyes closed, led to the house with the birthday party. I have faith, if only this were the sort of thing you would pray about.

I stopped at our new Dollar Tree first. (I know, how awkward is my dollar-store enthusiasm?) In the book and puzzle aisle, before the fake flowers, I heard a mother behind me tell her daughter “You can pick three things for Anna’s present.” Head turning in what feels like slow motion, I apologize and promise I’m not a stalker, but is your daughter going to a party for a girl in Mrs. W’s third grade class? In Seagull Fountain? Today? What time is it at? And where, exactly?

Three hours later, I dropped Sally off at a house where the door opened and a happy birthday girl swooped down on her saying “Sally you made it! How come I haven’t seen you at school lately?” (I couldn’t make up this ladies-who-lunch dialogue — and Sally did miss three days last week for our trip.)

It’s an absurd story, of course. Over an unimportant event, coincidental, and, why would God answer this unspoken prayer and not those more deserving?

Except to say that He can, and does, even when the answer is no.