“Surprise,” announced my husband, Michael, as he turned the car toward the lake. “We’re having a Mother’s Day picnic.” I appreciated the gesture, but the day was windy. Not exactly picnic weather!
I got out of the car at the deserted campsite. A gust of strong wind nearly blew me over. “Hold my hand tight, sweetie,” I warned my toddler, Micah, “or the wind will knock you down!”
Michael was determined to be cheerful. “Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains,” he sang as he carried a quilt and ice chest down to the water. It took the ice chest, Micah’s diaper bag, my oversized purse and me, each on a corner, to hold the blanket down.
When Michael tried to light the charcoal for hot dogs the wind snuffed them out like birthday candles.
“Maybe we’d better go,” I said.
“The picnic just got started!” Michael said. He went to the car and fished a kite out of the trunk.
He trotted along the shore. The kite caught the air and quickly climbed high in the sky. “My turn,” begged Micah.
Michael stooped over, his hands covering Micah’s as they maneuvered the line. The kite bobbed and weaved in the sky like an angel watching over us all. We cheered from the ground.
Thank you, God, I thought, for this windy, perfect Mother’s Day. I guess it was picnic weather after all.
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