One windless night, just beyond my bedroom window, Fowler Lake froze, luminous as mercury glass.
Ever the social caboose of my class, pre-teen me hunkered in bed. Crushing thoughts made it hard to breathe. No grace for being me.
I woke to 99 acres of gleaming ice: no pocks or blisters. Nary a wrinkle. Picture the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. Now picture 12 of them, frozen, side by side, shaved smooth by an epic Zamboni.
I pulled on my figure skates, freestyled across the ultimate playground. Greenish-black depths glinted with bubbles seemingly lit from below.
Translucence draws us. The pristine awes us. Who doesn’t want to coast and glide and skim, grab each hem of these shirttail verbs related to wheel and rise and soar?
Who can skate around the whole lake?
How far (and how fast) is enough?
Eventually, snowdrifts laminated themselves over the ice. And I was still me: tweenish, undersized, insecure.
One night a hockey lover with dark eyes and a shy smile jogged across town, laced on his blades, and slogged across that snowbound, starlit lake. To see me.
Tidings of comfort and joy … in my own backyard! Beneath floodlights we mumbled into our mufflers, two misfits becoming friends.
Then off he went again, into the dark, his trip home even colder, my jaunt to the back door interspersed with erratic earthbound spins.
Extravagant gesture
You never forget a gift like that, never feel worthy.
The graced improbable expands your notions of the possible.
It doesn’t require money. It does require heart. Time and energy.
Risk.
And generous, focused attention … on the recipient.
Sometimes, it’s you.
She sits with you all day in the hospital waiting room.
He totes rags and polish to a house of mourning and quietly shines all the shoes.
Anonymous leaves homemade pies in people’s cars during a meeting.
Every December a fellow believer supplies our Food Bank with two brimming grocery carts. Her yearly donation is now a personal rhythm.
Contagious extravagance
Making as well as receiving the occasional extravagant gesture bolsters a shaky sense of self—often for both parties.
Joy snowballs.
Like ripples in a thawing lake, one gesture inspires another.
O. Henry’s young Della sold her hair, then bought her husband a watch chain; he’d already sold his watch, to her buy tortoiseshell combs.
Three Magi braved the howling unknown to worship a Child. Three decades later, precious nard anointed that same Child’s head, poured from a cracked alabaster jar.
Heaven knows, stories live on.
And now one more: a boy skated through darkness to offer friendship.
How gently the Man from eternity glides among us.
Talk to me about extravagant gesture . . .
Can’t express that any better . “How gently the man from eternity glides among us”
I love it when a line seemingly falls from the sky and feels exactly right (and way better than anything I could have thought up myself). It’s always both gift and surprise when this happens, and the joy of it is one of the reasons I write. When someone else affirms that line’s beauty and rightness . . . my cup runneth over. 🙂
I remember an extravagant gesture 5 1/2 years ago after major surgery. A friend came with the best English tea, freshly baked scones, everything including the china for a heart encouraging tea party. She also brought love, support and friendship. What a boon you were to my sometimes saggy spirits. It was a gift I’ll never forget. Thank you. ☺️
Annie, I had forgotten. What a warm reminder today, thank you. I read somewhere that Confucious thought tea to be “pacific and calming,” the congenial beverage to “heal oppression and mend society.” Pretty big job for lowly leaves. Of course, we know Who healed and restored you to vigor again, but isn’t it amazing when we get to play a small part in each other’s journeys to wellness? Your prayers (and your cooking!) have carried me many a time. Thanking God for you as I type, dear friend. 🙂
I know a young woman whose extravagant gestures included me. Thank you.
Oh, forever friend, what lovely, loving words to read tonight. Thank you for all our shared adventures over the years. And YOUR extravagant gesture of affectionate endurance, day after day, living with messy me at St. O!!! What times we’ve had. Here’s to more in the future!
My goodness, Laurie, your words drip with poetry.
Extravagant gestures? I texted my California friends this morning and one in particular who is close to the Fallbrook fires which took so many thoroughbreds’ lives with them. It’s a devastating loss to the horse community, of which she and my brother in law are a big part.
The gesture she spoke of–running into two ‘horse people’ in the neighborhood Target, buying every t shirt and hoody and pair of jeans they could get their hands on to give away to all those who ran from the flames with literally the shirts on their backs.
Oh and the horse people had flown in from Lexington, Kentucky.
“They really are a good group, this community.”
Yes–that’s an extravagant gesture…
Horse people … theirs is a world I’ve not had the pleasure of knowing. That these two flew so far to be part of the slow healing in the Fallbrook community moves me. What a remarkable outpouring of loving, practical care! Tragedy often brings out the best in people—a compelling witness to outsiders who can then, perhaps, see past the “news item” to the people and creatures and ongoing stories. I’m so glad to know about this! Thank you, Jody.
Oh, Laurie, what a beautiful story with hidden depths and gems! I LOVE your poetic prose, gorgeous descriptions, “joy snowballs” and most of all the thoughts these words conjure in my mind: “How gently the Man from eternity glides among us.” Indeed, He does. I cannot recall an extravagant gesture but I can relate how God told my then-boyfriend-and-almost-husband to turn tail as soon as he arrived back at his university digs and to return to me. So he did, without a second thought or taking off his coat. And when he had walked to the rail station, taken the 2 hour train journey and walked some more to arrive back at my door, he discovered I had just received the news that my father had died. My intended’s presence over the next few days and funeral service to come was unexpected but deeply and gratefully appreciated! It’s the holy ordinary marvel type of thing orchestrated by our loving God… xo <3
Joy, what a wonderful story. Talk about sensitivity to a nudge. And heartfelt follow-through! Such a timely, cherishing gesture he made for your sake, not knowing at the time how attuned he was to what you would need and remember ever-afterward with gratitude.
Do you get snow where you live? Perhaps fleeting but occasional? May Joy snowball for you and your beloved this Advent.
So lovely to hear from you, friend! Thank you.
Laurie, I somehow seem to have missed your reply and have only just came across it on checking back in my hugely overflowing inbox. I’m glad this story resonated with you, my friend. Yes, snow arrives here in sudden flurries and tiny flakes and barely settles or stays more than a day, though there are exceptions to that sometimes! I think “fleeting but occasional” is an apt description of our snowfall. But I am always open to grace raining on me and holy JOY warming up my colder days. Advent lends itself well to such things and so might 2018 with my new God-given word of “joy”! Blessings and love to you and yours. xo
“Fleeting but occasional” sounds nice, not so much that shoveling burdens already challenged bodies, just enough to beautify the view and remind us we too are cleansed, whiter than snow. May grace rain all over you, dear one as you this year reflects your name and nature!
Yes, even the little carpeting of white we get serves as an apt metaphor for inner cleansing. And “beautifying the view” is definitely welcome when the view leaves a lot to be desired. I pray that lovely Laurie will receive an abundance of grace showers and much joy to enjoy with her Dreamer in the days and months ahead. 😊💜
I loved this. Thank you.
Lynette, I’m so glad it spoke to you. I really enjoyed writing it.
Wishing mercies as well as mirth for you and yours this month!
A widow called my pastor-husband one spring afternoon to inquire about what kind of car he liked. He thought she was preparing to purchase a graduation gift for her grandson. But no, she wanted to buy it for us. Such extravagance is beyond imagination. The Man from eternity certainly glided among us that day. “Euphoric joy” only begins to describe how we felt. Sixteen years later we’re still driving our gift-car. NOT a lemon, this one. It’s been a bottomless glass of lemonade, reminding us of God’s loving care, most often filtered through his loving children.
What an amazing gift! Staggering, really. And to think you’re still driving it. I find myself thinking of it as the Wonder-mobile. I love the way you describe the ongoing refreshment of your spirits through this extravagant gesture, “filtered through his loving children.” I’m toasting the giver and the Giver even as I type . . . 🙂 Thanks for sharing the story!
Oh, Laurie, this is beautiful. And joy snowballs? I want to play.
Bethany, writing about this made me want to go right out and love the next someone in large, heartfelt, spontaneous ways. O. Henry’s Magi story has always moved me. Meet ya on the hill halfway with sleds?? 🙂
Yes, and I’ll bring a thermos of hot cocoa for sharing later!
🙂 I’ll bring gingerbread men . . .
I didn’t think it was extravagant at the time. It was just worth it. A blow from the hectic race to find someone who was nice – and I didn’t have to have my guard up. Wonder how two scared kids worked out those meetings. Was it the number of floodlights on the hand-shoveled rink? One, it’s ok, two stay away? Just mumbling our way to complete sentences in the boy-girl confusion of seventh grade. It still has meaning. A shy girl explaining this kid slogging (love that word) across 99 acres to her parents, and they thought it was ok? And sometimes invited the kid in to have hot chocolate before crossing back to the other side of the lake where he belonged.
I wonder if a certain amount of unawareness is key, part of the power in making the best kind of extravagant gesture—an unguarded innocence, no self-importance for thinking it up, no self-congratulation for seeing it through. I’ve a hunch it’s supposed to feel “normal” to the giver, which creates a safeguard: no fanfare, no added distortion of feeling noble or virtuous. Just genuinely—no matter how shyly—connecting with another person. I don’t remember the signals. I DO remember shoveling that little rink every time it snowed! And that you were always welcome there. As you are here. Thanks for letting me thank you this way, friend. As you say, “It still has meaning.” In retelling the story, in trying to understand its lasting impact, I’ve learned a little more about myself and life and about following God.