Sesame Sentiments

When I was a little girl, my parents surprised my sister and I with a great delight: tickets to Sesame Street Live! I had been seeing the commercials on television for weeks and desperately wanted to go. (The only thing that could possibly top it would be tickets to Muppet Babies Live (which I don't think even existed) and that was only because I wanted to see what Nanny's face looked like above those darn green and white stockings.)

It was the night of the show, with great tickets at the Civic Arena and it was, indeed, marvelous. Watching my favorite characters singing and dancing, eating cotton candy and popcorn for dinner, and waving my $8.95 blue, fiber-optic wispy flashlight in the air was quite literally a dream come true. And so it was with great shock that as the show concluded and the thousands of small children clapped with glee and left the arena with smiles permanently plastered on their faces, that my parents looked over at me and I was sobbing. Yes, sobbing.

They were understandably confused as they had watched me experience sheer euphoria for the previous 90 minutes. What more could I possibly want? And that was just it. It was wonderful. Perfect. More than I could have imagined. And now it was over. Finished. Good night. They tried to console me and wondered to each other what kind of strange child comes to Sesame Street Live and leaves sobbing.

And so why am I reminiscing about Big Bird and Grover tonight (this was pre-Elmo days, remember)? I guess I am feeling a bit of deja-vu, as I suffer from post-Thanksgiving withdrawl. I could never figure out why adults always used to say how much they loved Thanksgiving. I always thought it was a waste of a holiday when there were no presents involved. This year, however, I get it more than ever. Thanksgiving was truly a delight at the Edwards home. My sisters (and new brother) came home along with all my cousins (and even a new second cousin that I hadn't seen in 15 years) and we enjoyed days full of pie, laughter, 24 (Season One), pie, sleeping, staying up late, and then we'd get up and eat some more pie. It was wonderful. Perfect. More than I could have imagined. And now it's over.

I don't pretend to be sad about it. Maybe it's partially the fact that I can't believe the writers of 24 would toy with our emotions the way that they did, or perhaps it has to do w/ the disappointment of not being able to enjoy my favorite team (Steelers) and favorite sport this afternoon and I was reduced to console myself by watching curling. But more than anything, I'm feeling the disappointment of an end. The end of a wonderful gift of love and fellowship and rest, and I confess that there's a part of me that hates the end of these delights so much that I don't want to ever enjoy them, thereby avoiding the pain of the end. I know that's not the answer, however.

God created these gifts. He designed us for fellowship, rest, laughter, dreams, and He delights to give us these gifts through our families, friends, and opportunities that only He can create. Yet, even in the joy of those gifts there's a part of us that still mourns the end, that feels an ache returning to the reality that things are not the way God intended. So how do we respond?

I suppose I'm learning to rejoice in the gift, to allow myself to hope and rest and live in every moment with which God chooses to bless me. And at the end of these moments, I will take my ache to my Father, allowing Him to complete and fulfill as only He can, and look forward to the day when there where there will be no end to His glory and gifts. And what a day that will be. Probably even better than Thanksgiving 2006 and Sesame Street Live combined. :-) He's a good Father, isn't He?