It had been six years since our three adult children have been home, all at the same time. Knowing our sons had planned on attending a relative wedding with us, which happened to fall on the Saturday before Father’s Day, wistfully I mentioned to our daughter a couple of weeks ago, wouldn’t it be nice if she could fly up from Texas?
Earlier this month, she had thought her schedule wouldn’t allow it. A mere few days before Father’s Day weekend, I tried again. Considering it, she blew me away with a sudden plan.
“I have an idea. What if I fly up and surprise Dad, just walk in on him?”
It started the ball rolling on what would eventually bless her dad with a jaw-dropping surprise.
Arranging a flight from Dallas to Chicago to Wausau, a friend from college offered to pick her up from the airport, driving her home late Friday evening when we would be asleep.
Back and forth text questions flew like startled birds in flight. When would she surprise him? How? Should she wait for the morning? If so, how would she get past her dad in the night?
Securing the exact scenario took a few days. Like Barney on “The Andy Griffith Show,” when there was to be a truck carrying gold coming through Mayberry and it needed to be kept quiet, so did I. Barney, busting with the news, spilled the beans to his secret love, Juanita, and before the gold truck came in the whole entire town knew. I vowed that would not happen.
One day my husband asked, as occasionally is his custom, “What’s new?”
I had to turn my head so he wouldn’t see the smile threatening to go ear-to-ear. We were in our side-by-side going for a spin around the county. Facing the window I whispered quietly (because not to at least tell the window, I’d bust right there), what’s new? Only that your daughter is flying home from Texas, will be pulling in tonight while you’re sleeping and walk down the stairs saying “Hey, Dad” tomorrow morning. That’s what’s new.
I started perfecting the art of lying.
Blanking out my face before I turned to him I replied, “Nothin’.”
Texting my daughter, I instead conjured up texts with friends.
“Who’re you texting?”
Oh, just my friend. She’s asking a lot of questions.
That early evening, what we thought was a fool-proof plan, we discovered, ah, not so fast. A text came in around supper time; her flight was delayed. I have a love/hate relationship with flights. This trip had me on my knees in prayer and God, in His generous grace, came through again.
“Mom. We’ve been delayed quite a bit so please pray I make my connection.”
Pork roast stuck halfway down my throat. Keeping my face bland, inside I was frantically praying.
Another text: “Oh no Mom there are no other flights out of Chicago tonight to Wausau. I’m going to miss it. We land at 8pm and my next one takes off at 8:19pm. Prayyyy.”
5:15 p.m.: “Father, we cannot have come this far, without Your hand in this. Delay the connecting plane, God, so Your precious daughter can make it.” His rock-solid peace settled me.
6:19 p.m.: Connecting flight unexplainably delayed. Yes. He did it again, delaying the plane so there was enough time for my daughter to make it. As soon as she walked up to the gate the attendant said, “Okay, we might as well board now.” It was simply astounding with not one indicator of anything less than a divine miracle.
Later, relaxing in the living room after supper (which I could finally digest) my husband started coughing. This had been an annoyance for the previous couple of nights, and he was longing for a good night’s rest.
“Would you want a couple of Tylenol PM’s just so you could settle?” I asked with a hidden agenda.
So not only did I withhold information from my husband, lied about who I was texting, I was now pumping him with drugs to make him sleepy. “This was a full-blown Forensic Files in the making.”
We went to bed. I actually fell asleep. So did he. At precisely 11 p.m. I awoke with a start and quietly slipping out of bed, started texting my daughter. Just then, I glanced out the window to see a car silently coast in, lights cut.
Meeting her at the door (we need to get some WD-40 on that door) we silently squealed and hugged each other tight. Creeping up the stairs, she made it past her drug-induced, snoring dad and unbeknownst to him, slept the night in her bed.
Texting back and forth next morning, “Is he awake yet?”
“Yes! Come downstairs, he’s in his chair!”
“Tootsie! How-how-what-what? How’d you get here? You’re … HOME?!?”
Watching his face as he caught sight of his precious girl definitely made all the clandestine planning worthwhile.
(“But I’ll keep coming closer and closer to You, Lord Yahweh, for Your name is good to me. I’ll keep telling the world of Your awesome works, my faithful and glorious God!” Psalm 73:28, The Passion Translation)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
FARM LIFE FROM A FARM WIFE: Lying fine when planning jaw dropping surprise
