Sometimes, there is a glimmer of hope. That slim chance that maybe something I did or said, made a difference in the lives of one of my stepchildren. And then, the bottom drops out. Just like that. Though hope was faint at best, it was there and then it is gone, swept away by the tide of realism. And thus begins my story…
Two of the most important things I have consistently tried to impart to the kids are my faith and my gratitude. The faith that God is ever-present, ready and willing to help us weather our storms, soothe our aching hearts and call us to better ourselves and our world. The second is that of gratitude. Gratitude for the abundance of life that we have been given so freely by God. And by the man of the house himself, Mr. Lacy. He who provides the housing, the clothing, the food, the cars, the nice vacations, the “walking” money, the expensive shoes and every gadget on the market today.
Before the baby boy headed back for his second year of medical school and our middle child headed off to her first big girl job after finishing the bar exam, the gruesome twosome along with their partners decided on a little Vegas vacation. And you are probably wondering how Vegas and God can wind up in the same story. But it’s a Lacy story so if you know anything about our family, it should be apparent by now. However, if you are not familiar with we hoodlums, you need to know that we love games, and for the boys in this house that might mean Charades or Trivial Pursuit, or it could mean games of chance, like blackjack and craps. Rest assured that just because the Lacys indulge in a little extracurricular gambling from time to time does not mean that God does not enter the fray. We’re not half-bad Presbyterians. We know the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer and we take heaven and hell very seriously. But I digress.
Back to said Vegas vacation… After a few days of shows and dinners, multiple losing rounds at the craps table and sweltering heat, the fabulous foursome headed out for their final breakfast before heading to the airport and their trip back to reality. They each ordered a meal which was by all accounts too much eat, even for the boys.
As the story is related to me, the baby boy felt a little guilty about the leftover food and decided that it should be boxed up and provided to at least a few of the masses of homeless hanging out around the city, many of whom the boy had all ready been speaking with as he roamed the streets of the big city the previous few days.
I’m proud to report that all were in agreement. So the food was boxed up and off they headed back to find some of the less fortunate to share their eggs and pancakes with.
Imagine my heart pounding and my smile stretching wide across my stepmom face. THIIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR. THESE ARE THE PEOPLE I HELPED RAISE. THESE ARE MY PRAYERS ANSWERED.
The story goes that the boy headed for the first beggars he could find. The other three were shortly in tow doing the Lord’s work, making the most of their vacation time by giving back—even when in the throes of Sin City.
But alas, as promptly as the boy sped to spread goodwill to his fellow man, he just as promptly turned around and said. “Okay, that should have bought us some good luck. Let’s see what this does for us at the craps table now.”
Sounds about right.