Old Things New

Brandon and I this year,at the 171st 
Canfield Fair. Every year I feel it's probably
romantic to ride the Ferris Wheel together...
and every year after getting on I realize I hate
the Ferris Wheel and swear not to ride it again.

Two years ago, my husband and I went to the 169th Annual Canfield Fair, a local fair that has been going on for, well at that point, 169 years. It's the full deal: good food that's oh so bad for you; rickety rides; rip-off games; farm animal shows and competitions; craft competitions; tractor displays; demolition derby; Grand Stand concerts; and pony rides. I'm sure I've missed something, but you get the idea.

Fair time has meant "date" time for us the past couple years.

This fair has obviously been running my whole life and is a stalwart tradition in the lives of just about everyone in the area - even after people move away, they often come back for the fair. Two years ago was the first time my husband and I had been to the fair without our kids. At that time they were 16, 14, and 10 1/2 and had gone with friends at different times instead. I remember the day well because it was my birthday too and we had fun, but it was also the beginning of a transition for us - a time when family outings no longer meant all five of us. And as most transitions are, it was a little bit sad.

This year, two years later, I debated going to the fair because unexpected expenses had come along during the summer and my school work had already piled up, but when my son wanted to go I took heed of the check in my spirit that said, "Remember last time? Who knows if you'll ever go with your kids again, if not now." Indeed, both of our daughters had already gone with friends on different days. So my husband and I headed off with him on the last day of the fair.

Not even 100 feet inside the gate, my son's friends come walking along and he announces they're going to go "hang out." We give him some money and he heads off to the barns where his friends keep their animals...because what can you say to a twelve-year-old boy whose whole excitement of life is wrapped up in this moment of a couple of hours with friends in a place of independence that makes him feel like a man (even if a little one, at that).

As he walks away I realize this was planned and I realize the disappointment of losing the time I thought we'd have with him that day. Also, that it seems my sacrifice of time and money (spent on my husband and me to be there) wasn't even necessary. My husband and I exchange little laughs about the situation and head off to run the route of the fair we run every year - first up, the Baby Animal Barn, known for its petting zoo appeal.

We walk in, petting the animals that look friendly enough to pet, until I come across a peacock. He's sitting with his fan-like tail closed, but thrust behind him in all its smooth perfection and color. And I can't help but stop and stare...and snap a picture between the links of the fence. He's amazing. Yet, it's weird - it's not like I've never seen a peacock before - but in that moment I am somewhat awestruck. It's a funny thing about life - that the everyday events, things, and people of life can one day change before your eyes. Or maybe it's not that they change, but you do. 

Walking to the end of the lane, with a little duck cradled in my hands, I recall the Sunday a few weeks before where I had my head bowed throughout the beginning of worship and when I looked up it was as if I'd pulled my head out of a hole and suddenly certain people stood out to me and things looked different - more clear. Life had changed drastically in my own head that week before and I knew this was a sign that I would have to change the way I carried myself in that new knowledge. Knew right then and there that letting go of my previous focuses would be difficult and even painful, but that the change must happen to fulfill the purpose God calls all believers to.

Perhaps, this too is part of it? If I am a new creation, if a stirring change takes place and continues to grow, then doesn't it follow that my perspective shift will see old things as new? Everything we saw that day was wondrous to me. We even came across a floral barn, where people had entered single flowers they'd grown themselves for competition - a mass of perfection in color and design. I don't recall ever seeing it before. How had I not known or remembered this was here? I love doing landscaping!

We pet every horse we saw, fed them straw, laughed at the silly ducks, and smiled at the wily and cuddly goats. We walked through almost every single display barn - packed with the goodness of the talents and abilities of the people of our home. We sat on a bench with our fair food and continued to sit long after, watching people walk by. And the presence of life was awe inspiring. And to think I almost missed it, all because I'd allowed my focus to shift back to the old - the worry of the day instead of its possible glory. Lord, continue to give us eyes and ears that recognize your glory and are awestruck in the moments you give.