The whole affair was a pretty haphazard business. At my tender age, experience was dreadfully lacking. In a months' time I had graduated from high school, turned 18, bought a house and was about to be married. Still in the blush of my youth (batting eyelashes here), I had only witnessed one wedding ever. Ever. And it was only a month before my own. Not much help.
So much of it was patched-up and thrown together at the last minute that any original plans were long forgotten. The night before the wedding, when asked, "Where are the programs?", my answer of, "What are programs?" should have been a sign that all was not well in the planning department. After breaking into the church past midnight to create and print the programs (we had permission, but no keys), the next morning was nothing less than zany. All those visions of a leisurely breakfast saying goodbye to the family were not to be. Instead, folks were rushing hither and yon and the phone was ringing off the hook. When it was my turn to take a shower, things were just settling down a bit.
Stepping out of the shower, it was eerily quiet in the house as I realized I was the only one there. It seemed that everyone assumed that someone else was taking the bride to the church. Mr. Visionary had my car, and there were no other cars home. No one was answering the church phone, and those were the days before everyone five years old and over had their own cell phones. After a half hour of frantic and futile phone calls to find someone (anyone) to drive me to the church, I finally gave up. My best laid plans were long since wrecked, and my last minute I'll-Think-Myself-Out-Of-This-Bind efforts failed as well. I was down to, "Father, if you want me to be married today, you'll need to send me a ride," which is really where I should have started.
Mr. Visionary reminded me of this story this afternoon, as I was nervously trying to think myself out of another bind. My desire for a home birth this pregnancy was overruled by nature of it being twins. No midwife would attend a twin birth at our home, forty minutes from the closest hospital, and I wouldn't feel comfortable with it, either. However, a hospital birth requires planning in the area of childcare and transportation for the laboring woman (namely Me). Therein lies the rub.
Mr. Visionary works a minimum of an hour away from home four days a week. My midwife and OB have both instructed me not to mess around, and to expect a quick labor. My labors aren't terribly long anyway (usually six hours or way less), and twin labors are known for being much shorter than "normal". If I should labor while Mr. Visionary is at work, I will need someone to take me to the hospital and someone else to stay with the children. Both of these somebodies will need to be fairly close to where I live, which is a huge obstacle in itself- I don't have many friends that live close.
My worrier nature wants to remember that my labor with the Dreamer was just over two hours, that I am already dilated several centimeters, that my first childcare plan will not be available because of her having a boatload of company coming in this week, and that I cannot drive while in labor. That is just the beginning of my list. I can think of plenty more while laying awake timing contractions.
Back to the wedding day story. When I finally gave back to Yahweh the burden of deciding how it would all work out, it did. The phone rang, and some friends from out of town were calling to see if there was anything they could do. They picked me up, and the show went on... on time even.
Mr. Visionary reminds me that the same will happen in this situation -Yahweh will provide... and that it too, will be right on time.