Heaven Sent
(aka)
When Change Blew In
By Loretta Morris
1999 was not a good year. Newly divorced and trying to keep up with a mountain of bills was becoming more of a challenge than I’d ever expected. In the past, weekly trips to the grocery store involved a bulging cart and a credit card. Now, $40.00 cash, a calculator, and crossed fingers were the new normal. My two children, ages 6 and 9, received birthday party invitations by the dozens, but the required gifts were proving to be such a strain on the budget, that I had to RSVP “no” to all except the closest of their friends. Lots of people helped in small, but much appreciated ways. After hearing of my difficulties my church graciously waived the fee for the kids’ religious education, a neighbor fixed our lawnmower, a friend dropped off a box of gently used clothes, all in my children’s sizes. And although I was blessed with a good teaching job and received child support, the bills still piled up: mortgage, car payment, insurance, outstanding lawyer fees, daycare, and on and on and on.
When summer came, my kids naturally wanted to go on vacation. They saw all of their friends jetting off to exciting places – – the Caribbean, the Grand Canyon, and even to a castle in Austria – – and they wondered why we couldn’t do the same. Not wanting to burden them with our financial problems, I made up one excuse after another.
Aware of my situation, my two good friends, Bonnie and Carol, called me and told me about a plan they had been cooking up. “How would you like to go on a ‘Women
and Children Only’ camping trip?” they asked me. Our destination would be the Yogi Bear Campground in Amboy, Illinois.
Perfect! It wasn’t too expensive or too far away, and we’d save money by bringing our own food. There were tons of activities included for the kids, like mini-golf, swimming, crafts, and fishing. They were sure to have a good old-fashioned blast for not a lot of money.
“We have all the camping gear we need,” Bonnie said, “except we’re short a tent.” Between us there would be three adults and seven kids, so we decided that three tents would be needed: one for the grown-ups, one for the girls, and one for the boys. I was given the job of finding a tent. The date was set, the site reserved, and the sleeping bags aired out. We’d be off to Jellystone Park in two weeks.
I called everyone I could think of, but no one – not friends, or relatives, or co-workers -had a tent to lend when we needed it. Since money was so tight, I couldn’t part with the close to $100.00 price of a small, three-man tent. I knew either Bonnie or Carol would most likely be able to locate one, but since the divorce I felt like I was always asking people for favors. They had asked me to do this, and I was determined to find us a tent one way or another. But how?
My dilemma took an amazing and unbelievable turn a few days later. One windy evening as I opened the garage door to take the trash cans to the curb, something in the front yard caught my eye. A large, dark object was caught in the low branches of the linden tree next to the driveway. The object was big. Really big. And it was shaped like a…a….tent! Daylight was fading fast, and I couldn’t quite make out all the details, but, as I cautiously approached the tree, the image became perfectly clear. It was a tent, a small 3-person tent, fully intact, gently swaying back and forth in the breeze.
My mouth flew open, and I quickly looked around, sure that someone was playing a weird joke. There was no one around. Not knowing what else to do, I got a ladder, untangled it from the branches, wrestled it into the garage, and then just sat and stared.
The zippered entrance flap was open, and inside I found a lone sweat sock, dirty and damp, so I knew the tent had recently been used. Our house is located about two miles from a Boy Scout campground, and I figured that it must have somehow blown over the trees and into my neighborhood after it had been emptied and the stakes removed. I imagined how surprised and helpless those boys must have felt as they watched their tent take flight and disappear!
The next morning I drove over to the camp ground, found the caretaker, and told him my bizarre story. “No,” he laughed, no one had reported a lost tent, and that was a new one on him. He promised he’d make some calls and get back to me if he found out
anything. I went back home and walked up and down the block, ringing doorbells, telling and retelling my story, looking for the owner. None was found.
My kids had spent the night at their dad’s house, and, upon their return home, were delighted to see a tent set up in the garage. I told them the whole unbelievable story, but warned that we might have to give it back if the owner was located. It was then that my son, the 6 year old, said matter-of-factly, “It’s probably from Heaven.”
I was kind of stunned, and all I could say was, “Yeah, that’s got to be it.”
After they ran off to tell their friends, I sat down, bewildered, and finally had a good, long cry. I knew my son was right. For the first time since the divorce I could feel the weight of the world lifting from my shoulders, and money problems or not, I knew we’d be OK. Someone “up there” was looking out for us.
The camping trip was everything I had hoped it would be. We didn’t need a cruise ship on the Caribbean; we had giant inner tubes on Lake Cindy Bear. We didn’t need to fly off to Grand Canyon National Park to hike the tourist-clogged trails; we found the equally well-worn trails of Jellystone Park just perfect. And accommodations? We didn’t need a castle with luxurious king-size beds; we were happy with air mattresses in the little gray tent that had blown into our lives like a tumbleweed.
Over the years we used our tent for several more camping trips and backyard adventures. Eventually, because of rips and leaks, I replaced it with a much larger 5-person model. Today it lives in a box in the basement, and whenever I come across it, I smile and remember how this precious gift from heaven showed up one windy summer night long ago.
Maybe 1999 wasn’t such a bad year after all.