Going Out For Ice Cream

We have many birthday traditions as a family.
Some had to change as my adult children move on to their own places.
Some remain the same, when it is possible.

The birthday person always got to pick their favorite dinner.
They never had to share their birthday toys that day, though it was more fun to share.
The birthday signs were hung in various places; one was always hung on their door.

The special, made-from-scratch birthday cake was baked.
The smells of chocolate and cinnamon wafted upstairs.
Birthday candles, with one to grow on, were set aside for later.

This week we celebrate our daughter’s birthday.
The teacher with the July birthday just like me; the one born in a heat wave 28 years ago.
The one who, like me, loves her traditions and is not a fan of change.

She wanted to go to her favorite ice cream parlor in the place that rejuvenates my soul.
We drive pass Amish buggies, and refresh ourselves as we gaze over the farmland.
We talk about nothing and everything; we sing along to favorite music; we remember.

Even though we will go to a favorite restaurant for dinner, the ice cream is a “have-to.”
This is a wonderful ice cream shop in the center of a quaint town.
It has a general store in the back and candy counters in the front where fudge is made.

The store used to have a player piano but too many people played too many songs.
The owner removed it.
I hope it is in a safe place where all antique player pianos go when they have served well.

This ice cream parlor makes its own waffle cones.
When they make some that are not the shape they desire, they break them in little pieces.
Those pieces are in small bags tied with ribbons, ready to be sprinkled on your ice cream.

I have my own ice cream parlor memories.
When my husband and I were dating, we went to a place that was set off the road a bit.
It was a restaurant that served sandwiches in baskets and had delicious ice cream.

It was the place to go with its tall wooden booths.
The tables were made of thick wood.
Somewhere along the line, someone carved initials in one of the tables.

And history was made.

All the tables had initials carved in them.
One night, my future husband carved our initials in a table as well.
It was our spot and pity the person who sat in our spot when we came in the door.

Trouble is, it was the spot for so many couples.
Many people claimed ownership of a particular table.
It belonged to us; it belonged to everyone.

There was another ice cream parlor that strictly sold ice cream.
It had the old fashioned metal tables and chairs and the ice cream freezer behind glass.
Tubs of ice cream were there for you to choose; metal scoops dug deep to fill your dish.

This ice cream parlor had benches outside.
On a summer night, it was the place to be.
One night, my future husband took his key and carved our initials there, too.

Fast forward many years, three of our five children were born.
We decided to go back and show them these places.
Places that meant more to us than they ever would to them.

We drove into the parking lot of the place with its sandwiches in baskets and ice cream.
We went inside, ready to show them our spot, our initials in the table.
I wondered if they would ask to carve their initials there, too.

We opened the door, and it was as if we walked through the wardrobe into Narnia.
Nothing was as it had been before.
Wooden booths with their high backs were now dignified table and chairs.

Tables that had history carved into every available space, we now new and wipe-able.
I wanted to walk right back out and get in the car and leave; but I said nothing.
I looked at my husband but saw that though he noticed, he understood the change.

A silly lump came into my throat.
I suddenly grew up, right there inside the door.
The place had the same name but was not at all familiar to me.

We ordered our sandwiches that were served on plates.
Someone spilled a drink on the wipe-able tables.
I guess we did leave our mark in some small way.

The more things change, the more they stay the same is not necessarily true.
Things change and sometimes we don’t like it when they do.
If truth were told, we change, or at least we should.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old is gone, the new has come!
(2 Corinthians 5:17)

When we come to Christ, we still have our marks left from times in our past.
There they are, imbedded in us like the initials that were carved on the table.
Except in Christ, we will one day no longer have our scars; no longer have our marks.
But Jesus will.

We will be made new, like the wipe-able tables that replaced the old ones.
Our sin will be wiped away; we are clean, forgiven.
When we see our Lord Jesus face to face, we will know Him by His scars.

Each one of our names is engraved on the palm of His hand.
We left our mark on Him.
He wiped us clean.

It is a necessary change, a good change, a permanent change.
Thank you, sweet Jesus.

 

2 responses to “Going Out For Ice Cream”

1. Oh, it had to be the Dairy Cottage. When the boys were younger, I built up a wonderful story about it and took them in for a treat. I grew up that day too…

   Reply

   • Cathy,
     You are right! I am happy to know that someone else was not thrilled with the changes. Now the real test…where was the other ice cream parlor?
     Regina

     Reply