The last bucket

In 2015, I was preparing to retire after a long career in interior design. I once said, “Interior design is not for sissies; it’s for lumberjacks!” Years of climbing ladders, hammering nails, and cutting my fingers on steel tape measures are not as glamorous as some believe. However, I did love and appreciate my clients and the opportunity God gave me to provide for my children.

After 43 years in the field, I decided to shelve my toolbox as my birthday approached in September. Earlier that year, in July, my good friend Ricki was celebrating a significant birthday, so a group of us decided to throw her an all-girls surprise party.

Ricki, a retired school counselor, is a ray of sunshine in a dark room. She is effervescent, funny, and always planning great adventures. Once, she asked me, “Lynn, what’s on your bucket list?”

“What’s that?” I replied.

She seemed shocked that I didn’t understand and explained the peculiar thing people do when they dream about the next item on their life agenda. Whether it’s a trip to an exotic location or an addition to their house, I realized that those kinds of aspirations would likely never be part of my life.

“Ricki, for most of my life, my only thought has been getting to the end of the month with a few dollars left in the bank. Does that count as a bucket list?”

We all laughed when Ricki announced a new bucket list item, but we were amazed to learn that she returned from every journey with empty pails. I really admire anyone who sets goals and goes out to achieve them. Hooray for Ricki!

We decided to decorate for her party by hanging various pink buckets from the chandeliers.  Other buckets held serving utensils, ice, napkins, and even became part of a party game.

As each guest arrived, they were invited to write down a personal bucket list item without including their names. They then tossed their slips of paper into a larger pink bucket in the foyer.

Ricki was pleasantly surprised to find all her friends gathered to celebrate her special day and giggled at the sight of all the pails surrounding her.

Later in the evening, we settled in the living room to play the game.

I decided to pull out the individual bucket list items and read the notes aloud. The crowd had to guess who had written each goal. A couple of the women had the same wish: “I would like to take a trip with George Clooney to Lake Como in Italy!”

Some dreams were outrageous, while others were more serious. Just as I was in the middle of reading, I paused and exclaimed, “Oh my! I forgot to write my own, so excuse me while I run to do so and toss it in the bucket with the rest.”

I quickly grabbed a notepad and was about to write, “I would like to take one more road trip across the country.”

However, I didn’t write that. Instead, I jotted down a different sentence. After throwing it in the bucket and returning to the game, I kept wondering, “Why did I do that?!”

Finally, I drew my note and read aloud:

“Write articles for newspapers and stay alive!”

Ricki saved that little note. Today it’s framed – a reminder that God can use an ordinary evening with friends to change the direction of a life.

Two months later, I was still alive and actively writing newspaper columns.

I know most of the time we cannot grasp the full extent of what God can do. His power is beyond our understanding, and His plans often do not fit neatly within our reasoning.

I don’t know why God led me toward this path, but I have enough faith to keep following it.  For years, I felt a quiet urging to write things down, to remember, and to see life through the lens of a story. Only later did I understand that prompting more clearly – especially after I wrote those words on a slip of paper and dropped it into a pink bucket.

There’s no telling what God can do for you, me, or this world if we simply believe and listen to the voices and dreams that exist within us all. Sometimes, we just need to have faith in something much bigger than ourselves and in someone wiser and more knowledgeable who uses us for a greater purpose.

That was my only life bucket list item, and it was all I needed.

I am still alive after writing a column each week for eleven years.