Hiram and I spent part of Sunday at the Iowa State Fair. We ate artery-clogging junk food on a stick and looked at the butter cow, which was pretty cool and the butter Shawn Johnson, which was pretty strange. Her pony tail was good, but how do you sculpt a form-fitting leotard out of butter, and even if you do, what kind of cholesterol/exercise mixed message does it send to our country’s young people?
We wandered to the cattle barn, which during my dad’s State Fair glory days was where he slept for the duration of the festivities each year. But Sunday was the fair’s last day and we got to the barn after all the cattle had been sent home, along with their owners. All that remained was an odor which Dad called the smell of money. We dutifully inhaled. But a slightly green cast to our skin was as close as we came to finding any money. So we went next door to the Livestock Pavilion and watched the dog agility training. After that we took in the cloggers at Pioneer Hall and looked at the antiques.
But to be honest, we were just killing time, waiting for eight o’clock and the grandstand show – Garrison Keillor’s Rhubarb Tour. Hiram got the tickets in June and gave them to me in July for my birthday. And we’d been looking forward to the show ever since.
The night was everything wonderful. The weather cooperated – no wind, pleasant temperatures, even a full moon rising in the east. Our seats in the ninth row were the best in the grandstand. Garrison came out right on time and did all the right stuff, singing and joking, telling stories. The Powdermilk Biscuit Band had Hiram drooling and Fred Newman’s sound effects were hilarious. Suzy Bogguss sang and strummed her guitar beautifully. And a little boy named Andrew, the winner of this year’s Bill Riley Talent Search, wowed the crowd with his phenomenal piano performance.
All evening, I experienced a profound sense of joy and gratitude. At moments, it seemed almost too much blessing – to see such performers on such a perfect evening, to be healthy enough to enjoy them with a husband who has loved me for thirty-one years. Why should I receive such blessings when so many people around the world are suffering?
That’s a question I can’t answer, one I plan to ask God someday when we meet face to face. I’m not sure what He’ll look like, but I’ve already got a pretty good picture of heaven in my mind.
It’ll be a lot like Iowa on a perfect August evening. I can hardly wait.
