As I write this, Joshua sits under a shade tree in my grandparent’s Florida lawn calling pastors and wearing two hats. The lime green ball cap keeps the sun out of his eyes, and as he says, “fits his head nicely.” The straw hat belongs to my five foot seven inch grandfather and doesn’t fit so nicely. But perched on top of the ball cap, it protects Joshua’s ears from sun burn.
Joshua’s pragmatic use of the two hats looks odd, and it makes me laugh. I think to myself, “It’s at least a two hat day.”
As a child one of my favorite books was A Three Hat Day by Laura Geringer. In the book R.R. Pottle the Third has a schmourgesboard collection of hats. ” He loved fur hats and fireman’s helmets and felt hats with feathers tucked in the bands. He loved top hats and tiny hats. He loved silk hats and straw hats and sailor hats. He loved berets and bonnets and bathing caps and bowlers”(8). You get the idea.
Each day R.R. Pottle determines the number of hats he will wear based on his mood. One day he feels so sad and so lonely that he dons not one, not two, but three hats to cheer himself up. And as it turns out this eccentric habit leads him to find true happiness when he finds the perfect wife (of course a hat lover) in the (where else but the) hat section of a department store.
I’m under no delusion that the source of true happiness can be found by walking around town sporting a column of hats on my head or even in my wonderful husband. I have a much more perfect source of joy: my heavenly Father. And as my creator He knows me so perfectly. And because of this perfect knowledge, He knows better than anyone how to care for me and how to cheer me.
I’m still grieving the loss of my baby, and better than anyone else, the Lord knows and understands the heaviness that seems permanently lodged in my chest. Perhaps that’s why he let me get a glimpse of my husband’s two-hat day. It made me laugh. And the laugh was healing.