A couple of months ago, my son acquired this immense sign used in a local drama production of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and I accompanied him when he picked it up. We have a history of moving items that require being strapped down on trailers or protruding from various windows of vehicles or beds of trucks. Some of those incidents include retrieving boards from a steep, snowy mountain road where they slid from the bed of my truck because the strap broke, losing one of my son’s downhill skis after hitting a frost heave hard enough to propel it from the bed of my truck, and nearly being flattened when trying to load a motorcycle up a ramp into the bed of my truck–okay, maybe most of our memorable fiascos involved objects escaping the bed of my truck, but I also have photographic evidence of various furniture and miscellaneous home improvement items like crown moulding extending from every window of cars and SUV’s. Suffice it to say, I’ve had enough experience in this realm to be somewhat pessimistic regarding the feasibility of moving something from point A to point B.
“Don’t worry, Mom, it won’t be like that time we….”
My son, on the other hand, always takes the optimistic point of view. Before he opens his mouth to speak, I can already hear him saying lines like “It’ll fit,” or “That’ll work,” or “Don’t worry, Mom, it won’t be like that time we….” Even when I’ve had significant and justifiable concerns about some of his endeavors, he somehow manages to be successful in making things happen. All of this to say, the “You are now in Bedford Falls” sign fell into this category of “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to move that in this vehicle.”
The place where one rediscovers his faith or the value and purpose in life.
With about six or seven feet of sign projecting from the back window of my son’s SUV, we embarked on our expedition home; my son drove, and I embraced the front end of this massive wooden sign to keep it from bouncing up and damaging the dash or ceiling of his vehicle. We reminisced about crazier times when we’d moved things together, and then he impulsively asked, “Do you think getting this was a good idea?” Glancing back at the length of the sign, the end of which was bouncing somewhat tauntingly well behind the SUV, my eyes settled on the words, and I was able to articulate what that sign symbolized to me. Bedford Falls. The place where revelation and clarity and new vision reside. The place where one rediscovers his faith or the value and purpose in life. The pivotal moment or even the extended event when one learns a memorable lesson that changes his perspective forever.
My son and I continued to pitch ideas back and forth as we drove the 45 minutes to his house. The sign arrived in one piece, and my arms held the indentations to mark my contribution in that effort. Although my son attempted to convince me that he and I could secure it in place high on the wall of his screen room, I also have enough experience to know my limitations in that realm as well, so I declined to participate in lieu of someone stronger and more agile than I am.
Life rarely deals an uneventful journey or a seamless transition…
Every time I walk out into his screen room and see that sign, I am reminded of what it represents. Life rarely deals an uneventful journey or a seamless transition, but I don’t have to wait for an annual Christmas movie to remember that I’m always in Bedford Falls. Having a colossal sign in front of me helps.
