No Plans on a Holiday Weekend? Do This.

If man isn't meant to be alone, why do I spend every holiday weekend by myself?

I've never been a fan of the three day weekend.

Well, I suppose I liked them when I was in school, and a three day weekend meant three days without school. And back in another lifetime, when I was an employee, a day off work meant a day's less work to do. But now I work for myself, so there's really no such thing as a "day off" (or a weekend, or a "quitting time").

The work is the work, and it all has to get done.

So, about a week before Independence Day, Labor Day, Memorial Day, or Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I say to myself: Oh, I guess other people won't be working next Monday.

Do I take the day off? After all, a typical three day weekend holiday is not a real holiday like Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving where my whole family gets together and we make big meals and go to church together and all of that.

It's just sort of a quasi-holiday—just enough of a holiday to tempt single people to feel pathetic for not having any plans.

Do any of you do this? "I wasn't invited anywhere for Blah-Blah Day." So I stay at home. I run errands. I clean my house. I work.

And, just once or twice during the day, I think about all of those other people out there—all of those families and their wonderful barbecues and softball games and spontaneous singing in four-part harmony or whatever it is they do in their fabulous community-filled lives.

I've decided that this is a rather stupid way to live.

If you don't have plans, do this ...

So, last year, I sent out an email to a handful of my friends. Basically I said "Anyone who is plan-less on July 4th, please come to my house and let's BBQ."

At the end of the day I was tired, but my heart was full. And so was my house ... all day. Eight kids under six years old. Eleven adults, including my parents, my brother, my sister and several of my best friends. It was a little bit chaotic, and it was awesome.

Guess what?

All of those families that I just assumed were busy with their exciting lives? They had no plans either (for all I know, they may have been secretly feeling just a little bit pathetic about it, too), and had assumed that I was busy with my exciting, glamorous single life.

They were grateful for the invitation.

I didn't do a lot of work. I bought a bunch of burgers, a couple bags of Ore-Ida frozen fries, some beer and a box of sangria.  (Oddly, the boxed stuff is pretty darned good!)

I asked the others to bring side dishes and desserts, and we had a feast.

I need to do a lot more of this. And I suspect many of you do, too.

Often, single people tend to be guests more often that we're hosts. We don't think we're "equipped" to entertain at home. We think: Why would a family want to come to my house? I don't have a

big house or playroom or a bunch of toys.

Well, eight kids just spent an entire afternoon in my unfinished basement. And based on the laughter we heard, I think they were having a pretty good time. I'm not entirely sure what they were doing, but I'm told that at least part of it involved killing spiders and making forts with my old sofa cushions.

No unfinished basement? Cramped walk-up apartment?

Invite people to the park. Most cities have parks with rentable picnic shelters, and the rates are cheap. (Next weekend I'm renting one that seats 80 people, and it's costing me 40 bucks.)

We all need community. We are made for it.

The point is, we all need community. We're made for it.

St. John Paul II wrote about the "communion of persons" that God created between Adam and Eve. We were created not to live lives of isolation, but of interconnectedness.

The family is the "prototype" of the communion of persons—a group of people who live not just for themselves, but for each other.

Just sitting at home and waiting for invitations isn't enough. We have to open our homes, and our lives, to those around us. We have to get into the mix. Once we do that, amazing things start to happen.

I may even start looking forward to three day weekends.