Dad was praying before dinner tonight and prayed for patience for the wedding. Mom and I both about jumped across the table at him. You don't pray for patience...you pray for grace. There's a BIG difference. Less than 20 minutes later, mom's cell rings. It's the banquet manager at the reception venue. I signed a confirmation contract with the event coordinator on Thursday for 35, 8-person round tables. She was calling to say that they only have 24, they've only ever had 24, and there's no way the event coordinator would have even suggested we could have 35. After dad had a rather lengthy conversation with her, which included her laughing at dad when he told her we had 257 confirmed as coming (she said we'd be lucky to have 100 show up...mom said she'd be chasing down 157 people if that happens), she said she would go back and count again.
She called later and said they had 30 tables, but will procure 5 more tables for Saturday.
Don't pray for patience.