But I did.
I asked because Allie made me a purple and crystal sparkling bracelet right before my ankle surgery this fall. She made it to coordinate with my purple, white, and black tennis shoe that adorned my left foot the last two months.
Since I'm wearing a Calvin Klein Eggplant Colored Dress to my son's upcoming wedding, I thought I should pay her to create a matching necklace. She brought over other necklaces she'd made Monday night and I put on the dress with a black lace jacket, an aging Chico's belt, crazy bejeweled earrings, and almost black Ariat riding cowboy boots.
And that's when I naïvely asked, "So what do you think, Allie? You make your own clothes. What do you think of the boots with my dress?"
Silence.
And then, "Do you really want to know?"
Hmmm...
"Well.. yes," I replied, mentally preparing for middle school candor.
"I think you look like The Magic School Bus lady... You know... Ms. Frizzle."
Doubled over in laughter, I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror.
It didn't help that my oldest son once told me I looked like Ms. Frizzle and that while we ate Chinese with grandparents last night in Athens before the annual UGA Holiday Concert, he added, "I've thought you look like Ms. Frizzle lots of times."
Oh.
About that time, I decided mom and dad and I should spend our free hour at the Stein Mart that was just around the corner, in search of tamer earrings. Endless choices overwhelmed my intake ability so I turned to updated lace jackets since mine is on loan from mom. Nature forced me to limp to the bathroom (in the back of the store) where rows of boots delayed us longer than dad had mentally prepped for. And about the time he called wondering if the store had swallowed us whole, pain shot from my Achilles up the back of my right leg. No longer concerned with boots, earrings, and jackets, I wondered how to maneuver to the front door.
Safe in the back seat of the car, mom found a handful of Advil that got me through the night. But once seated in the auditorium's handicap section (next to grandma 1 and 2 and their walkers), weariness grabbed hold. This frazzled Ms. Frizzle wasn't sure if she will ever walk normal, let alone wear shoes at her son's wedding in two weeks.
Then the house lights went down. The music started. And a chorus of voices processed in to O Come All Ye Faithful . As the singers proclaimed the age old message, I forgot about my pain. I didn't care about shoes. I hummed along with grandma 1 and 2 and allowed the music to transport me to another place where tears fell free. The kind that don't stop for a while
It happens every year. Holiday musical grandeur overwhelms me and takes me to a place I struggle to explain. For a moment, nothing here matters. Nothing. Not boots. Earrings. Achilles pain. Walking. Weddings. Nothing.
What does matters is that God is calling us to adore Him - together - in unison - as one body - in majesty and glory. And I'm always struck that whether we get it or not, there's a day when a distinct peace settles the earth and the world pauses to hear the angels sing.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not naïve. Bad things happen on Christmas.
But something divine occurs as well.
I've been playing a version of the hymn performed by the Cleveland Orchestra and weeping as I write:
O Come All Ye Faithful.
Joyful and Triumphant.
Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem.
Come and adore him,
Born the king of angels.
We've been invited to take a journey this advent season. A journey with joy. A journey of triumph. A journey to celebrate the one born the King of Angels.
So I may look like Ms. Frizzle in wedding photos. But that's OK. Because I'm going to stop worrying about boots and earrings and even pain... and relish the call, the invitation, the majesty of the hour.
O Come let us adore him. O Come let us adore him. O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.
And I know your sons - If they said you reminded them of Mrs. Frizzle it's because they think Mrs. Frizzle is someone they'd like in their lives. From what I remember Mrs. Frizzle was enthralled with the world, much too much to be worried about how she looked. You bring that kind of magic to every encounter - a magic that says, "Oh, Oh, Oh - this is wonderful! You are wonderful! Let's just enjoy this moment and each other." Not so bad, chickee!
ReplyDeleteWow. What kind words, Kay. Thanks. As the days have gone by, I'm actually becoming settled with my inner Ms. Frizzle. It's like, who else could I really be at my son's wedding? I was fighting the need to be traditional. But when has that ever defined my life!!! Love you, friend!!
ReplyDeleteHi, Susan! I found your blog through your RestMinistries.com devotional...couldn't resist reading all your entries! I, too, have had 3 surgeries in the past year (which now is a grand total of 18 surgeries since graduating high school in 1988), so I guess that funny old expression applies "I feel your pain!" You are an amazing writer. You have such a beautifully gentle way of reflecting how God takes care of those of us who deal with the loss and grief associated with chronic illness (and even truer for you, being widowed at such a young age!), and how He carries us through - whether that means a day, an hour, or a minute at a time. And I recall Mrs. Frizzle as being delightful! :) God bless you as you minister here! Very inspiring. Your song choices are touching, too. Thanks so much for stepping out in obedience and transparency in using your voice for Jesus! :) I am excited to have found your blog, and I'm really looking forward to your future entries. You seem like someone that I would have as a friend - I'm a bit of a musician, myself, too. Nice to meet you. :) ~Aileen from Idaho
ReplyDeleteDear Aileen from Idaho!! Thanks for such a sweet note!! I've been away from my blog due to the wedding followed by a piano/voice recital last weekend followed by a trip to my husband's family farm with no internet. Determined to write today... now inspired by your words. Thanks so much! Merry Christmas!!
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