Arghhhh! My Sweet Blog Family! I can't believe how long it's been since I've posted! Too much going on, and -- GASP! -- The Holidays are right here upon us, too! I promise, though, that I HAVE been blogging in my head . . . just have trouble getting it from there to my computer screen . . . this journal entry from last Thursday a.m. might give you an idea why (and if I know ya'll, it might sound like your life, too):
Nov 04, 200 -- whoops! -- 2010 [See, friends, I couldn't even remember what year it was, much less what all I was supposed to do that particular day!]
Oh, Papa! I am so frustrated with me! I'm sitting here surrounded by gold-glittered and sequined miniature high heels and shiny black "Princess" magnets . . . sheer skinny black ribbon with white polka dots -- laced through the loop on the back of the heels ornaments -- waits to tie it all together . . . ugh! These are NOT the weights I choose to be encumbered with, and yet, I AM. Weighed down, that is. Burdened. With glitter. How utterly silly is this? Yes, utterly!
I must make better, wiser choices.
Okay, here's what was goin' on. Every First-Thursday-of-November, our women's ministry at church hosts something wonderful that we call The Tapestry Dinner. There are oodles of big round tables for eight set up throughout the fellowship hall and the emptied-out chapel, and each one is hosted and DECORATED by a different woman, and it is a feast for the eyes! Each table has a unique personality (directly related to its hostess, of course) and theme, and, "Oh, my!" (as my little friend from Tennessee would say), the creativity! (Women begin pouring in way before the appointed dinner hour just so they have time to take in all of the table schemes -- I'm telling you, IT IS FABULOUS!) And, just in case you're wondering, yes, every woman brings her own dishes, flatware, glassware, etc., but the meal -- everything from the salad to the dessert -- is served up on clear plastic-ware that's then placed on the hostesses own tableware so that the diner gets the effect of the beautiful plates but the hostess doesn't end up dragging home a bunch of dirty dishes. (Just our flatware and glasses, but that's no biggie.)
Sistas, I do looooove to decorate! But ya'll also know that my main work is over at the School House. (Usually until 5:30 or 6:00 each evening.) So for the past couple of years that I've hosted a table, I've packed up my stuff into plastic bins, my sweet St. Michael has hauled them up to the Church House, and then my fellow sista-hostesses have set up my table for me, leaving only the fun, final decorating tweaks for me to do. (Ya'll also know that I'm not much on work -- I just like the fun stuff -- so, of course, this has worked out perfectly for me.)
Well, I digress, but I just tell ya'll that, so's you'll understand where I was the other morning as I wrote those "I'm so frustrated with me" words. I hadn't really planned to do a table, but my friend, the director of women's ministries, said she really needed me to (and you know that people in ministry never exaggerate or lie), and well, I'm a sucker for a pretty face (Lora is a doll), so, of course, I said I would . . . with not one idea or thought in the world as to what I would do for my particular table this year . . . and did I mention that I went out of town (to Canton's First Monday!) the weekend before the dinner? (My sista, Beverly, and I kept telling each other that it was research for our tables.)
So Wednesday night I'm finally putting together my plan (yeah, and the dinner is Thursday, you did read that correctly), trying to find all my stuff, and runnin' off to Dollar Tree to find glittery high heel Christmas ornaments and then painting "Princess" magnets and then remembering, too, that -- CRAP! (Hey, I'm just being honest here) -- grades are due at the School House this coming Monday . . . and all the while wondering if this dinner table thing was even something I was supposed to be doing. (Please read those last few words in a verrrrrrrry spiritual tone of voice.) ARGHHHH!
[Okay, I feel better now. Let's go on . . . ]
It all sounds funny now, but, trust me, when I was trying to get up on Thursday morning and running back and forth between the School House and Casa St. Michael during my off period and lunch break and then loading up my stuff and hauling it up to the church house and sweatin' like a hog in my cute long-sleeved (what was I thinkin?) funky top while throwing plates and glasses and shoes (I'll explain in a minute) on my table, I was NOT laughing!
For the record, my table was freaking adorable! I found and printed out a verse in Song of Solomon that says, "How beautiful are your feet in their shoes, O king's daughter! The curves of your legs are like jewels, the work of the hand of a good workman" (7:1, Bible in Basic English), and I used all kinds of fabulous, funky stiletto heels (that belong to Baby Daughter) as the centerpiece. (I know it sounds weird, but, trust me, it was C - U - T - E - N- E - S - S to the max! Maybe I can post a picture later.) But, y'see, that's part of the problem. It all turned out okay, so I'm tempted to do this craziness again next year!
That's why it's sooooo hard to determine when to say "yes" and when to say "no" to things. I'm old enough to have learned that sometimes we need to say "no" to even good things because that's just not where our focus needs to be at a particular time. Or should I -- knowing that a good thing is coming up -- and that I'll probably want to do that good thing -- plan ahead and thus plan better? (And, therefore, not let the glitter get so under my skin, so to speak, 'cause it feels so last minute?)
Heck, I don't know! THIS is why it's so hard being a woman. A woman who loves glitter and cuteness but loves the Lord more and just wants to shine where He wants me to shine but who, alas, sometimes lets herself get too busy to hear where, exactly, that is.
Girlfriends, I know you've been there too. Maybe are there right now. Well, sistas, I, for one, am determining to listen better. After all -- GASP! -- did I mention that The Holidays are coming? (And we don't wanna miss 'em 'cause we're so crazy-busy thinking that WE are the reason for the season, that WE have to make 'em happen!)
Listen. Listen up.
I think I might hear a few dozen eleven-, twelve-, and thirteen-year olds who need me . . .
Be still for a minute. Listen. What are you hearing, my sweet sistas?
Trying to shine in all the right places,