My oldest had asked to go to prom. The Homeschool Prom. I laughed at first, irony at its finest I thought.
“Mom please. My friends are going and I think it’ll be fun.”
After some research and such, I agreed.
She counted down the days. We borrowed a dress. She texted her Grandmother and Aunt Kel to let them know Prom was a go.
The Countdown reached its single digit numbers. Preparation plans firmed up within the context of a Girls’ Day Out.
The morning of the prom we met early at a fancy full service salon, the kind that offers bottled water only and boasts fanciful cosmetics and skin care products. All manner of Skin Serums guaranteed to rejuvenate and excite skin with moisture, yielding one soft and supple skin. Last I checked that was also known as lotion, but I reckon at $25 per ounce, just putting “Lotion” on the bottle rather than “Skin Serum” would be poor marketing.
My sister, who has a much better handle on what is fashionable and trendy took charge, ordering updos and treatments. I stood to the side, not really knowing what, much less how I should request the aforementioned full services. My sister ordered a blow out for me. I’ll be honest I glanced in the direction of the bathroom wondering if the salon blow out was the same as the blow out with which I was most familiar. Seeing the obvious concern on my face she said,
“They are going to fix your hair. Calm down. It’s my treat.”
As I sat in the chair I was asked multiple questions like, “What treatments for your hair do you participate in?”
“Um, I wash it.”
The stylist, clearly not amused, then asked what style I would like my hair.
“Whatever you think. I’m not picky.”
Obviously I am not stylishly astute. I have a particular pair of shoes I wear nearly all of the time. They are comfortable and they are my favorites. They do not particularly match anything I wear but as I said they’re my favorites. They are evidence of my function-over-fashion mentality.
The stylist fastened the cape around my neck and proceeded to carry on with her tasks.
At the end of it all, my girl had a beautiful updo and I had been blown-out to look like a fancier version of myself.
We declared we had just enough time for a sit down lunch, and headed to a favorite Bistro-type restaurant. I’ve come to realize Bistro just means, “you’ll probably have to wait a little while to be seated.”
As we finished our delicious meal and prepared to pay our check and move on to the next item in the day of special preparation, my oldest put her eating utensils down, indicating she was finished.
My sister looked at her and said, “You full?”
My girl nodded.
“You don’t want to be all bloated in that dress. You have good panties?”
I nearly spit my water with lemon all over the table. I nearly choked. My oldest looked as alarmed as I had over the aforementioned blowout confusion earlier that day. This time though, I knew what she meant.
I clarified. “She means, you’re going to want good support under your dress.”
A wave of relief visibly washed over my girl.
Sometimes we just need clarification. A translator of sorts. The Holy Spirit was a promised Helper, a translator of sorts. When the Holy Spirit lives in us then He has the ability and is willing to translate those words or phrases. In fact, he can and will translate the very heart of God for us.
And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever— the Spirit of truth…. the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. John14:16 & 26
But wait! Upon further investigation (i.e. crawling through the basement duct work, removing the basement ceiling, following the traces they had left behind) we found that they had not JUST shown up – they had been there long enough for momma raccoon to do some nesting, have a full litter of babies, wean them, and begin to train them in the habits of nightly scavenging hunts.
(Ephesians 6:13-18). The weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but are powerful through God for the demolition of strongholds (2 Corinthians 10:4). With the spiritual weapons we have been given we no longer allow him to wreak havoc in our lives, destroying our homes, our families and our relationships, but rather we take action and stand firm against him.
We sat at our kitchen table in the dark for a long, long time. I held his hands. He spoke broken sentences about fear and failure and sadness and worry. But much of what he communicated, even in the heavy blackness was too agonizing for words. Psalm 77:4 says “I am so troubled that I cannot speak,” and that is exactly where he was. There was nothing I could do but cry out to God on His behalf. The more he expressed his despair, the more the Spirit of God reminded me of truth—the reality of living on these earthly shores is suffering, but God is not a God who is far away, He is a God who is near. 
Jesus understands our weaknesses because He walked through them. He knows anguish. He knows sadness and heartache. Because He knows, we can come before him knowing He will receive us with mercy and grace and will carry us in the valley and walk with us as we find our way to standing firm in the truth. 
applicable where I am concerned. I’ve come to realize that is only disturbing to those who are. My husband is a music person. He can hear a tune once, maybe twice and can make those same sounds come out of a guitar. The bass kind. There are different kinds of guitars, but music people already know that to be true. It took me years to learn that.
A few years back, when GPS was still in its infancy and definitely before cars had them built-in, we took a long family trip to upstate New York. Quite a ways from dear ole Birmingham, Alabama. Because we’d be traveling so far and through areas unfamiliar to us, we purchased a GPS for our vehicle.
hesitantly got off the interstate as directed. We immediately encountered traffic, wove our way on a curvy 2-lane road, got delayed by local road repairs, and an hour or so later, found ourselves getting back on the interstate less than 20 miles from where we’d gotten off! We never knew if the path we took had been the best or not, never determined if there had been a wreck or a road closure, or nothing at all that caused our grand detour. We simply trusted the “expert,” the machine, and as my husband likes to say, “It is what it is.”
caught a glimpse of movement. I determined I needed my own readers to clearly see what she was pointing at. A tiny, less than half an inch sand crab. She had liberated it from the washed up tangle and it was scurrying to safety.
He reminded me of the devotional I was reading, “One Thousand Gifts” and of the list of thanksgiving that I had begun to write. Remember the song? “Count your many blessings, name them one by one…”
Priceless 