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