She handed me the bag with a fancy boutique name I could not pronounce,

“You won’t forget will you?”

My Mama knows my nature to forget things, I assured her I would not. I put the Boutique bag beside me on the front seat. She had told me it was a shirt for a coworker. I knew what she meant. The natural assumption would not have been that Mama went to the fancy Boutique store, the kind with a name that is pronounced “Booty-que” instead of ”Boutique.”

I knew for a fact she was not likely to have been into the fancy store with the fancy name as it was likely located in a mall. She hates to “shop,” is fairly practical, and typically “shops” the on-sale racks. She is always stylishly put together but a less than sticker price cost. When we were teenagers and would go shopping, she spoke the same mantra prior to entering the store, a shopping with teenage girls sort of battle cry,

“I am not buying it unless it’s on sale!”

She wasn’t dressed in a tartan nor did she have her face painted as William Wallace running headlong into a field of enemies, but she was firm. She said it and she meant it. If those name brand jeans that everybody wore and wanted weren’t on sale, we knew not to even ask. The battle cry has become my own as I now too, shop with teenage girls.

My Mama is a mender of things. Hemmer of garments, repairer of zippers, sewer of stuff. Someone is forever asking her to perform the aforementioned to garments and things. She has a standard response, “Let me take a look at it and I’ll see what I can do.” I am not a mender, I do not know my way around a needle and thread like she does. My work is sloppy and elementary compared to hers. I struggle with basics, however, one of my most fond memories of growing up is when she taught my sister and me to sew a quilt square. I chose the “Ohio Star,” a series of squares and triangles sewn together to form something of beauty.

That day she waved in my rearview as I drove away with the unseen garment in the bag. I had no idea what she had done to it. She’d said it was a shirt but that’s all I knew really. I was just the courier. I have transported formal gowns, wedding dresses, swimsuits, pants, dress shirts, Bermuda shorts, a pair of firefighter bunker pants, little bitty baby birthday bow ties. The items she has touched and relinquished to me to return are too numerous to recall.

I made my way to my destination, half forgetting the bag on the seat beside me. As I pulled into my parking space I was mentally mapping out how I would return the garment to its rightful owner. She is one whom I love and adore so and was trying to configure how I just might fit in a quick visit. I was thinking as I realized I was parked crooked so I backed out of my space, looked left and right, and pulled back in just a smidge straighter. I noticed to my left one who was going to the same final destination as the package that I had been entrusted with.

I rolled my window down and yelled her name to get her attention, “Hey can you take this to Casey Rae for me? It’s from Mama!” She nodded and came closer to my cattywampus van. I thanked her as she took hold of the still unseen shirt. I straightened up again, and by the time I exited my van the shirt and the new courier were long gone. I had done my job, I knew that I had handed the precious cargo off to one who was trustworthy and would, in fact, deliver it accordingly.

That evening, Mama asked me, “Did you give the shirt to Casey Rae?”

“No Ma’am, not exactly,” I said in between bites and looked up to see her expression. I knew she would be disappointed; I had not completed my task.

I mumbled between bites, “I gave it to Moffis to give to her.” Mama nodded in approval knowing that the shirt arrived to its owner promptly and just as she had intended it to. As we carried on our conversation about other things I thought about how that bag from the fancy Boutique had been in a sort of a relay, many hands touching it, transporting it, for the achievement of a common goal. Each of the couriers playing a role seemingly unimportant but in reality just as significant as the Mender’s role. I was reminded of this verse, found in 1 Corinthians 3:6

I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.

That verse says that in the Kingdom our jobs may not be equal, may not seem to be of the same caliber, but are all important. Ultimately it is God who does the big work, the work of Salvation, but every time we carry the gospel to another, we are a part of that work. When I handed off that package to Moffis, I didn’t go into a full explanation of the contents, no more than Mama had when she handed it to me. Yet, our work, the delivery of a fancy bag and its contents, was as crucial as the mending had been. Perhaps if I were writing that verse to fit that scenario it’d read something like this:

Mama mended, Amy carried, and Moffis delivered.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Disney World. My little girl grew up and married her handsome prince. What can I say? He takes her now. I was going on this trip, but I was going to babysit in the hotel – until they decided not to take the baby. What can I say, my granddaughter only turns 4 once.

There were quite a few differences in my trip 18 years ago.  The one thing that struck me as so cute was all the little princesses that were visiting the park. There were princesses of all ages, cultures, and languages. I saw Cinderella, Ariel, Snow White, Belle, Mulan, Tiana, Jasmine, Rapunzel, and Aurora. I even saw a few Tinker Bells and a few Simbas. Then there were the Star Wars characters and the Princes. It was precious. The children could be whoever they wanted to be. It’s Disney Magic. We went to the Bibbidy, Bobbidy, Boutique and had a “Fairy God Mother in Training” dress up our little birthday girl. We had a wonderful time watching her as she became the princess on the outside that she is on the inside.

Disney World is definitely a place full of wonder and joy where your handsome prince could be just around the corner. Life is magical there unless you want a snack and your goldfish cheese crackers are actually shaped like goldfish and not Mickey Mouse. Can you imagine someone offering you fish-shaped goldfish in Disney World? Is that even allowed? Or what if your graham crackers are not in full crackers but part of them have broken off. How could that possibly happen?

How can anything not be perfect in Disney World?

Imagine reality settling in. Eventually, that is what happens to all of us. What happens when that handsome prince turns out to be the proverbial frog? Or when you lose your glass slipper for good? Or when snacks do not meet your expectations? Or if your job loses its magic? That exciting job has lost its luster. Or the boss says you are no longer needed? What happens when the money runs out? Or maybe sickness has entered the picture. Perhaps infertility.

God tells us in his word to “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6 ESV.

Philippians 4:6 ESV “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”

One of my husband’s favorite verses is Ephesians 3:20 ESV “Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us.” We have found this verse to be true.

Not even Walt Disney, himself, could promise that life would be all Disney Magic. One of his famous quotes is “You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.” (Goalcast)

Jesus offers us Life Everlasting. In Matthew 11:28 ESV, Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Philippians 4:19 ESV “My God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”

When life is not what you expect it to be or when your dreams are not coming true, give them to Jesus.

Mathew 6:33 ESV “But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”

Philippians 4:13 ESV “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

It felt awkward to have someone serve me, after all I’d come to serve that week and not to be served. I’ve learned long ago that I am filled by pouring out. It’s a weird economy. So when they offered a free lunch post-VBS, my low budget jumped at the chance. I feed teenagers now and with that feeding comes a hefty grocery bill. It is especially hefty during Vacation Bible School Week.

Many years ago I’d forged one of my dearest and best relationships over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich over just such a lunch. We both held wiggly babies, brown paper sacks on the table in front of us. Those wiggly babies are teenagers and now they too serve in VBS. That mama and I have been friends going on decades now. I treasure that and had it not been for that PB&J I am not sure we’d be the friends we are today. A free lunch and a chance at friendship were all it took for me to say yes when my teens asked if we were staying.

As I stood in the serpentine line that meandered around the corner I smelled grilled burgers and dogs, the kind that someone else cooks and never seem to be replicated at home, the kind that only requires that tiny packet of ketchup. I spied mamas and grandmamas with little ones herding them like disobedient cats. Chatter came from every direction, and crafts and goodies from the day littered the premises.

I was near the end of the line. It took a while before I finally reached the door leading to the food line.

A gloved hand reached out to me and the Womenslife minister asked if I wanted a hamburger or hotdog. I paused. She repeated clearly. It wasn’t that I hadn’t heard her. I had heard her. I just wasn’t sure. (I was thinking back on that moment and the scene in A Christmas Story when Ralphie has gone to see Santa to request the coveted Red Ryder BB Gun. He has stood in line but when faced with the gravity of requesting the prize he goes completely blank and repeats “football” in a robotic fashion.) I chuckled at how I must have appeared to sweet Sheila, standing there, blank-faced, stunned into having to choose, a hamburger or a hot dog. In a Ralphie-like response, I squeaked out “hamburger.”

I was handed various side items and then a drink of my choosing. I sat down at a table next to my own teen, the once wiggly baby, and asked how his day of herding 3rd graders had been. He filled me in on the “flight risks” and “runners.” Being that he was a former runner, a kid at risk to vanish in the blink of an eye, abandoning VBS to the unexplored other things, I suppose he is akin to them and has a knack for picking them out of a crowd of 8-year-olds.

We sat at a table and P.K. handed out napkins. He made his way around a room full of volunteers, shaking hands, speaking words of gratitude and appreciation. Offering extra napkins to sticky fingers, messy faces, and Mamas in need. Paper napkins, that week I’d handed out my share, placing little cookies on each one for snacks. Now I was the recipient of those same kinds of napkins. I cast my eyes down as I thanked them, those who were serving me, but felt filled up by their kindness and sincerity of appreciation.

It was awkward to be served and not to serve but as the tables turned and I was being served I was reminded why the King came. To serve and not be served and how it must fill Him up when I serve others. A strange economy indeed.