On Disappearing Children and Distinctive Dinner Guest
Blog | Family | Life Lessons
Sometime between my turning the mashed potatoes green and my hanging the sign announcing that the deadly diner was open, my children disappeared.
All five of them.
Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I didn’t linger long in loneliness.
Before I knew it my dinner table was filled with these oddly familiar characters.
They ordered goblins guts and pureed pumpkin parts; beastly brew and mummified mutts.
And they laughed when my man and I told tales of the poor weak-stomached diners who had come before.
Fearless, they ordered a second helping of rotting worms and shunned our dire warnings.
They were not a noiseless bunch.
They told outlandish tales of lives lived on the edge of adventure, spoke of fame and fortune; of risk and peril.
I wouldn’t call them the perfect dinner guests.
The air brewed with drama and debates, questions and clamor.
And although they tried to appear normal, our visitors sported some quirky characteristics.
And although they tried to appear normal, our visitors sported some quirky characteristics.
This young girl was afraid of spoons.
How were we to know that common old cutlery would bring her to tears?
And then there were the boys who favored hoops to hoopla.
Thankfully, a few of our guests were more cultured than others.
There was the opera singer who put every word to music….
There was the opera singer who put every word to music….
And the princess who had lost her favorite crown when she sailed to our diner on her pink dragon.
Eventually the banter waned, and the moon cast its paltry glow through the kitchen windows.
We served the last course and our unusual dinner guests grew quiet.
We served the last course and our unusual dinner guests grew quiet.
I caught the opera singer’s eye as I brushed bat crumbs off the table.
“You’re not making music anymore,” I commented. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” she assured me with a weary smile. “It‘s just exhausting to be someone you’re not.”
The big basketball player raised his eyebrows and nodded in wordless understanding.
And my stomach lurched at the piercing truth that hung heavy at the deadly diner.
“Yes,” I agreed, “Being someone you’re not is ghoulishly grueling.”
Dinner plates clattered and feet shuffled as my dinner guests prepared to leave.
And suddenly I felt unusually grateful for the One who has set me free from play acting; free from fatiguing facades and fabricated me’s.
The opera singer excused herself from the table and muttered something about needing to go find pajamas. She waved her hand and sang an ear-piercing good-bye.
I thanked her for being brave enough to dine with us; then cast the melodic Miss a knowing wink.
“I wish my daughter Hannah could have been here to meet you tonight,” I said as I draped my arm around her sparkling shoulder. “I think you’d really like her. “
“Oh?” the singer asked. “What’s she like?”
I bent low to whisper in her ear.
She’s….
I grappled for words.
She’s…
My third-born waited for my response.
She’s just happy to be who God made her to be.
The opera singer smiled shyly. “She sounds beautiful.”
I returned the singer’s grin and replied with a trill of off-key vibrato,“Beautiful, indeed.”
Those who choose to be themselves usually are.
The Overflow:
“When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, “Woman, you are set free…”
-Luke 13:12
If you could invite anyone to be your dinner guest, who would it be?
Sharing God-Bumps in community once again
with Jennifer and all the other God-seekers at Getting Down With Jesus.
If you could invite anyone to be your dinner guest, who would it be? Sharing God-Bumps in community once again
with Jennifer and all the other God-seekers at Getting Down With Jesus.
I decided long ago since CRAZY seems to be the tone of my life with five kids, we might as well play it up! What’s fun is that even my teenager wanted to be a part of the traditional “crazy meal”… so we waited for a night when he was home— it made for a “late” celebration, but it was such a treat to still have the “big kids” get into our small and silly fun.
What a fun and crazy memory you have created for these kiddos. And a lovely life lesson thrown in,to boot.
Fondly,
Glenda