It’s a really hectic week here. Probably for you, too. Easter week always manages to be that way, but in all of your busyness, I hope you can find the peace and joy of the season. Sitting here in a world that seems to be growing bolder with its evil, more brash with its irreverence, and more brazen with its perversions, Easter can’t help but remind us that we “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Not just Lil Nas whoever and Cardi B. I would be dead in my sin if Jesus hadn’t come to take the judgement I deserved. 

I haven’t found time to write, this week, but I’m sharing a post I wrote several Easters ago. 

It's a King riding a lowly donkey.

It's praising that turns to scoffing.

It's quiet love looking into red faces of hate.

It's grace offered to the ungracious.

It's sleeping while sweat falls like blood nearby.

It's betrayal by a chosen friend.

It’s wanting to return something you can’t return. 

It's friends gathered to friends scattered. 

It's unrest swirling around the Prince of Peace.     

It’s promise making and promise breaking before the rooster crows. 

It's freeing a murderer and murdering innocence.     

It's heavenly power mocked by earthly power.  

It's silent restraint in the middle of loud humiliation.

It's the King of Kings wearing thorns instead of gold.  

It's everlasting authority being challenged by temporary thrones.

It's a mother's heart being broken and saved at the same time.  

It's the purest given for the putrid.

It’s mocking the only name that can save you.

It's the Creator killed by His own creations.

It's asking for forgiveness instead of revenge.  

It's dying while possessing all the power to escape.

It's the innocent taking punishment for the guilty.

It's paying a debt He didn't incur.  

It's complete submission in a world of self-promotion.

It's a sun that refuses to give off light.

It's immortal willing to become mortal.  

It's prophesy fulfilled and yet unrecognizable to those who claim to know.

It's guarding something that’s empty.

It's good news in a time of mourning.  

It's hope in days of trouble and glory in the face of death.

It's gain that comes from loss.

It’s a beginning coming after an end. 

It's free to all but cost One so much.   

It's a denier being restored by the Denied.

It's despairing sorrow bringing everlasting joy.

It's living in a world without being of it. 

It's hope for the hopeless.

I decided I’d go dress shopping, last Friday. I’d attended the funeral of the brother of a friend in a nearby town that I frequent and thought I’d do some shopping while I was down that way. When the service was over, it was lunchtime and I was getting so hungry and began to consider all the food choices near the places I was going to shop. I planned to make it a quick trip, so something fast was on my mind. A rule of our house is that whenever you’re out of town, no matter how close or far away, you must eat at an establishment that we don’t have in our own town. For example, no matter how bad someone is craving Chick-Fil-A, while we’re on vacation, it is strictly prohibited according to family statute. 

Anyway, Five Guys is one of my all-time favorite burgers and we don’t have one of those where we live, so I gave into the greasy temptation and turned into their parking lot. Since there’s no dine-in option at most fast food restaurants yet, I went in to place my order and then took my oil-soaked bag full of goodness to the car and enjoyed every morsel in solitude, where no one could witness the finger-licking and moaning. 

Having my hunger extinguished, next on the list was to find some new dresses. It’s springtime and Easter is also coming, so I needed to find a few new things for the new season. We’ve talked before, at length, about what an ordeal it is to find pretty, semi-flattering dresses that don’t look like they’d be more appropriate for your daughter or your mother. It’s really an issue for us, women in the middle. 

Well, I headed into the first store and, to my surprise, I quickly found 5 dresses that I wanted to try on, so I spoke to the sales lady as I headed into the dressing room with the hangers dangling from my fingers. I was so tickled with my good fortune. It was an embarrassment of riches, really. I’d found all these dresses that I liked and they had them all in my size. It started to seem likely that the task at hand would take much less time than I’d anticipated. 

Is there any greater dread than trying on dresses though? I mean, you have to really like a dress to commit to the ordeal because everything has to come off in order to do so. Not to mention, we don’t realize the important role the pants’ waistband plays until it is no longer there to help corral the overspillage. And trying on dresses isn’t like slipping on a top or even into a pair of pants, so it’s not something you want to do on a day that you have anywhere else to go because, when you’re done, you’ll appear as if you’ve been rolling around in a ball pit all day. Hair-sticking every-which-a-way and clothes- all wrinkled and twisted with static and makeup- sweated completely off your face and self-confidence- beaten to a pulp. 

I might add here, that seeing yourself in a three way mirror under fluorescent lighting after gorging on Five Guys is one way to keep your humility in check. I’m starting to notice that the older I get, the more opportunities I’m getting to keep my humility in good working order- like when I was reading the program before the funeral began and saw one sister listed and it wasn’t my friend’s name. Then I realized I was reading those who’d preceded him in death and not the survivors but, for a moment, a cold chill went over me thinking I was sitting in the wrong funeral. So, yeah. My brain and body are giving me frequent reminders that a spring chicken, I am not.

Anyways, back to the dressing room. I got down to my socks and unmentionables and started taking the first dress off the hanger. About that time, I heard groaning coming from the next dressing room and it wasn’t a noise of merriment or enjoyment like the ones I’d made in the Five Guys parking lot. And I hadn’t even started the process, but that mirror situation reflecting the bulge of my cheeseburger already had me wanting to make some guttural noises myself. I just wanted to shout through the partition, “I feel ya, girl” to the poor whimpering soul over there. 

The first dress was one of those numbers that has two layers. Like a full slip-type layer sewn into the dress itself. I put my arms in and noticed it felt kind of snug, so I pulled them back out to look for a zipper. Undoubtedly, there was one that I’d overlooked to give more room for entry. Surely, the lack of space wasn’t because I needed a bigger size. But, no zipper was found upon inspection, so I decided to just go in anyway. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Sometimes, you have to get them all the way on before they fit right. I got halfway in when the slip part got hung up coming out of the top of the dress and I couldn’t fish it out. It was quite uncomfortable with that added layer of bulk testing the stretchability of the top half. Shortness of breath ensued as I tugged and pulled and let out some groans myself as sweat beaded up on my upper lip. Finally, all the layers of dress were pulled down into their designated place and I actually liked it. I mean, I imagined in my mind how it would look if I had thrown my Spanx in my purse before I’d left home and had eaten watercress for lunch instead of that burger and fries. After deliberation, I decided if I had the proper shapewear and if I didn’t go by Five Guys on the way to church on Easter Sunday morning then it would likely work.

The second one was so cute and form fitting. Form fitting is ok if you’re properly primed for it but I wouldn’t call my overindulged condition primed for anything except frustration. I slipped into it and got one shoulder in but the next one was the doozy. That second shoulder will get you every time. I tuned red and strained and tried to maneuver my way into it. I got in finally but this one wasn’t going to work. I let my stomach muscles relax and looked like I was in my second trimester. You could have put me out in a field of wildflowers in this dress, caressing my muffin top lovingly and it could’ve easily passed for a maternity photo shoot- I mean, if you cropped off my 52 year old head. The trademark Five Guys’ extra generous helping of fries had the fabric stretched beyond the point of respectability and no amount of spandex could fix it. It was time to take that one off and getting out is always harder than getting in. Do I dare ask for help from the groaning lady next door? Maybe she was over there stuck in her dress, too. She’d gotten awfully quiet. I hoped she hadn’t lost consciousness. I got one shoulder halfway out and then hit a wall. I was stuck. Heat started to rise. The material started to itch. My claustrophobia started to flare up. A sense of panic set in that I would have to be cut free. I twisted and grunted and popped a couple of stitches but finally escaped. I hung it back up for some low-carbing CrossFitter to come along. I was worn out, but had more work ahead of me.  

        Keeping it real here on M&M- but not real enough to show you the one of the side view.

On my way to pay for the one dress that had made the cut, I overheard a woman talking to what appeared to be her two daughters as she entered the dress area. She looked to be a little older than me and she said, “I just want a dress that’s pretty that doesn’t make me look fat and looks like it’s for someone my age.” I suppose she was reciting her mission statement as she went into the fight and I wanted to say, “Preach it, sister.” I mean, is that really too much to ask of a dress? Her words should be sent to designers-near and far- for dressing room grunters everywhere. 

I tried on 9 dresses at two stores, that day, and bought one. Next time I go, I’ll go before lunch. 

Hope you’re having a great week! It’s been a little crazy around here, but I’m glad to check in with y’all! 

Have a Happy Wednesday! 

JONI

I’m not one of those people who coddles her plants through the winter. I don’t bring them into the garage or carefully cover them up at night. No, I let my ferns cross the rainbow bridge-or whatever their bridge is called- right after Halloween when they start looking tired and jaundice. The flowers I plant on the back porch are always begging to be euthanized by the time the broiling days of August roll around and so I start withholding all life extending measures around then. I always figure I’ll just get new plants the next year and I thank the old ones for their service. 

We were out back cleaning the patio chairs when I noticed a little purple flower blooming on the only plant that had miraculously survived the winter. Mind you, I hadn’t watered anything out there since last August, so the only moisture it had gotten was from the Good Lord. All the other plants around it had long since died and the last time I remember noticing, it looked like that one had dried up, too, so I was surprised to see the pretty little flower poking its head out. We had some really cold nights this winter- for Mississippi, at least. It had been left out there even in the ice- alone and unnoticed by anyone for months, but there it was waking up and coming back to life.