I Have Nothing to Wear!

On a dismal, rainy afternoon, I took Rose out to the salon for a pedicure, just us girls. We walked in and the manicurist told us to choose a color while we wait our turn. We both carefully scanned the wall display, picking up one, shaking it and putting it back. We did this at least a dozen times each before settling on our respective colors. I chose a darker pink with purple tones to it – thinking that the color was something fresh. It was one I haven’t tried before and I had nothing like it at home. Rose chose a florescent orange. To be clear, I’m not talking orange with pink highlights, or peach that looks a little orange. This orange was ORANGE. It was a bright, electric looking color that was so neon it was self-illuminating. The manicurist did a full double take when Rose handed her the bottle. “You want this color on your nails?” Rose looked at the small woman confidently. With her deep dimples and big brown eyes, she smiled. “Yep!” “On your fingernails too?” “Yes please!” Rose didn’t question her decision for a second and was unshaken by the manicurist’s hesitation. Nor did she feel it necessary to justify her color selection. She was almost giddy all the way to the chair and throughout our entire mani-pedi. We talked about the program that was being broadcast on the salon’s large flat screens and our upcoming plans for Spring Break. When Rose had been adorned with the awkwardly large and very floppy, disposable flip-flops, I couldn’t help myself anymore- I wanted to ask; “What is up with that color?!” Watching her from my foot soaking perch as she carefully stepped with unnecessarily large steps towards the manicure station, I finally spoke up; “That’s a great color Rose..” I said in the most leading way I could, hoping for an insightful response. “I know, right!” “It sort of looks like the same shade as your basketball…” I said again, setting her up for the answer I was anticipating-no such luck. “Oh! It does!” Rose said noticing the coincidence as she admired the glosses tips of her drying fingers. What was her motivation? What made her chose such an unlikely shade? Was it to purposely be different? Did she just like it? Whatever her reasoning was, she remained happy with her choice, without regard to the questioning glances of patrons and staff. The whole thing made me wonder why I was so quick to establish my deciding logic. I’ve never really been one to care about what other people thought. I’ve never been trendy or stylish by Fashion Week standards. I care what I think, so I elaborated on my color choice. What color would I have chosen if I let go of all those reasons and justifications and just chose? In almost every circumstance, an informed decision is the best kind. Careful thought and deliberation are absolutely necessary for every fork in your road. But sometimes- forget the fork and do it all hands on with a big, dimply smile. On a rainy day, go with a color just because, listen to a song without thinking, spend the entire afternoon watching the tiny drops of water bounce off the window or go jump in a puddle. Be what makes you happy and stay blissfully unaware of anyone who questions your sanity. AND, if you happen across an old bearded man, throwing down a break-dancing challenge to a group of cardboard and boom-box toting youngsters… stop and cheer him on without wondering what he is thinking or where he learned to dance. On that grey, wet afternoon I learned something priceless from my fearless daughter. Not all decisions in life are metaphoric forks in your road. Sometimes the only decision you need to make is to stop making decisions all the time. Get off the road for a minute and run through the sprinklers. When your little, parents make a lot of decisions for you. When you’re a grown up, the path before you isn’t so simple and it forks in a million different directions. Don’t forget to seek out the whimsical you. My whimsy is wearing bright orange nail polish. No wonder our future is so bright!

God Bless

My Great-Grandmother always demonstrated compassion for peddlers, panhandlers, hobos, transients- the homeless. There are those who say not give “them” money because it will be spent on drugs or alcohol. Others say that pleading for help, money or work while standing on the street corner with a cardboard sign is an elaborate con. My Great-Grandmother used to say; “That man could be Jesus. Jesus will return, no one knows when and no one knows what he might look like.” There is a man, wrinkled and tanned from constant exposure to the elements. His hair is matted without definitive color. There is no way to know if it’s dark and streaked with grey, or if it’s grey with defiant threads of dark. He doesn’t try to hide his face in shame. He looks at you, past you. No one makes eye contact with him, but his expression is humble. His clothes are faded, shapeless and layered. He holds a tattered sign made from the side of a box-it says; “Disabled Veteran, Anything Helps, God Bless.” This time, don’t look away. Look at him. Can you picture a younger version? Maybe he was among the drafted-torn from his mother’s arms and his high school sweet heart to become a soldier. After the war, the Veterans were spit upon, cursed and shunned out of controversy and confusion, but then what? Where did he go? What loss must he have suffered to be standing next to the intersection, holding his sign with cracked and bleeding hands? Could my Great Grandma be right? Could this really be the face of Christ? The man who suffered and died for our sins, weathered, neglected and hungry. I would respectfully disagree, but that might be hasty. It’s easy enough to see that Christ’s perfect love exists in the charity bestowed upon the disabled veteran. However, my Great Grandma, might have been asking me, all of us to look for Jesus, really look. Jesus said that with God, all things were possible, but HE didn’t heal every sick man, woman and child. HE didn’t sit next to all the thieves, nor did HE stand up for every immoral woman. I may not be able to work miracles as Christ did,and I can't end wars, world hunger or poverty, but I can bring a nourishing pot of soup to someone who is sick. I can embrace someone who is crying, empower someone who is frightened and offer a disabled veteran a warm coat and a full belly. We all can. We just need to be reminded that it only takes one person, doing one thing. So look, because Great Grandma was right. The manifestation of Christ’s love is there. He sits in the park, weak with his ailments, hunger and sorrow. Without the strength to stand, he holds a styrofoam cup he found in the garbage and meekly asks for spare change. He has nothing to give but says; “God Bless” for every penny he is given. You will never know when, or what it will look like but it’s there because HE has given it to you to give.