Christmas At Martha's House
|Christmas at Martha's House |
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5 Sundays before Christmas:
Claire, the Sunday school secretary, says we're doing a play this year and apologizes for not getting together before now. It seems the Superintendent put her in charge and gave her a copy of the play he had chosen. It took her three weeks to convince him that it just wasn't right for us, and to come up with another script. I'm surprised she convinced him at all. But now we'll have to work extra hard to get it ready, if we think we can, if we aren't too wrapped up in our own little interests, if we really have enough faith that the Lord will enable us. And my kids think their generation invented peer pressure!
Our friend Ron says he'll build scenery. I never knew he could do that. Bonnie will play the piano, as usual. The boys would rather stay home and watch football. I inform my teenage son, “If the rest of the family can get involved, Tom, you're going to do the same. It's not going to hurt you one bit.”
My husband and the girls are asked to sing. How nice. Oh, great! They'll all need decent clothes. Maybe the older ones can wear their outfits from the school chorus, and Karen's red velvet from last year should fit Cindy if I can hem it up and locate the belt.
At the first rehearsal I offer to be in charge of costumes, partly because I love to sew and partly so everyone will understand that I am NOT singing. Suddenly the rest of the cast all seem more interested in the whole project. I have to dress Mary, Joseph, three Wise Men, three Shepherds, and an Angel. Who? Some angel! Maybe she can get by with a choir robe and some tinsel in her hair. One down, eight to go.
Mary, played by Claire's favorite niece, comes up to me and says how she would like her outfit to look. I really appreciate her enthusiasm and willingness to help. She wants a simple blue gown and white veil. Mary always wears something like that. I wonder what would happen if some year she showed up in brown and orange?
If I'm going to do this, Lord, I'm going to give it my best effort. You deserve nothing less. Maybe it's not important to anyone else, but it's for You. I glance through a book on historical costumes, and begin envisioning the three Wise Men. We don't know how many there really were, of course, but I'm glad we decided to stick with tradition on this point. I couldn't handle any more unruly teenage boys. Everyone is calling them the Three Wise Guys.
I refuse to throw bathrobes on those boys and call them costumes. One will be a Mede. He can wear the long white gown I made out of old drapes for Trick or Treat. With the addition of a colorful yoke and sword sash borrowed from a Civil War uniform, and a cardboard crown, he'll be fine.
The next will be an Indian or African looking person. He'll have a red and green floral tunic and matching turban. I'll ignore the cracks about Aunt Jemima. Maybe we can borrow Mr. Halsey's oriental kimono for the third. It is a bathrobe, but at least it's not chenille.