May, 2007 World Peace Spa

May, 2007

The sign on the door said something like “Welcome to the World Peace Resort and Spa”. I laughed. When pressed what I wanted for Mother’s Day, I had followed a cousin’s lead and told the family I wanted world peace. Or at least peace in my world. So I was not surprised when Mike took me out for Mother’s Day…with no children. It was kind of weird. I mean, I like romantic lunches, but on Mother’s Day, you kind of expect to be with your kids. But they had other plans. They were busy at home, preparing.

I arrived home to find the house spotless and my five children dressed in “uniforms” – matching khaki shorts and white shirts, each sporting a name tag. As I looked closer, I realized the names were not theirs, but rather each child’s nametag bore the name I had wanted to give them, the names that Mike had vetoed before they were ever born. My son, “Howard Winthrop” (Hey, I liked the name…), offered to take my bags and escorted me to my room. There, “Edna” and “Nora” waited outside my bedroom door, now labeled “World Peace Resort, Suite #269” (or some other number, I can’t remember). The beautiful hostesses opened the door with a flourish and I entered another world.

The light from about fifty candles danced around the room where rose petals were strewn on the floor, bed, and chairs. The bed was turned down with a chocolate on the pillow. “Hannah” escorted me along the path of rose petals into my bathroom, where a massive bubble bath was drawn. It, too, had rose petals floating atop the mountain of bubbles. Classical music poured from a CD player nearby. Iced water and grape juice in crystal goblets sat on the ledge by the tub as well as salted pistachios on a crystal plate. Scented candles flickered and filled the room with a wonderful smell. Magazines and DVDs sat near the tub, should I prefer those over music alone.

My attendants checked on me approximately every 6 and a half minutes (“Is there anything you need, Madam?”) as I rested in the bath. After I was done, I was treated to a pedicure, complete with sugar scrub, foot massage, and polish by my 14-year old daughter. Not long after the polish dried, a real masseuse showed up at the door (idea by children, paid for by hubby). I basically oozed off her massage table onto the bed when done and didn’t stir until morning.

Not even two weeks later, we were in Denver for a massive party where my brother feted his lovely wife for her 40^th birthday. Every aspect of the weekend was one of extravagance: the decorations, the gifts (not for her, but for the guests!), the food, the dancing. And not just for us – but for our children as well. It was like going to camp for the kiddos! Every time we thought the height of generosity had been attained, they surprised with yet another gift. It was deliriously decadent.

Coming from the Midwest where hardships are expected (drought, flooding, pestilence, tornadoes, 10-month winters…) and people who have or receive blessings are eyed suspiciously, it has taken me a long time to be able to enjoy being given gifts. As mentioned in previous newsletters, Midwestern birthdays were downplayed lest someone begin to think themselves “special or something”; standing out in a crowd was to be eschewed at all costs. Steak was something that was eaten in secret. Instead, hamonbuns served as the public face of celebrations. (For those not familiar with hamonbuns, maybe it would help to see the word written: ham-on-buns. Because this is served at every wedding, every graduation, every funeral, and every church picnic, it is more like a single word. It is never turkey on buns. Nor is it ham with cloves. That would be over the top since it would necessitate plastic forks or something. It is hamonbuns. One word. One meal. Every time.)

There was a group of us native Midwesterners sitting at breakfast one morning, discussing how hard it is to receive. We all seem to have this instinctive drive to try to pay back a gift. But the last couple of years, God has been teaching me a lot about Grace, about His Love, and about the extravagance of it all. I told them of how my children had taken a thing of beauty – a rose – and had torn it apart, leaving it lying all over the floor for me to walk on. Imagine, one of man’s greatest symbols of love, and it was merely used like I would a throw rug. How much more God’s gifts to us – this earth He designed, created, fashioned – for our use and enjoyment. So many things He created simply for us to enjoy! You would think we’d be better at it. I remember coming across a flower in the woods one day and wondering if I would be the only person who ever got to see it. The God of the Universe made it to sing of His Glory. And only I had been given the privilege of glimpsing His Glory through its presence in the world.

Someday we will be in Heaven, where one of our most precious commodities – gold – will be the asphalt we walk on. I think Heaven will be a continuous exploration of His Goodness and His Generosity to us. Of course, we already enjoy His greatest gift, His beloved son, sent as a sacrifice for you and me. How can we not also be generous to each other? Perhaps, even as that flower existed to sing the Glory of God for me, I am to be a flower that sings the Glory of God to another. We need to show His love and beauty, extending it generously to others. And we need to graciously accept it and celebrate His Glory when we are the recipients.

My brother and sister-in-law shouted His Glory to the heavens as they extended God’s Grace to all of us at their party. And my children whispered His Glory into the depths of my soul at the World Peace Resort and Spa.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane