Blabberings

It’s been over a decade. My feelings have somewhat recovered, and my embarrassment has abated a bit. I love a good story, even if it’s at my own expense, so I’ll tell you exactly what happened.

Back in 2004, one of our local boys was a Friend of Aubie at Auburn University. One Saturday that summer, Aubie came to our church. An orange and blue backdrop with orange and blue balloons was set up in the gym for folks to pose for pictures. Everyone passed around their cameras. Aubie signed AUtographs.

It was an AUsome afternoon.

It was an AUsome year to send an Auburn Christmas card, too. The Tigers went undefeated that fall. We received several cards with pictures taken on that same summer day with “Merry Christmas” and “War Eagle” expressed in a variety of ways.

Never one to leave well enough alone, I wanted to add a Bible verse to our cute picture which expressed my family’s love for Auburn—and Jesus, of course. I chose Isaiah 40:31.

I marveled at my cleverness and creativity.

Every Christmas, I hand write the addresses on the envelopes. Every Christmas, Chuck asks, “Don’t you want me to print labels for you?” Every Christmas, I say, “No, thanks. I like to see the names of the people that I love.”

“I could print them out in minutes. It takes you days to address them all.”

“It’s okay. I like to touch the names of the people that I love. I like to think about each one before I mail them.”

“I don’t mind.”

“IT’S MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT CHRISTMAS, OKAY?!?!”

So, Chuck printed the cards for me–but not the labels! I stuffed and sealed and stamped each envelope. (I do like a return-address label, because writing my own address over and over would be boring and laborious, not to mention time-consuming and tedious.) I dropped them in the mail and marked them off my list.

A couple of days later, I saw Melissa. We grew up in church together. Our parents were friends. Her daddy called me Queenie. He said I was the queen of the Kings. Melissa is three years younger than I am, so she doesn’t remember life without me. She and I have each buried both of our parents. We each lost the first one quickly and unexpectedly, and we lost the other slowly and agonizingly. We have borne each others burdens as we walked rocky roads. Therefore, we have earned the right to say to (or about) each other whatever we want. (That’s why I’ll tell you that she is not “on” Facebook, but she stalks it through one of her sisters’ accounts every day.)

ANYWAY, when Melissa saw me, she grinned wickedly and asked, “Celeste, how do you spell soar?”

Sucker punch.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

I knew IMMEDIATELY what she meant and what I had done.

They will sore on wings like eagles.

I had printed it on my adorable Christmas card and sent it out to 200 of my closest friends all over the South and to beloved Yankee cousins in New York.

My people delighted in my oversight. I heard about my goof quite a bit for quite a while. (FYI, never give Bama fans a reason to gloat over you.)

I licked my wounds and stayed out of public for most of the year. (I’M KIDDING!! But I didn’t even know to rejoice that there was no social media. Thank you, Jesus.)

The following year, my friend NancyBorland (That’s not a typo. That’s her name: NancyBorland.) told me to dress up my kids as shepherds and misspell Luke 2:9. I didn’t go to that extreme (besides the girls were middle schoolers and never would have agreed), but I did have a cute pic from vacation that would work.

It wasn’t our main Christmas card. I asked Chuck to print just a couple of dozen (“Don’t you want me to print labels?”) . . .

. . . and I only cent it to my friends with a since of humor.