I usually spend New Year’s Eve at a ball; the grandest moment of which is the stairs. I wait all year for the stairs. Each lady is escorted from dinner, down a long hall, to the top of the stairs. It’s an open staircase, descending down to the ballroom. At the foot of the stairs, gentlemen are lined up awaiting each lady to reach the bottom; formally dressed in tuxes, showing honor to each lady as she is announced, by observing her walk gracefully down the stairs, bowing to her as she passes them, and then escorting her across the room to join the other ladies.
It’s the sort of breathtaking moment that every girl dreams of having and is taught will never exist. But there it is. The moment. She has spent three days preparing for the ball. Learning etiquette, having encounters with God in order to acknowledge her worth in Him, practicing (and in some cases LEARNING) dance, building close relationships with the other ladies. And the day of the ball itself is spent ENTIRELY preparing for the evening’s event. An entire day focused on being more beautiful than she has ever been; preceded by three days of learning to show the beauty that is inside her more than she has ever shown. To actually wear a real ballgown.
^ My second ball -New Year’s Eve 2013-2014 ^
And then she stands at the top of the stairs. Gentlemen waiting to bow to her, and show her a level of respect that she, perhaps, has never before received from a man. (Though, I am among the fortunate few who have.) Her name is formally announced, and she begins elegantly (and undoubtedly, nervously) descending into the ballroom, where she will surely spend a night of unparalleled wonder, beauty, and relationship, glorifying God, and ushering in a new year.
This is how I spend New Year’s Eve. With these ladies- one of them. And the stairs are EVERYTHING. I count the days to Banquet and Ball and that sweet sweet moment where time slows and I am alone on those stairs entering the ballroom, approaching my friends and dance partners for the evening. I cherish every single moment of that night, but the stairs are something extra special.
And this year, I’m in South Africa. Half a world away from home, family, friends, and dancing. I’ve just endured my first Christmas away from family, making it no Christmas at all. I’m entering month 7 of my 11 months on the World Race. Time feels like it has slowed and I’ll never get home. Ministry has become difficult to focus on; it tends to feel forced sometimes. And I admit to you that I rather want to just go home right now.
Yesterday, the morning of December 31, I awoke knowing that that night, New Year’s Eve, I would not get to Waltz with my friends. I would not dine with them. I would not get to spend the day wearing my ballgown and making myself and my friends look lovely. I would not get my stairs this year.
It was yet another dagger in my heart which had not yet healed from them pains of Christmas.
Our mission for the day was to go to the grocery store, buy water and food, and pass it out to some of the homeless people in the area.
As we walked to the store, we passed a young man of 18 who had no shoes and asked us for money. We told him we couldn’t give him money, but would like to buy him some food and water. He lead the way to the closest store, where the object he most desired was a giant box of corn flakes. He hesitantly embraced it in his arms, asking if it was okay to get that one. Naturally, we were only to happy to comply, adding a bottle of water to the purchase.
One of my teammates inquired as the his lack of shoes and he explained that they had been stolen only the night before. So off we went to the another store to get him some flip-flops. The nearest clothing store was probably many times nicer than any store he had ever been in. I felt nervous that they might not let him in or perhaps might give us trouble about bringing in a street-person. But thankfully, we found the men’s shoe section upstairs with no trouble, where we helped him find the most practical and comfortable sandals we could; sadly, being careful not to get anything too nice, so as not to temp further theft.
The escalator down was broken; making them stairs rather than an escalator. And I descended the open stairs with my team, escorting a homeless young man who probably thought he’d hit the jackpot as he clung to his bag of corn flakes, wearing his new blue flip flops.
Isn’t it just amazing to see how God works sometimes? How I longed for my stairs this New Year’s. And perhaps these stairs didn’t look at all the same, but they glorified God much the same way as those stairs leading to a ballroom back home. The ball back home is all about glorifying God by creating something as beautiful as we possibly can and showing eachother honor and respect, grace and love.
Is this any different?
Make no mistake, the pain and struggles remain in my heart. But I just love how God likes to show off from time-to-time and show me what He can do. While I miss home, family, friends, dancing and the relationships it creates; and even though it looked different this year, I DID get my stairs.
