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It’s my own fault, you know. Waiting to the last minute and letting other things crowd in. Not that those other things didn’t need to be done, mind you, but I should have planned better. I started to. In fact, I remember thinking just about this time last year, “Next year I’m going to have it all together.” (Of course, at this stage of my life, if I ever get it together, I likely won’t know where I left it.)

I’m sorry. Let me back up. I forgot you can’t read my mind. You’d think twelve months would be plenty of time to plan for one of the neatest things I do all year…the MAGMA Convention in Farmington, MO. (That’s Mid-America Gospel Music Association for the “acronymically” challenged.) It’s a great fun-filled, yet tiring, weekend of some of the best southern gospel you’ll hear. I look forward to singing there every year, and at this writing I’m about 28 hours from stepping out onto the stage. What’s the problem then?

I have nothing to wear. Okay, guys, don’t tune me out. I saw you start to click that mouse. And don’t tell me you’ve never looked for just the right T-shirt to or your lucky hat to wear to a Braves game.

This is serious stuff. I’ve looked all over creation. I’ve walked until my hip joints are sore and my feet are throbbing. I drove an hour and a half to the state capitol to shop and found…nothing. It’s not that I’m that hard to please, I just want to feel dressed up without looking like the mother-of-the-bride. The choices are pathetic! Isn’t there some happy medium between kindergarten teacher denim and Madonna on New Year’s Eve?

Maybe I’m too narrowed minded, I thought. Maybe I should broaden my fashion horizons. I’ve tried on dozens of outfits and with every one asked the three-way mirror the same question…”Would Connie Hopper sing in this?”, and the answer so far has been a resounding NO.

I met my sister, Sheryl, for lunch and a quick “gripefest” about my dilemma, then headed back to the mall. I walked into Macy’s and asked the first salesclerk I could find, “Where are your dress-up clothes?”, to which she replied, “Right over here”, and promptly led me to a rounder of adult Halloween costumes. Stunned, I said, “Uh….not that kind of dress-up.” She blushed and apologized, then pointed me in the direction of the only “dress-up” clothes they had. There were four different dresses in varying sizes, none of which were mine. They were all in shades of orange, hideously geometric, and flirting dangerously with either kneecap or navel. I was hard-pressed to tell much difference between the Halloween costumes and the dresses, so I walked on…and on. Store after store it was the same story.

Finally, from the mall common area I spotted it. Dark teal, solid classic styling, tailored lines. Perfect. I darted in, nearly knocking over an elderly lady in my haste. Oh, yes. There it was in all its glory hanging on a rack with five others just like it….eight feet above my head. Great. How do I get it down? I walked around looking for the salesperson who had apparently fled when she saw me. There was no one to be found. I happened to spot leaning against the wall a long, metal instrument with a modified hook on the end of it. Aha! Feeling a bit like Moses, I picked up the rod and walked back to the display. I began to try to wedge the hook under the loop of the plastic hangers to lift them up, swing them out, and lower them down to my level. I nabbed three dresses, but that proved to be too many for the hook to handle. So I lowered them back down, wiggled the hook out from under them and started over. Let’s try it one at a time.

By now I was starting to attract some attention and I could hear the snickers of passersby, but I had come this far and was determined to press on. One by one, I reached, hooked, swung, and lowered each dress only to discover that not one of them was my size. The whole thing was so gameshow-esque. I desperately wanted to hear, “Tell her what she’s won, Johnny”, but all I got was the mournful “WAH-wah” of the “you lose” buzzer and the accompanying “Awwww” from the audience. Not even a consolation prize except for a sore shoulder and a crick in my neck.

I was beginning to feel like there was some evil conspiracy. There was every style but what I wanted and every size but what I needed. What about that upscale resale shop? Maybe some sinfully rich lady has worn the very outfit I need one time and cast it off. Probably not. Wait. Maybe I’ve got something I can recycle. What about that blue outfit? No, needs to go to the dry cleaners. What about the red? Same thing. Ooooh, my purple might work….except it’s ripped and needs to go to the dry cleaners.

Help!! I’m desperate. Hold it. Maybe I could have something made. Sharon is a great seamstress and she made my wedding dress. Am I insane? I sing tomorrow!! Besides that was ten years ago, she’s retired, and probably wouldn’t do it even if she did remember me. Not an option. What if I borrowed that green jacquard suit from my best friend? No, she’s 5’8”. Why does she have to be so tall? Sheryl has a lot of neat clothes. Maybe I could borrow something from her. Right. I could maybe get my left leg into it up to the knee.

What am I going to do?

You know, through this whole ordeal I got to thinking about another garment people put off acquiring. It’s one that can’t be made with hands or borrowed from a friend. Your sister’s won’t fit and you can’t recycle an old one. Just because your mother had one doesn’t mean it covers you. This garment is easy to obtain. You can’t work for it or win it. It’s made just for you and best of all, it’s free! It’s your robe of righteousness.

By the time you read this I will have made some decision about what to wear and will have already stepped out onto the stage. I may again struggle with the clothing issue down here, but there’s one garment I’ve already made plans for. Don’t put off getting yours. And who doesn’t look good in white?

Reader Comments

Janice, most men won't admit it but they go through the same thing at convention time too. Just ask one 6 foot 4 baritone singer.

Dress up clothes????? I haven't heard that term for 30 years. What you should have said was "Where are your Sunday clothes?".

Really, other than Southern Gospel singers, I'm not sure that anyone wears "dress up clothes". LOL

Deon Unthank
SoGospelNews.com
My Blog

Some people are like Slinkys… Not really good for anything, but they
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