They were searching for a star. It was the Christmas program, after all, in a proverbial, little, country church. There were Mary and Joseph, of course, baby Jesus, a camel and an angel, plus some shepherds. And there were wise men, searching for a star to lead them to the king, the Christ child.
One of their members obliged, a man I’ll call Allen. He arrived on the scene in a sparkling white jumpsuit so tight it was a second skin, trimmed in silver and gold, and topped off with a lacquered Elvis wig.
He swirled his cape around and announced with a flourish, “I heard you were looking for a king.”
I’m here to tell you, I knew Elvis in high school. Well, not “the real” Elvis, but this faux impersonator. I sat by him in study hall. He was the new kid and even without a cape he flew under the radar.
I reminded him of this after the program. His personas changed, he said, the day his daughter died, a time of heartache and heartbreak so deep he had to look up to tie his shoes. Once he could finally lift his head, he vowed he would live his life in such a way it would honor his daughter. If his kids or grandkids had an event going on, he’d be there. With bells on. Maybe not in an Elvis suit, but in a towering, patriotic red, white and blue hat, perhaps. Or he and his lovely wife, Bev, might be dressed to the nines in a zoot suit and a dress from the ’40s. Or Care Bear costumes.
Yep, you heard me. Sounds downright outlandish, doesn’t it? That’s his intention. To cherish every second of his life, in every way he can, just as he cherished his daughter.
I, too, have spent the last several years with my head down, in a place of deepest heartache and heartbreak. It began when my brother died, then my husband and then my mother. Whenever I could lift my head up, with fists clenched, it was merely to inform God, in a not-so-polite way, that I’d had enough. However, eventually and with great effort, I realized that instead of railing at God for the losses in my life, perhaps I should blame the real culprits: cancer, heart disease and sepsis.
For those who don’t know me, I’m a writer and as many writers do, I keep a daily journal. In 2018, I added something downright outlandish to my journal-writing habit: each day I wrote about something for which I was grateful. Some days were easier than others, I’ll admit. But I knew that if I didn’t make a change in my outlook, I’d miss out on all the gifts I had left. Those precious friends and family who’ve stood by me, for example, some days (because tears are heavy) only to prop me up, like a life-sized cardboard cutout of Elvis.
In 2019, after the manner of Elvis, we might think about living our lives in ways that honor those who are no longer here to do so for themselves. To absorb the wonder of them and carry it with us. To prop each other up. To live lives of gratitude. And in the words of Balthazar, Gaspar and Melchoir, to follow the shining star.
LaRayne Topp
One of their members obliged, a man I’ll call Allen. He arrived on the scene in a sparkling white jumpsuit so tight it was a second skin, trimmed in silver and gold, and topped off with a lacquered Elvis wig.
He swirled his cape around and announced with a flourish, “I heard you were looking for a king.”
I’m here to tell you, I knew Elvis in high school. Well, not “the real” Elvis, but this faux impersonator. I sat by him in study hall. He was the new kid and even without a cape he flew under the radar.
I reminded him of this after the program. His personas changed, he said, the day his daughter died, a time of heartache and heartbreak so deep he had to look up to tie his shoes. Once he could finally lift his head, he vowed he would live his life in such a way it would honor his daughter. If his kids or grandkids had an event going on, he’d be there. With bells on. Maybe not in an Elvis suit, but in a towering, patriotic red, white and blue hat, perhaps. Or he and his lovely wife, Bev, might be dressed to the nines in a zoot suit and a dress from the ’40s. Or Care Bear costumes.
Yep, you heard me. Sounds downright outlandish, doesn’t it? That’s his intention. To cherish every second of his life, in every way he can, just as he cherished his daughter.
I, too, have spent the last several years with my head down, in a place of deepest heartache and heartbreak. It began when my brother died, then my husband and then my mother. Whenever I could lift my head up, with fists clenched, it was merely to inform God, in a not-so-polite way, that I’d had enough. However, eventually and with great effort, I realized that instead of railing at God for the losses in my life, perhaps I should blame the real culprits: cancer, heart disease and sepsis.
For those who don’t know me, I’m a writer and as many writers do, I keep a daily journal. In 2018, I added something downright outlandish to my journal-writing habit: each day I wrote about something for which I was grateful. Some days were easier than others, I’ll admit. But I knew that if I didn’t make a change in my outlook, I’d miss out on all the gifts I had left. Those precious friends and family who’ve stood by me, for example, some days (because tears are heavy) only to prop me up, like a life-sized cardboard cutout of Elvis.
In 2019, after the manner of Elvis, we might think about living our lives in ways that honor those who are no longer here to do so for themselves. To absorb the wonder of them and carry it with us. To prop each other up. To live lives of gratitude. And in the words of Balthazar, Gaspar and Melchoir, to follow the shining star.
LaRayne Topp
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