It Has Happened (not in the "voices" series)

I didn't want to go. Pam pretty much made me, as much as a 5'3'' sprite of a woman can 'make' a man do anything. They have their ways. Anyway, the conclusion of a great day off, which is any day off with my grandson, Kaden, Pam makes me go to the mall to look at some pant sale they are having. I thought she said "plant." I'm not sure at what point I realize it's men pants we will looking at but a sweaty fear caused my brow to begin beading. Several fears roll in to one. The fear of malls, shopping, spending money, spending too much money, getting lost in the store, having perfume sprayed on me by a female wearing three pounds of mascera and having to try on clothes in any place other than my home led to a spike in blood pressure and a slight fainting spell. To no avail, Pam had me in the store quickly. She parked me in front of the sale rack of men's pants. This may not be too bad. The prices were closeouts on old stuff marked down from $65\$75 to $20\25. "I can handle this," my shopping naivete reasoned. They had my size. I could pick one and be gone. About that time Pam showed up. Before I knew what happened, I had three in my hand and was told to "try them on." Then the real fear set in. I've tried to study why men fear this trek to the dressing rooms. It's not as bad in really expensive stores or the rooms where you try on suits. But in the average middle-of-the-store dressing room, it's horrifying. There's the fear of thieft. There is the fear of discovery. There is the fear of locks not working. Mostly, I think men fear getting jock itch or an std from some dude who previously tried the same pair of pants. I was petrified but I tried not to show it. So I took three pair of pants into the dressing room, locked the door, checked it again, looked for hidden cameras, looked for pins on the floor that could contain the aids virus and then began the humiliation. It was at this point I discovered it and was none too happy. Most folks are glad when their pant size goes down. I'd been in the same two sizes of pants for most of twenty-five years. It was always one or the other. In times of health, diet, exercise, and the summer it was one. In times of stress, after moves, after Christmas it was the other. In twenty-five years it only had a blip over or under for a couple of months a couple of times. I tried on another pair. Same thing. The third pair brought the inescapable conclusion: My pant size had dropped into another range and brought with it the range of emotions that could barely be contained in dressing room D. I dried my tears, put on my 'game face' and went out (did I put my other pants back on?!? Who cares anymore) and annouced to Pam what had happened. I had to get a smaller size. The import of the occasioned seemed not to affect her as it had me. She immediately went back to the rack and retrieved three more pair. The process repeated and yes, these did fit better although a size in between what I was and the smaller number I now submit to would have been best. But those sizes aren't to be found on the sale rack in the middle of the store, only even numbers here. Still dazed, I could not even muster much of a fight when she made me buy all three pair. I think on another day I could have fought off one, maybe even two extra pair of pants. I was not in the frame of mind to do so. I admit to her wisdom when the price tags of $20\$25 were reduced at the check-out by another 70% and I paid $39 for all three pair. Still, they were smaller. I'm not as big a man a I always have been. I tried to be Biblical, "He must increase, but I must decrease.'' But I knew John the B wasn't talking about pant sizes. I'm just smaller. I felt less vibrant, less vital, a "no, not tonight, Honey" mood. It was bad. Today I have some more perspective. The sun did come up. Life goes on and I must adjust to the fact that my pant size is smaller because I am smaller. I have shrunk! My inseam had decreased. My runt-of-my family status at 6'2'' had worsened. I must be somewhere down around 6' and 3\4" to 6'1.'' There I said it! It's out. It's over. I'm shorter. There comes into all life and every life the fact that one day we will be something and do something for the very last time. We usually don't know it when it happens. On occasion we know some last times. We know the last time we go to the office before we retire or drive that old car we're trading in. But the last wave to an old friend, the last kiss from a sweatheart, the last card of thanks we send or receive or the last time you'll see a love one alive, well a lot of "last times" just sneak up on us. They pass as any other moment and we realize later, often too late, that was it. Charles Poole, Southern pastor, says that to try to live each day as if it were the last will drive you crazy. It's best to live each day as if some day, one day will be the last. He is right I believe. I suppose one can't help but grow shorter in leg, but our faith can contiune to grow longer, stronger, and deeper. And this thought also crosses my mind: There is coming a day when shrinking hopes, dimenished dreams, and last times will give way to hope fulfilled, dreams expanded, and each day as new as Genesis' dawns. It's not a day marked by tape measures, spending, savings, or trips around the sun. It will be marked by trips with the Son and his eternity of ever growing joy and love. So keep stretching. Terry