Sisterchicks Do the Hula (25 page)

“You know what? I believe you were. You were born for this.”

“Hope, you said the other day that my ability to create this art is a gift God gave me.”

“It is.”

“Do you remember what Amy told us about the hula? How the objective of the dancer is to gracefully interpret the story that’s coming through the music?”

“Yes.”

“Well, every life is a story, like Kapuna Kalala said. The artist simply expresses the truth and beauty of that story.
When I think of it that way, it takes the pressure off me somehow. All I have to do is … I don’t know how to say it …”

“Go with it,” I suggested.

“That’s it. Just go with it. The whole unforced-rhythm-of-grace thing. And you know what? I can do that. I can interpret the story because … I’m an artist.”

“Wow, Laurie. You said it aloud. Yes! You are an artist. And now you have an opportunity to use that art in a significant way.”

Laurie started to leak. Just a little. “You want to know a secret? This is what I wished for on my birthday. I just realized that God granted me my wish.”

She started to seriously leak. I started to slush. She moved on to squeaking, and I let loose with the gushing. We were a mess.

“We’re going to have to go up by the light around the pool so we can see these,” Laurie said, after I’d used up every one of our napkins and was dabbing my final tears with the edge of my sleeve.

Sitting together on a chaise lounge by the pool, Laurie and I went through the pictures. Our heads were bent over the same frame, even though I had ordered doubles of everything.

“Oh, this one has to go,” I said. “No way.” It was a preposterous shot of me receiving a little more than a helping hand on the catamaran.

Laurie grabbed it and busted up. “Gotta love that zoom feature, dolphin girl.”

The surf pictures were great fun. It was easy to see the Chihuahua in one of the close-ups, and the shot of Laurie carrying her board back to the surf shop was pure Gidget-gold.

“And what exactly is this one supposed to be?” Laurie pulled out the eagerly anticipated rainbow shot.

I laughed hard. The angle was perfect. “That’s you. With a rainbow coming out of your nose.”

Laurie laughed even harder. “Maybe I should use this for my new publicity shot.” She stared at it some more and shook her head. “This is hilarious. Kudos, Hope.”

“Hey, I learned all about angles and capturing the moment from you.”

“Well, if the teahouse thing doesn’t work out, you know, I just might need an assistant.”

When the photos were all examined and exclaimed over, Laurie moved to the chaise lounge beside me, where she stretched out in the balmy breeze. We lingered contentedly as soft Hawaiian music lilted through the air. Above us, the stars glimmered in the night sky, reflecting their unimaginable glory in the still water of the perfectly round, blue-moon swimming pool.

I wanted to go in the pool. I wanted to step right in that pool and scoop up all the stars. I wanted to string them together and lift the garland of radiant glory with both hands as an offering to the Artist above. I wanted God to enjoy His creation tonight as much as I had been enjoying it all week.

Quietly rolling off the chaise lounge, I reverently took my
bare feet to the edge of the empty swimming pool. In even measure with the beckoning Hawaiian music, I lowered myself into the shallow end until the warm water was up to my waist. With barely a whisper, I began to move to the strains of the strumming guitar.

“Hope?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in the pool?”

“Yes.”

“With all your clothes on?”

“I thought that was better than the alternative.”

“What are you doing?”

With sublime ease, I drew the music inside of me and moved my arms and legs in a tender expression, interpreting openly all that was in my heart.

“Hope, are you doing the hula?”

“Yes.”

A gentle breeze stroked my cheek. “And you know what, Laurie? This is what I wished for on my birthday.”

Around me the music swirled, the water cascaded from my arms, as I lifted them toward heaven. The stars were singing. I know they were.

With the smallest of splashes, Laurie paddled over to where I floated in the center of the pool. Giving way to complete abandon and a steady flutter of giggles, Laurie and I brought a gift of laughter, singing ourselves into His presence. Unforced. Flowing with the rhythm of grace.

I realized then that for our fortieth birthdays, Laurie and I had planned this little island theme party. We didn’t know it would turn into a surprise party. The surprise was on us when God showed up. We invited Him, of course, but didn’t know if He would be too busy to come.

But He came. Even before the party started, He tied pink and orange streamers to the sun and strung a million bright twinkle lights across the night sky. He passed out crazy fringed party hats to all the palm trees and hired a band of dolphins to kick things off. When Laurie and I arrived, He threw garlands of hosannas around our necks. He brought hundreds of gifts and watched our delighted expressions each time the next gift was unwrapped.

And now here He was, dancing with us, drawing us forehead to forehead with Him so He could breathe on us and trust us with His essence, His Spirit, His aloha.

That was the night these two sisterchicks learned to do the hula.

E
milee Rose arrived on April 13 at 5:35 in the morning.

She came after an intense four hours of labor. I don’t remember the final push, but Darren said I called out, “Po-hue-HUE!” and out she came. Our little morning glory.

Emilee weighed eight pounds and twelve ounces, was twenty-one inches long with a round button nose and full cheeks that we think she will grow into. She has absolutely no hair, and she fills me with such wonder every time I look at her. The boys are crazy about her. And Darren … he adores her with a deep tenderness that a daddy can only have for his little girl.

Laurie had a gorgeous lei sent to me at the hospital. It was made from baby pink roses interspersed with fragrant white
tuberose. “A garland of hosannas,” the card read. “For Emilee Rose from Auntie Laurie with aloha.”

I wore it in the hospital. I didn’t care if the New England nurses looked at me as if I were strange. Mine was the sweetest smelling room on the floor.

A month before Emilee arrived, Laurie had sent a special gift for the nursery. It was a beautifully framed print of “Fragrant Offering.” Darren hung it over the changing table because he thought it was safer there than over the crib. Of course, one of our boys noticed the title of the picture and thought it was funny we put it over the changing table. So we moved it to the dining room, where I can see it from the kitchen.

Last Sunday we had Emilee dedicated at our church in the first service. Gabe and Laurie came and sat in the front row with us. Darren and I went forward with all three of our sons and stood before the pastor at the altar as he blessed our sleeping baby girl.

As we stood there, our pastor read from John 20. The passage referred to the time soon after Christ’s resurrection when He appeared in the upper room to His disciples.

“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.’ And when He had said this, He breathed on them, and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’ ”

My heart was pounding. Christ breathed on His disciples. It was right there in God’s Word. That’s why the concept of aloha had seemed so strangely familiar to me.

Emilee opened her eyes at that moment and looked up at me without crying. I drew her close. Going forehead to forehead with her, I whispered, “Aloha.” I could feel her baby’s breath on my face.

After the service, Laurie and Gabe joined our family and friends for dinner at the Ladybug Tea and Cakes. Sharla had suggested we cater the event at the Ladybug so I wouldn’t have a lot of cleanup at my house. She was running the shop with the help of her niece until the end of the summer, and I was making the most of my time off.

“Did you ask your pastor to read that verse?” Laurie asked me while we went through the buffet line together.

“No. Was that wonderful or what? I’m telling you, Laurie, I haven’t been the same since that trip.”

Gabe leaned over. “That trip was the best thing you two could have ever done.”

“It was your clever wife’s idea,” I said. “Both times.”

Gabe smiled. “She hasn’t been the same since. Did she tell you the Kalamela Hotel chain is using her ‘Fragrant Offering’ picture on the cover of all their brochures?”

“Laurie, that’s wonderful!”

“I was going to tell you later. I had a large sepia print done, and Gabe painted in the flowers. It’s really extraordinary. The second hotel you and I stayed at bought it, and it’s going up in their lobby.”

I clapped my hands together. “Laurie!”

“I know.”

We were interrupted and had to finish the conversation later that evening back at our home. Gabe was sitting in the living room, rocking Emilee while Laurie and I went through my photo album laughing our hearts out.

Darren and Gabe just looked at each other and shrugged.

Laurie and I decided we would start to plan our next sisterchick trip now. If it took us twenty years to pull off the first one, we knew we’d better get a running start.

Before Gabe and Laurie drove back to their hotel, they told us they had a little gift for us in the trunk of their rental car. I put Emilee to bed. Gabe went outside and returned with a gift bag, which he handed to Laurie, and then carried in a large, flat box.

“This is for you, Hope and Darren,” Gabe said. “It might appeal more to you, Hope, but we want you to know that you can do whatever you want with it.”

I pulled the gift from the box and laid it on the cleared dining room table before tearing back the brown paper wrapping and exposing a thick, dark wood frame.

“Is this koa wood?”

Gabe nodded, obviously pleased that I recognized the value of the now-rare wood.

Darren pulled back the rest of the wrapping, and all my breath escaped me. Gabriel Giordani had given us an original oil painting of the Hawaiian graveyard where the two magnificent plumeria trees stood guard in full bloom. Hidden away on an obscure white marble gravestone was a purple orchid lei.
The color, the depth, the essence of the picture were astounding. It was the most elegant and dramatic piece he had ever painted.

“He used all the pictures I took of you,” Laurie explained, when I had no words to respond. “This oil is the only one. Do you understand what I’m saying? We didn’t have any prints made.”

Darren and I looked at Gabe. He nodded. “It’s yours. If you ever want to have lithos made to sell, I’ll work with you on it.”

“Gabe, this is …,” Darren began. “I don’t know what to say.”

I impulsively threw my arms around Gabe and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Thank you! It’s beautiful! I love it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Darren shrugged. “I guess that about covers it for both of us.” He gave Gabe a manly, arm-around-the-shoulder sort of hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Gabe was beaming. I could tell this scene had captured a small corner of his heart.

“One more present,” Laurie said.

“You guys!” I protested.

“This is for Emilee Rose.” Laurie held out the gift bag. “I bought it at the gift shop at the Kalamela Makai, and I kept it hidden from you the whole trip.”

I pulled from the gift bag an itty-bitty, baby-sized grass hula skirt.

“It’s adorable!”

“Read the card,” Laurie said with a broad grin.

I opened the envelope and read out loud, “For Emilee Rose, our little sisterchick-in-training.”

“Oh, Laurie,” I said, starting to slush. “You’re so good to Emilee and me.”

“I try,” she squeaked.

Before she could leak or I could gush, we wrapped our arms around each other and started laughing at our familiar line, immersed in the joy of our sweet, sweet friendship that had taken us to a place where we felt the presence of God like never before.

That Laurie. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t know a thing about being a sisterchick. And worse than that—if not for Laurie, I might have gone my whole life without ever learning to do the hula.