A time to Cloth Yourself...

Linking this as my Imperfect Thursday Prose, as well...

{we heart it}

It's a groggy morning and I'm spreading mayo on her ham sandwich for school. Stuffing her purple lunchbox with cut up cucumbers, a fruit cup, vanilla yogurt, and a tasty strawberry/banana juice box.

"How do I look, Mom?"

Setting down the jar, I lift up my eyes to look at her. She is not wearing the darling little outfit I placed on her bed, after my wake-you-up-in-the-morning kiss.

Instead, she is standing before me dressed in grey pants with a hole in the left knee, a cream-coloured shirt she pulled out of dirty laundry hamper, which is covered with spagetti sauce that I forgot to pretreat two-nights ago *sigh*.

"Oh Sweetheart, you can not wear that. Go try again."

At seven-years-old, she is adamant that she can dress herself and that I no longer need to pick out her fashion statements. I completely disagree but I'm extending her some freedom in choice.

By the time lunches are made and I'm now pouring cereal for breakfast, she prances back into the kitchen. "How about this one?" she says, asking for approval. I exhale, mentally exhausted {you need to know this happens nearly everyday}. "No, baby. You can not wear just tights with your layered t-shirt. You need to have something over those tights. Others will be able see-through them."

She is not pleased with me, as I send her up for the third trial of clothes. I project my voice to catch her on the stairs, "Why don't you put on the outfit I gave you? You look lovely in it?".

I sip coffee in between wiping counters, checking homework, signing agendas, and letting the dog out for her morning howl. Several minutes pass before I hear the dragging of her tiny feet on the floor. Our eyes meet and I know she isn't fully satisfied, but she is clothed in what I gave her and I catch a small twinkle in her eye as the corners of her smile curl to make dimples.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

The words barely leave my lips before my spirit turns inside and I reflected on my own "fashion" grumblings. The under-breath-mumbles toward my Heavenly Father when he lays out certain clothes for me to walk in, daily. And how in my selfishness I try to put on all sorts of mis-matched garments that leave me feeling ragged. Disassembled.

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. (Colossians 3:12)

There are so many days when I negotiate with God the garments I want to put on. Grasping for justification, as to why I should be allowed to curse under my breath at the man who just cut me off. Meanwhile, I speed through yellow lights and make driving errors of my own. Or why I can grovel in fear, not stepping out in faith, but expect others around me to embrace their mustard seed. Or how I have a hard time swallowing people's excuses for their behaviours, in order to put off dealing with the deeper issues. Meanwhile, I do it too.

God lovingly lays out exquisite beautiful linens for my heart, so I can be clothed in dignity and styled in His grace. And on the days when I stop stomping my feet or digging in heels, I hear Him gently whisper...

"That wasn't so hard now, was it? See, you look lovely in what I picked out for you."