Next weekend I am on Sunday School. I will bring in three sewing machines, hunks of fabric, and half a dozen scissors that are least worn down by children accidentally using them on pipe cleaners. Since it will be the week before Palm Sunday we are making simple garments for the kids to spread before the donkey which will be imported to clomp
across them. I think her name is Stephanie.
Garments are temporary. My second son once announced that I could get rid of his wardrobe as he was planning on wearing the same orange shorts and green shirt for the rest of the summer. Maybe forever. But he did in fact grow tired of them and appreciated the wider selection, particularly as winter crept in.
Hope and Aurelle like to wear their chicken dresses when they collect eggs. I think
it even impresses the Silkie Bantams.
When I was living in a dorm in high school I had a roomie who occasionally tossed most of her clothes on my bed, having grown dissatisfied with them. I eagerly hung them in my closet and enjoyed the expanded options. She, on the other hand, used her father's credit card to go shopping.
While I have less of a vested interest in what I put on than say Oprah, the black silk ensemble from my mother's
funeral does make me feel special. The Ghanaian skirt made of fabric John brought back from Africa lends me its beauty. My sisters coordinated to create a sparkling outfit for my fiftieth birthday, and it reminds me of their love.
But I am not my clothes. They come off as easily as slippers and hang mutely in the closet until I choose them again.
In rereading the book
Observing Spirit I am reminded that feelings are as transient as camp T-shirts. I am not anger, or frustration or impatience. I put them on, and can as readily take them off.
The other day John did something that used to make me mad.
But even that is an appearance. Rather I chose to put anger on when he did it. Yet this time, after sincere prayer, I was surprised that it had no effect on me. I simply noticed the empty space where irritation used to slide in, like a promo for last season's trendy boots in my inbox.
But acceptance fit much better.
