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Clothes

By Myrna Roberts

April 2, 2002

 

A couple of summers ago, my eight-year-old daughter and I were invited to a dance recital.  As I prepared to walk out the door, I called her to hurry.  I didn’t want to be late.  Ashley exited her bedroom wearing the same old blue jeans and t-shirt that she wore every day. 

 

I frowned at Ashley, pointing in the direction of her room, and said, “Go back to your closet and find something more appropriate.”  Ashley stomped both feet on the floor while pounding her thighs with her fists.  She pouted and grumbled, “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

 

Patiently I took her by the hand and led her back to the closet.  I quickly selected a very elegant dress of the finest fabric and the richest color.  The dress complimented her complexion perfectly.  “Oh, no Mom, everyone will laugh at me!  Pleaeessseee don’t make me wear that!”  By now she was shrieking, “I’ll never be able to face my friends again!”

 

I soothed her fears by stroking  her delicate face, rubbing the frown away.  Then I hugged her with so much love you’d never know I was in a hurry.  As I caressed her head, I said, “I could fix your hair.  We have ribbons to match this dress.  You’ll look just like the little princess that God has called you to be.”  Ashley stared up into my eyes, really wanting to believe me but not quite there yet.  She repeated her fear, “but everybody will laugh.”

 

With the dress over my left arm and Ashley’s hand joining my right hand, I led her from the closet to her bed.  I ceremoniously laid the dress on the bed and hugged her again.  As I sat on the bed, I pulled her to me, grasping both her hands with my hands.  I gained and held crucial eye contact with Ashley and finally I said, “Ashley, this is an issue of trust.  Do you trust me?”  She nodded her head in the affirmative.  I asked her again, “Do you really trust me?”

 

“Yes, Mommy”, she whined.  To that I replied, “If you really trust me, you’ll wear what I tell you to wear.  I can’t explain to you how I know, but I know that this dress is what you should wear.  If anybody laughs, hold your head high and tell ’em ‘sometimes a princess HAS TO LOOK like a princess.’”

 

Ashley let out a sigh of relief along with a sheepish smile and I helped her out of the jeans and t-shirt and into her royal attire.  I brushed her hair and laced it with matching ribbons.  Quickly, my little ragamuffin turned into a little princess.

 

As soon as we arrived at the event, the very first person we saw whispered in astonishment, “Ashley, you look beautiful.  You should dress up more often.”  All afternoon Ashley received nothing but the glowing remarks; and as I observed, I saw her notice that people treated her differently than normal.  Men and boys alike, helped her up the stairs and opened doors while the other little girls cherished their own feelings as they gazed at and touched the beautiful garment she wore.

 

Later that evening, as I prepared for bed, Ashley came to me with a hug and a kiss.  “Thank you Mom for making me wear those clothes.  You were right!  I had so much fun, all dressed up and stuff.  I would have really looked stupid in those jeans.”

 

The next fall we were invited to a wedding and the scenario repeated itself.  Oh the clothes were different, but the outcome was the same.  I felt pretty smart and proud of myself.  I marveled at how good at this I was getting.  Strange, how predictably that situation played itself out . . .

 

That Christmas, our family was invited to a formal Christmas party.  As we drove away from the party, I turned and saw my little princess, a portrait of beauty asleep in the back seat, and I felt set up.  Now, I’m pretty smart, but I’m not that smart.  I knew precisely what would happen next and it disturbed me.  I felt a sense of helplessness because I couldn’t change the next set of events even if I tried.  Not that I wanted to change it but I had a strange feeling in my stomach.

 

I went to bed and waited for her to come, and she did, true to my prediction.  As she hugged and thanked me for producing the distinguishing apparel, I pensively stroked her head.  When she left the room, I whispered to the room at large, “Lord, what are you telling me?”  My husband, Emmett, spoke up, “Are you talking to me?”

 

“No, I was just praying…” my voice strayed away “… praying for understanding. . .”  Emmett’s unsolicited advice to me came straight from the Bible, “. . . with all thy getting get understanding”.  (Proverbs 4:7b.)  By the time he completed that statement I was already before God’s throne of grace and mercy.  I wanted to understand the lesson.  I realized that God teaches ME through repetition so I wanted to know the moral to the story.  I asked God again, “What are you saying to me?”

 

God’s conversation with me was as vivid as the preceding events.  He said, “This is an issue of trust.  Do you trust me?”  I said, “Yes.”  He asked me again, “Do you really trust me?”  I replied, “Yes sir, I do.”  To that He said, “If you really trust me, you’ll wear what I tell you to wear.  The clothes I have chosen for you will make you LOOK like the royal priesthood that I have called you to be.  If anybody laughs, hold your head high and tell ’em ‘sometimes a queen has to look like a queen.’

 

My back slammed against the chair of my vision, my mouth wide open.  Aw, aw, aw. . .  I was speechless for a few seconds and then spreading my hands in wonderment, I exclaimed, “But what do you want me to wear?”  Now, I have been pondering His next words to me for two years.  I thought He was going to tell me about His glory.  I beamed inside and out, posing to receive a royal coronation.

 

God said to me, “You wear poverty like a coat.  Poverty is a spirit and YOU wear it.  You take it off when you go to bed and when you get up, you put your coat of poverty back on.  Everyday of your cognitive life you have done this.”  Then He paused for good effect.  “Did you not realize that when you are asleep you are not poor?  I want you to forever shed that coat of poverty and wear My garment of glory, blessing and honor.”

 

Needless to say, this has been a long journey.  When I wear what God wants me to wear, people treat me differently and at night I thank my Heavenly Parent for choosing my royal attire.