FAIRY GODMOTHER

After my last post (WE ARE THAT FAMILY), I was reminded of this account of one of the many instances people loved on me during the difficult season of The Black Fog...

FAIRY GODMOTHER
- originally posted Wednesday, February 10, 2010

When No. 1 Son was five years old, he entered and won a poster contest sponsored by the local electric company. The award ceremony, which included a fancy-shmancy catered dinner, was going to be held at a historic plantation house in Nashville. Notables from the Nashville political and social scene would be present for the occasion, along with reporters from local news stations. This was going to be a BIG DEAL.

A night out, a fancy dinner, an opportunity to meet and talk to new and interesting people...I should have been excited. Instead, I dreaded the approaching festivities. My gloomy mood only worsened as the date drew nearer. Sometimes it's so hard to be cheerful, to be grateful, when....

Enter Amy, a friend from our little church plant. Amy was an executive at a Nashville publishing firm, one of those women I tried not to envy for her glamorous lifestyle. Smart, funny, a sharp dresser....Amy unknowingly made this mother-of-six painfully aware of my frumpiness. I had a saggy, baggy body and wore saggy, baggy mom clothes that looked like pajamas and that were often splattered with spit-up or bits of baby cereal. Amy, on the other hand, usually looked like she was ready for an appointment with the President. She would have fit right in at a fancy awards ceremony.

I answered a knock at the door a few days before the dreaded event. "Camille, I've been digging through my closet and think I have a few things here that would look really good on you..." Carrying an armload of dry-cleaning bags, Amy pushed past me, past the crowd of children at my feet, into the house. "Do you have any dress shoes?" she asked as she headed down the hall to my bedroom. I stood gaping like a fish out of water. What in the world is going on?

"Here, try this first." Amy thrust a hanger into my hand as I entered the bedroom. While I followed orders, she began digging through my closet. Yes, it seems I did have a pair of dress shoes - one pair of black, patent-leather pumps I had saved from a previous life. "Good. I think we can work with these." Amy backed out of the closet and stood up, a shoe in each hand.

I pulled Dress #1 over my head. "Amy, what is this about?"

"You guys are going to a big 'Do' this weekend, right?"

"Yes...."

"I'm dressing you for the ball." She looked at me for a minute, then shook her head. "Nope. Not that one....here try this."

And so, before Amy left my house that morning, I had a suitable outfit for the award ceremony and dinner. We settled on a beautiful cream-colored dress with black trim. Simple, straight lines, very sophisticated, absolutely gorgeous. Amy had even brought a new pair of pantyhose. I felt like a mountain had been lifted off my shoulders. Maybe this will be fun after all...

Saturday afternoon, Amy knocked at my door again. She was on her way home from a meeting. "Here," she pulled off her long black wool coat and handed it to me. "There are gloves in the pockets, if it's cold out." Amy was beaming. I was on the verge of tears. "Have fun tonight!" She gave me a big hug and left.

Why am I telling you about Amy? Because Amy modeled Christ. Amy's keen eyes and tender heart made her aware of a need I had not even expressed. Amy saw an opportunity to meet that need, and was willing to risk the possibility of some awkwardness or discomfort to help a sister.

I pray that, like Amy, I will have eyes that see into the heart of things, to the not-so-obvious needs of those around me. I pray that seeing, I will have the boldness - and the grace - to act.

DRESS THE PART

I've heard that if you want to be successful in business, it is important to "dress the part" - you know, kind of visualize yourself in the role already, play the part, do a little self-actualization.

Do you want to be a fit and trim athlete, but you are nowhere near fit and trim? Don't head to the gym in the saggy sweatpants with holes in the knees and the stained t-shirt you wear to mow the yard. Get yourself some good shoes, a sports bra, and a pair of stretchy pants. It'll do wonders for your motivation.

You want to get into the local gossip loop with the old men at the coffee shop? Do not show up tomorrow morning wearing skinny jeans, a tight tank top, and spiked hair. I guarantee the old timers will not open up to you about town secrets - they may not even let you pull up a chair at their table.

I would really like to be a successful writer. Successful as in have an agent, and a publisher, and a national marketing campaign, and substantial sales. So, I've given a little bit of thought to "dressing the part." But I have a question: what does a successful writer look like when she goes out in public? Honestly, I have no idea.

Baby steps. Several months ago, I decided that, as often as possible, I would take the time to actually put on make-up before heading in to town. I don't have a fun, funky, writerly wardrobe, so I made small commitments in the clothing department: no more running to Troy in the shorts I wear to work in the garden, and if I wear flip-flops, my toenails will be painted. No shirts that are too snug around the middle (why do all my shirts keep shrinking?), and I'll shave my legs at least once a week.

I can't tell if the whole "dress the part" exercise is helping or not, and sometimes, it's a frustrating challenge. Pretending to be - and to look like - a successful writer doesn't really mesh with my other jobs and activities. Like today...

Exercise class first thing this morning at the fitness studio in Troy - I want to get fit and healthy, so I show up at Caroline's at 7:30 every weekday morning. I dress the part:  athletic shoes, stretchy pants, support under garments, water bottle.

Back home after exercise class, I have just enough time to plant the cantaloupe in the garden and finish mulching around the young melons before heading out to Martin. Gardener. Dress the part:  gardening shorts, the shoes I wear for yard work, a tank top that I wouldn't be caught dead in out in public.

After an hour of sweating profusely in the garden, it's time to run inside, shower, and change clothes so I can drive Helen to a piano audition. As the mother of an incredibly talented pianist, I suppose I should pull on nice slacks or a skirt. However, on the way home from the piano audition, I also have to run by the library, pick up more mulch at the garden center, stop by Wal-Mart for groceries, get gas for the van, and make a quick stop at the feed supply store for a couple more t-posts.

Forget the skirt. I chose a clean pair of jeans and a not-too-snug shirt, and my fancy red flip-flops. Thankfully, my toenails were already painted.

Anyway, all of this to say:  as a mom (aka, fitness queen, cook, gardener, music supporter, library patron, gas station attendant, farm girl, professional shopper, writer, blah, blah, blah), I can't figure out how on earth to "dress the part" without having to go through half a dozen changes of clothes in a day.

This would-be writer wears jeans and t-shirts. Why? Because on my way out the door to meet the public, I very well may have to take a detour to chase my ridiculous chickens out of the garden. Or I may have to stop and load bags of mulch into the van or get gas for the lawn mower or drop a greasy car part off to be tested at the auto parts store.

I really do want to "dress the part," but I just can't figure out which "part" to "dress." This is as tricky as juggling cats.

I need help.

Suggestions?

BAG LADY

We are completely out of cat food. How is it that I've been to town half a dozen times in the past week without realizing that we were running low on cat food? Am I really going to have to leave the house on Black Friday just for cat food?! Maybe Kitty would be willing to try to make it through the weekend eating left over turkey and dressing.

On the other hand, I doubt that our tiny town of Troy will be too crazy today anyway - picking up a bag of cat food at Dollar General should be a quick in-&-out affair.

I am not a very good shopper. Haven't had much practice, I guess, shopping for anything besides groceries. Thankfully, God has kept my family clothed and shod in spite of my lack of skills.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I like it," my husband asked a couple of weeks ago when I donned a "new" brown turtleneck before church Sunday morning.

"Out of a bag," I replied. I'm right at 50 years old and I still get most of my clothes out of a bag. Yep, I'm a genuine bag lady.

Several years ago, an older lady at the church we attended used to give me her cast offs whenever she cleaned out her closets. Not particularly my choice of style or color, but these were really nice clothes. One Sunday, I showed up at church in an emerald green sweater given to me by someone else. "Wow! I love that color on you," Pat exclaimed. "You should wear bright colors more often. Why is it that you almost always wear black?"

"Um, because the clothes you give me are almost always black, Pat," I replied.

I have found that having long legs can be a disadvantage if you're a bag lady. Having long legs gives one the illusion of being thinner than she really is. It's so disappointing to open a bag of hand-me-overs that a friend was certain you'd love, only to discover that everything is a size 8 or 10 or 12. Really? I haven't been a size 8 since elementary school! Yes, I have long-ish legs, but I also have a thick-ish girth.

I guess I should be pleased that folks think I'm so much trimmer than I really am.

If you're a bag lady, "shopping" for some items can be particularly difficult. I've had new bras on my shopping list for a year now. Over. A. Year. Yeah, you could say I was feeling a little droopy about the situation. Ba-da-bing!

Yesterday, after Kendall family Thanksgiving, Grammy handed me a bag as I headed out the back door. "These are some things Jettie thought maybe you or one of your girls could use." Some of my very favorite shirts hanging in the closet right now came from Grammy's friend Jettie - I like her taste, and, although she is much shorter that I am, we are the same size. "She bought these but then didn't like the underwire."

Oh, I thought. Well, that's a little weird. I've never inherited underwear from someone before. Imagine my surprise - and elation - when I got home and discovered that the bag from Jettie contained three brand new, high quality bras, just my size!

So, if you see me at Dollar General later this morning, braving Black Friday for a bag of cat food, I won't be complaining about the check-out lines or how long it took to find a parking place. Nope. I feel positively perky this morning, and not even Black Friday can make my spirits sag.

Amazing how a little bit of new elastic can be such a mood lifter, isn't it?

CINDERELLA'S DAD

"Where is Cinderella's Dad?" seemed like an appropriate name for today's post, which comes on the heels of Two Very Different Dances and Where is Cinderella? Then, I got to thinking about the whole Cinderella story, and it occurred to me that Cinderella's dad really wouldn't make a good role model for the fathers of girls who are on the brink of womanhood. Where was this guy while Cinderella was being abused and taken advantage of by her wicked step-mother and step-sisters? Why wasn't he more engaged, more aware, more involved in parenting all of his daughters, and encouraging and guiding them as they stepped into adulthood? Why did he persist in an apathetic, self-serving, hands-off approach to Cinderella's future, including her future relationships with other men?

So, forget Cinderella's dad - Fathers, you do not want to be like him. No, you want to be lovingly engaged, looking out for your daughter's best interests, guiding her as she grows into a young woman who can wisely and confidently relate to the men around her.

Consider the following two dads:

My brother-in-law planned and carried out a "practice" date with his daughter when she became date-able age. He wanted my niece to know what to expect on a date, how she should behave, and how her date should behave. Barry took his daughter out to dinner and then to a movie, being very careful the entire evening to demonstrate good manners, respect for his "date," concern for her preferences and needs, and enjoyment of her company. When they reached home at the end of their outing, Barry walked my niece to the door and thanked her for a pleasant evening.

Then he told her, "L----, this is how any boy who takes you out on a date should treat you. And you are to behave in a way that communicates that you expect this kind of respect from your date. This is the standard. Anything less is unacceptable." Barry respected and valued his young daughter, and he wanted her to respect and value herself. And, he wanted to make sure any boys that showed up knew they would have to respect and value her as well. Well done, Barry. Very well done.

Now, consider Dad #2. A couple of years ago, my husband and I attended a Valentine Party/Dance hosted by neighborhood folks at a local church. While we were sitting at a table with a group of other parents, whom we had just met, a young girl - maybe 8 or 9 years old - bounced up to the table. She was wearing a skimpy little halter top that exposed her midriff and back, and tight, knee-length spandex pants. "Ooooo, honey, don't you look sexy!" her dad enthused as he gave her a big hug and pulled her up into his lap.

Steve and I sat blinking like stunned 'possums, but nobody else at the table reacted like anything odd or unsettling had occurred. Later, on the drive home, Steve brought up the incident. "That really disturbed me," he confessed. "Don't you think it's a little perverted for a dad to call his 8-year-old daughter 'sexy'? To let a little girl go out dressed like that, then to act like it's good? There's just something sick about that." Okay, fathers, Dad #2 is NOT the parent you want to emulate.

Dad #1 communicated, "You are precious. You are valuable. No one should treat you with disrespect or like a toy to be used for their diversion." Dad #2 communicated, "Flash some skin, shake some booty, and you really get my attention." Essentially, he was saying, "You are a toy, an exciting little plaything." One taught his daughter that the men in her life should value her and respect her thoughts, her feelings, her aspirations, and her virtue. The other taught his daughter that the men in her life should value her for her body and relate to her based on how she packages the goods.

A mother of teenage boys commented on Monday's post about the skimpy prom dresses: I get that a teenage girl doesn't fully understand the way men/boys think. She may not understand what she's doing. I'm sensitive to that. But where are the dads who are brave enough to say, "No, you can't wear that"?

LZ Granderson, a columnist for CNN.com and ESPN The Magazine put it this way: "Parents, don't dress your girls like tramps." Halter tops, push-up bras, and thong underwear for pre-pubescent girls? You've got to be kidding! Granderson writes, "In 2007, the American Psychological Association's Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls issued a report linking early sexualization with three of the most common mental-health problems of girls and women: eating disorders, low self-esteem and depression. There's nothing inherently wrong with parents wanting to appease their daughters by buying them the latest fashions. But is getting cool points today worth the harm dressing little girls like prostitutes could cause tomorrow?"(cnn.com/20111/OPINION/04/19) Dads, is that really the road you want your daughters traveling down? Read Granderson's complete article here - he addresses an issue that deserves the attention of every parent today.

So, Dad, what are you telling your daughter? She loves you and cherishes your love and esteem. She's listening, whether you know it or not. Her radar is up, and she's learning from your behavior, your attitudes, your comments how she is to view herself as a woman. Be the brave dad, the dad who encourages his daughter to be truly beautiful.

WHERE IS CINDERELLA?

I'm still working through the contrast described in yesterday's post. Why would a sweet, upright, smart, beautiful young woman want to dress like she worked for a Las Vegas escort service for her senior prom?

I don't think she would.

No, I think that what she really wants is something very different.

After living nearly 50 years as a woman, among women and girls of all ages, I can confidently assert that one characteristic common to our gender is the desire to feel pretty. We're all Cinderellas at heart. Even the funkiest punkette has some concept of attractiveness to which she aspires. The millions of dollars spent each year in this country on cosmetics, hair maintenance, tanning, toning, clothing, and accessories testify to our ongoing pursuit of our individual ideals of beauty.

Sadly, our culture seems to have replaced the idea of "beauty" with the lesser quality of being "sexy". While feminine beauty does indeed have about it a distinct quality of sexuality, it encompasses and expresses much, much more. A woman who is truly beautiful will also be to some degree undeniably sexy. However, it is entirely possible for a very sexy woman to be truly un-lovely.

Sexiness focuses on one small aspect of what it means to be a woman; beauty, on the other hand, is much more complicated, involving the fullness of what it means to be a woman. Hollywood and Fifth Avenue, unfortunately, have chosen the easier path of promoting and marketing the "smaller" version of womanhood, the sex symbol.

What does that mean for young women today? It means they are constantly bombarded with false images and twisted, narrow ideals of what it means to be beautiful. Sadly, it often means they view themselves as lovely only to the extent to which they feel physically stimulating to the young men around them. And it means that, come time to shop for a prom dress, they have very little to choose from that is not too short, too tight, too low cut, too just simply not-enough-dress.

So, what's a girl to do? First, I would encourage the young women of today to ignore Fifth Avenue and to work instead on developing beauty from the inside out. Throw away the glamour magazines and study instead to grow in the beauty which is precious to your Creator (see 1 Peter 3, or Proverbs 31). Then, let what you read and learn from Scripture influence the way you see yourself and the way you present yourself to others.

Second, do NOT base your notions of beauty on the reactions that can be elicited from a teenage boy or a college student. I've heard it straight from the horse's mouth: when males are a certain age, all girls are appealing. Basically, if you look him in the eye, smile, and say "Hi," he'll respond with interest. The wrapping paper is entirely secondary. Instead, why not ask an older, more mature fellow's opinion...someone like Dad. He already knows how beautiful you are on the inside, and you can trust that he wants others to see that beauty, too. (Dads, I have a word for you later...maybe tomorrow?)

Third, get it in your head that "sexy" does NOT equal "beautiful/pretty." Boys know the difference - you need to know the difference, too. Trust me on this: I live in a house with five men. I've heard one of my guys make the comment, "Man, So-and-so is really hot!" Let me translate, based on remarks that immediately followed that comment: "So-and-so is well-packaged. When I see her, I don't think of her as another person or as a friend...I think of her as a female who is flaunting her goods." I've also heard various of my boys comment, in almost reverent tones, "You know, So-and-so is a really beautiful girl/woman." Let me translate: "So-and-so is a truly beautiful person. Something about her commands my notice, my admiration and respect."

One more thing...be encouraged. When all the girls around you are trying very hard to be the sexiest thing in high heels and it seems like they are getting all the attention from hormone-high boys, you may think no one really notices or appreciates your commitment to being truly beautiful, lovely from the inside out. You're wrong, Little Sister. God sees your heart, and is pleased that your desire is to please Him. My boys see, and are so thankful for a female friend they can talk to and enjoy without the stress and awkwardness of having to continually divert their eyes. And the mother of your future husband sees, and she is already falling in love with you.

TWO VERY DIFFERENT DANCES

Friday night, the kids and I joined other families and friends for a country dance. Beautiful young ladies and handsome young men, little girls dancing with their daddies, married couples...the floor was full dancing feet and smiling faces. Happy, swinging, swaying, laughing souls. The Charming Waltz, Old Joe Clark, the Gothic Reel, Patty-cake Polka...the younger folks danced every dance, but this old lady had to sit out a dance now and then to catch her breath!

A few of the ladies danced in elegant floor-length ball gowns, while others wore simpler "Sunday-morning" dresses or jeans. The men were decked in everything from tails and pinstripe pants, to bluejeans and paisley shirts. Still, I saw no obvious self-consciousness over apparel...every dancer was having too much fun to be preoccupied with clothing.

No awkwardness over dance partners, either. "May I have the honor of this dance?" a dashing young man asked with a bow. "I'd be delighted!" answered a middle-aged mom, taking his hand. The six-foot-plus highschooler bowed to the little girl wearing pink gingham who stood only half his height. She beamed and bounced out onto the dance floor beside her partner. I'm fairly certain that by the end of the last waltz, everyone present had danced with everyone else there!

One particular feature of the evening's festivities really stood out to me. Our host for this dance - a young husband and father - gathered all the dancers around him and prayed. He prayed that God would be honored in our dancing, our conversations, and our fellowship. And he prayed that God would bless our evening together.

Immediately after breakfast Saturday morning, my kids were asking, "Are there any pictures from the dance posted online yet?!" They were already eager to relive through pictures the delight of the night before.

Saturday was also the occasion of another long-anticipated dance. Our local high school was hosting it's Junior-Senior Prom. I haven't seen posted online any pictures from the actual dance, but, just going by the pre-prom pictures of couples who would be attending, I'm guessing it wasn't anything like the country dance Friday night. Every young man in a tuxedo, every young woman in a party dress. Lots of glamour and sparkle...and, wow!, what a lot of flesh.

Maybe my young friends had no idea that stodgy "Mrs. Camille" would be perusing their photos. Surely they didn't intend for me (and everyone else online) to know them so, ahem, intimately. I know these kids, and they are very decent, good young people. Why, then, were they presenting themselves in a very different manner on this special occasion?

These pictures made me blush. I thought, "Young man, find your girl some kind of wrap! She doesn't realize how exposed she is!" "Young woman, I know you don't want to be viewed as a sex object, a toy, a thing...do you realize how you are presenting yourself?"

Maybe it's just me - old, old-fashioned, out-of-date. Nah. As I was looking at one group photo - four beautiful couples - one of my sons came up and looked over my shoulder. His first reacton? "Wow. That's a lot of boobs."

Okay, clearly we need to work on some things here at home. But, this spontaneous, unsolicited comment communicated something that I wish all four of those lovely young women could understand. If they want to be respected and cherished for being the attractive, intelligent, fun women they are, they don't need to package themselves like the only thing they have going for them is a pair of nice melons. Ladies, if the dress is back-less, side-less, top-less...it is probably less of a dress than it ought to be. Unless you're trying to get across the message that you are less of a lady than you ought to be.

As the mother of four young men, my work is cut out for me. Obviously, Steve and I need to focus on teaching our boys how to see past a couple of well-displayed melons to the beautiful person hidden inside.

TITUS 2-SDAY - WANTED: FASHION ADVICE

I have no sense of fashion. My wardrobe consists of a couple pairs of well-worn jeans and shorts and half-a-dozen knit cotton shirts. Footwear? Sneakers, farm boots, or, weather permitting, flip-flops. My body type: M, for Mature. Personal style: Frumpy.

It's not that I've never dreamed of being glamorous, or at least a tad more "put together" looking - it's just that glamorous doesn't quite fit my lifestyle or my budget. Consider my job description: I make peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, clean toilets, explain trigonometric functions to math students, and fold laundry. Manicured nails, cashmere sweaters, Prada, and "accessories" just don't come with the territory.

Important to me when it comes to clothing are things like - Is it comfortable? Is it functional? Is it wash-and-wear/easy to care for? Can I wear this with jeans/a T-shirt? Will it cling to my middle, exposing my built-in pool floatie to the entire world? Can I chase a small child around the house or crawl across the floor in this? Will wearing this make me feel like I'm wearing someone else's clothes? Is it obvious now that I need some fashion advice?!

Here's the situation: A friend recently gifted me with a couple of nice jackets. You know...sport-coat looking thingys. (I'm so un-fashion savvy that I'm not even sure what this particular garment is called.) Anyway, I now possess a lovely tan/camel jacket, a spiffy red jacket, a lineny-looking jacket, and a navy blazer. However, I have absolutely nothing that seems appropriate to wear with any of these awesome additions to my wardrobe.

Mrs. Mary, my benefactor, assures me the tan jacket would look fantastic with jeans. Okay, I can do jeans. I'm guessing a long-sleeved T or a turtleneck could complete the ensemble, no? But I'm thinking there are probably two or three basic wardrobe additions I could make which would enable me to create several comfortable, snazzy outfits. A pair of black slacks? A simple skirt? Maybe a semi-fitted black dress to wear under the tan or red jacket? Then there is the question of shoes, and accessories - groan. I definitely need help....

So, I'm asking for your fashion advice, Dear Reader. Here's your challenge: I have the above-mentioned jackets, and really don't want to leave them hanging in the closet un-used. What few basic pieces do you recommend to go with them? What about shoes? Remember: think cheap, comfortable, and easy-to-care for when you're brainstorming ideas for outfits.

Post your fashion suggestions as a comment here at the blog or on Facebook. Be sure to be fairly descriptive: remember, I have NO fashion sense and need rather specific suggestions and advice. Who knows...if I get really inspired and can actually follow through on some of your ideas, I may post "make-over" pictures. (Next question: anyone know how to photo-shop pictures?)

FAIRY GODMOTHER

When No. 1 Son was five years old, he entered and won a poster contest sponsored by the local electric company. The award ceremony, which included a fancy-shmancy catered dinner, was going to be held at a historic plantation house in Nashville. Notables from the Nashville political and social scene would be present for the occasion, along with reporters from local news stations. This was going to be a BIG DEAL.

A night out, a fancy dinner, an opportunity to meet and talk to new and interesting people...I should have been excited. Instead, I dreaded the approaching festivities. My gloomy mood only worsened as the date drew nearer. Sometimes it's so hard to be cheerful, to be grateful, when....

Enter Amy, a friend from our little church plant. Amy was an executive at a Nashville publishing firm, one of those women I tried not to envy for their glamorous lifestyle. Smart, funny, a sharp dresser....Amy unknowingly made this mother-of-six unduly aware of my frumpiness. I had a saggy, baggy body and wore saggy, baggy mom clothes that looked like pajamas and that were often splattered with spit-up or bits of baby cereal. Amy, on the other hand, usually looked like she was ready for an appointment with the President. She would have fit right in at a fancy awards ceremony.

I answered a knock at the door a few days before the dreaded event. "Camille, I've been digging through my closet and think I have a few things here that would look really good on you..." Carrying an armload of dry-cleaning bags, Amy pushed past me, past the crowd of children at my feet, into the house. "Do you have any dress shoes?" she asked as she headed down the hall to my bedroom. I stood gaping like a fish out of water. What in the world is going on?

"Here, try this first." Amy thrust a hanger into my hand as I entered the bedroom. While I followed orders, she began digging through my closet. Yes, it seems I did have a pair of dress shoes - one pair of black, patent-leather pumps I had held onto from a previous life. "Good. I think we can work with these." Amy backed out of the closet and stood up, a shoe in each hand.

I pulled Dress #1 over my head. "Amy, what is this about?"

"You guys are going to a big 'Do' this weekend, right?"

"Yes...."

"I'm dressing you for the ball." She looked at me for a minute, then shook her head. "Nope. Not that one....here try this."

And so, before Amy left my house that morning, I had a suitable outfit for Saturday's dinner. We settled on a beautiful cream-colored dress with black trim. Simple, straight lines, very sophisticated, absolutely gorgeous. She had even brought a new pair of pantyhose. I felt like a mountain had been lifted off my shoulders. Maybe this will be fun after all...

Saturday afternoon, Amy knocked at my door again. She was on her way home from a morning at the office. "Here," she pulled off her long, black wool dress coat and handed it to me. "There are gloves in the pockets, if it's cold out." Amy was beaming. I was on the verge of tears. "Have fun tonight!" She gave me a big hug and left.

Why am I telling you about Amy? Because Amy modeled Christ, and I think we would all do well to consider her example. Amy's keen eyes and tender heart made her aware of a need I had not even expressed. Amy saw an opportunity to meet that need, and was willing to risk the possibility of some awkwardness or discomfort to help a sister. I pray that, like Amy, I will have eyes that see into the heart of things, to the not-so-obvious needs of those around me. And that seeing, I'll have the boldness to act.

FASHION FAUX PAS

I commented once to my sister-in-law that I had learned just enough fashion protocol growing up to be miserably uncomfortable in almost any social setting. In other words, I know enough to understand that there was a right way and a wrong way of doing things...and that whatever I am currently doing is probably the wrong thing.

Here are a few time-distorted fragments of what I picked up as a child:
*A lady always wears a slip underneath a dress or skirt. Lack of a slip is irrefutable evidence of lack of moral character.
*Shoes should be the same color as or darker than the hem. And white shoes are almost always a no-no.
*Accessories should match, or at least be deliberately co-ordinated. Wearing black shoes? Then wear a black belt and carry a black purse.
*White is never worn after Labor Day or before Memorial Day.
*A lady is practically undressed if she is not wearing lipstick.
(I have faint memories of other rules about hair, open-toed shoes, eye makeup, eye contact, and a host of other things, but have apparently repressed these so deeply that I cannot clearly recall them.)

The topic came up in conversation because I was having difficulty finding a slip - there were NONE in any of the stores in Obion County - and I hoped maybe my sister-in-law knew where I could purchase such an essential item. She looked at me and laughed - she laughed. "Good grief! You have got to be kidding! Nobody wears slips anymore." I sat in shocked silence. Had the world around me really degenerated into such...such looseness? But my sister-in-law wore skirts and dresses, and I knew she wasn't a "loose woman" - did she really go out in public (gasp!) slip-less?

A funny thing happened to me in college because of my peculiar understanding of fashion. A very nice young man invited me to attend his fraternity's winter social. I immediately asked, "What are we supposed to wear?" He replied, "It's dress up."

Well, he came to pick me up for the dinner/dance wearing a tux and carrying a corsage. Me? I was "dressed up" as a shepherd (Seemed appropriate for a Christmas party...shepherds watched their flocks by night, right?) Fred gawked for a minute, then managed to ask, "Why are you wearing that?" Clueless, I answered, "You said it was 'dress up' - isn't it obvious that I'm a shepherd? Why in the world are you wearing that?"

It didn't take us long to figure out that what Fred meant by "dress up" was what I had always heard called "formal" - in my vocabulary, "formal" meant tuxedos and evening gowns, whereas "dress up" meant costumes. We both got a big laugh out of the misunderstanding, and, since I did not have an evening dress available in my dorm room, we set out for the evening as a nattily-dressed young man escorting a rather humble shepherdess wearing a corsage. (I wonder what Fred's parents thought when they saw the pictures from Winter Social!)

* * * * *

Several years ago, right after my family had moved to Millington, I attended a community Thanksgiving service hosted by several area churches. An exciting young preacher had recently accepted a pulpit in town, so, as a way of welcoming him into the community, he was asked to preach that evening's sermon. His topic was The Wedding Feast of the Lamb, based on Revelation 19. Among other things, this dynamic speaker expounded how in heaven, we will all be clothed in the righteousness of Christ. But, he continued, that is just our undergarment. All the good things we do in this life are like the ornaments, the jewels, that will embellish our outfit for the great Wedding Feast. And, he asked, wouldn't it be embarrassing to go to the wedding supper of the Lamb wearing nothing but our underwear, while everyone else gathered for the feast was wearing gold and diamonds and rubies?

I was appalled - that was probably the closest I've ever come to standing up, crying out, and thoroughly disrupting a worship service. This man considered himself a minister of the gospel? He pastored a respectable congregation, in a main-line Protestant denomination?

Folks, my fashion savvy is just about non-existent, and this fact has on occasion caused me considerable discomfort and embarrassment. But I do know EXACTLY the attire for the great wedding feast, and I will not blush or apologize on that day because of my dress - it will be nothing less than the radiant, glorious righteousness of Christ. Nothing less, and nothing more - because nothing else would be appropriate.

See related post: What are you wearing to the ball?

SPANDEX IS NOT A RIGHT

This post's title comes from a bumper sticker I saw recently: "Spandex is not a right. It's a privilege." I almost snorted soda through my nose after reading that one! Admit it - we all know what prompted the comment on the bumper sticker. Read it and unpleasant images come immediately to mind. Anyway, this got me to thinking about one of my own experiences with Spandex.

Several years ago, several years ago, I lost a substantial amount of weight due to stresses in my life at the time. Anyway, at just over 5'6" tall, I melted away to a very lean size 8. None of my size 14 clothes fit any more, and I couldn't afford an extensive wardrobe overhaul. Creativity and economy were the order of the day.

Near our apartment, an elderly lady ran a fabric store which catered to the Indian population in town. Beautiful silks and cottons, brilliant prints and solids, some with elaborate embroidery - these fabrics were for the elegant saris the Indian women wore. I couldn't afford any of the luscious gold-trimmed silks, but I did purchase a few yards of a splashy purple-pink-and-black cotton print. I stitched together a thigh-length, oversized painter's smock, which I then wore over a black leotard. I suppose I thought I looked like I'd stepped out of an old Audrey Hepburn movie! This comfortable, fun outfit instantly became one of my favorites.

Roll the clock forward about 18 months....the lean young woman in the sassy cat suit had transformed in a human blimp who had just given birth to her third child - a 10+ pound whopper! Size 8 was a dim memory. My maternity clothes literally fell off my body, but my "regular" clothes had only enough fabric to accomodate one of my legs. Get the picture?

By the time Baby #3 reached 4 weeks of age, I was desperate to get out of the house. I dug through the closet for something, anything to wear besides a nursing gown or Steve's sweat pants. That's when I rediscovered the black leotard and the brightly-colored blouse. Spandex is s-t-r-e-t-c-h-y, right? I gritted my teeth and decided to give it a try.

Believe it or not, people, you can cram a size 14-plus, mushy, post-partum body into a spandex suit that once fit a firm and lean size 8. But the visual effect? Let's just say SCARY. I did mention that I was desperate, right? Thank goodness for the billowing overshirt.

Feeling very self-conscious but determined to brave the world beyond the four walls of home, I rode with Steve and the kids to church. Sunday school was heavenly - so good to be back among dear friends and in the fellowship of other adults! By the end of that first hour, I could tell I'd soon be springing a milk leak, so I headed to the nursery, grateful for an excuse to not have to expose my distorted, spandex-clad body to the entire church during the worship service.

As I headed down the hall to the nursery, I ran smack into our pastor. He froze, eyes popping out of his head, stammering for words. I closed my eyes, grimaced, and bolted down the hallway behind him. Once in the safe haven of the nursery, I picked up my infant son and settled into a rocking chair, feeling very miserable and sorry for myself. Why couldn't I have nicer clothes like all the other church ladies? Why did I have to have such a saggy, baggy body? What was I thinking, wearing spandex to a church where most of the women were dressed and groomed like country club socialites?! Gack!

An unfamiliar woman stepped timidly into the nursery with her toddler daughter in tow, interrupting my pity party. "Do you mind if we stay in here with you?" the woman whispered. "I don't think she can sit still through the whole church service." I knew the faces of all my sisters in the congregation - this woman must be a first-time visitor. Wearing black stretchy pants, an over-sized T-shirt, and no make-up, she certainly didn't fit in with the manicured, high-heeled crowd gathered in the sanctuary. If I felt self-conscious among the beautiful church people - whom I knew and loved - how must this woman feel, standing in the midst of beautiful strangers? I nodded and smiled and introduced myself to Lara. We spent a wonderful half hour getting acquainted. Silently, I thanked God that He had dressed me specifically for this meeting. Amazing that He could use a mis-shapen body wrapped in too-tight spandex to minister to one of His children!

Spandex is not a right. It is a privilege. A privilege that is earned by passing over the doughnuts and spending time at the gym. Being a member of the family of God is not a right. It is a privilege. A privilege that is earned by the atoning work of Christ and extended to us by the free grace of God. A privilege extended to people regardless of whether they wear spandex or Spanx, Prada or Keds, Gucci bags or diaper bags, three-piece suits or stretchy pants and T-shirts. I am so often quick to judge myself and others by outward appearances, to be preoccupied with or distracted by what is external. I am glad that God sees clearly and deals with me with grace and patience. Even when I'm wearing spandex.

But the Lord said to Samuel, "Do not look on his appearance.....

For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance,

but the Lord looks on the heart."

1 Samuel 16:7

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING TO THE BALL?

"Mom, there's going to be a Balenciaga exhibit in Dallas, Texas, starting in February - do you think there's any way possible we could go see it? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I would so love to see his work." Emily made her impassioned plea while home from college on winter break. The oldest of seven children, Emily is a girl who constantly does things for others and who very rarely asks anything for herself. I knew this must be something really important.

"There's going to be a what? Who in the world is Balenciaga?"

"Cristobal Balenciaga, Mom, THE Cristobal Balenciaga!" The earnestness in my daughter's voice tugged at my heart, but still, I had no clue what she was talking about.

Okay, folks, I live in a very rural community, a patchwork of wheat fields and hay fields and pastures dotted with fishing ponds and cows. "Dressing up" means pulling on a clean pair of jeans and trading the dust-caked garden flip-flops for the new pair with the shiny gold thongs. The biggest fashion sensations here for several years running have been MossyOak camouflage and Carhartt coveralls. So maybe it's understandable that I didn't recognize the name of the most famous haute couture designer of the 1900's. Emily gave me a crash course in high fashion, during which I learned that Cristobal Balenciaga had created beautiful clothing for the likes of Ingrid Bergman, Sophia Loren, Mrs. William Randolph Hearst, and a host of royalty and social elites during his career as a designer with shops in Paris, Madrid, and Barcelona.

Two months later, Emily and I loaded into her purple mini-van and hightailed it to Dallas for a whirlwind trip to the Meadows Museum, located on the campus of Southern Methodist University. When the museum doors opened early that Saturday morning, this fashion illiterate stepped from the common world of traffic and noise and fast food joints (wearing my nice jeans and flip-flops, mind you!), into a fantasy land of exquisite beauty and elegance. I stood wide-eyed and speechless, absolutely stunned by the magnificent artwork displayed on mannequin after mannequin. A quote by Balenciaga - "My clients do not have to be beautiful. My clothes will make them beautiful." - would have seemed arrogant, if not for the irrefutable evidence of its truthfulness, documented in picture after picture, gown after gown. I think any woman on the planet would have felt like and looked like a goddess, dressed in one of his creations.

A year later, back at the business of tending tomatoes and weeding the herb box, I still enjoy occasionally pulling the over-sized museum book off the shelf and looking through the pictures of all the lovely garments Emily and I saw that day. (Thank you so much for sharing this experience with me, Emily!) And, as with everything in life, I must ask, "What did this exhibit, this man Cristobal Balenciaga, teach me about God? Myself? My need for a savior? Christ?" The answer: very much indeed.

The prophet Isaiah writes, "I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God." WHY, Isaiah? "For He has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness..." (Isaiah 61:10) David writes, "Blessed are they whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered." Whose sins are covered by WHAT, David? "You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." (Galatians 3:26-27) Do you know what this means for us as believers? We are each clothed not in a fabulous Balenciaga original, but in a garment of infinitely greater beauty and worth - a Christ original! God, in His unfathomable mercy, dresses a frumpy, rough-handed, totally unsophisticated farm girl in a robe made of the pure and holy righteousness of Christ. A dirty and sinful pauper is transformed into a dazzling princess!

Maybe because God's wonderful provision seems like something out of a fairy tale, something too good to be true, I often find myself wanting to add to it, to tack on my own little "decorations" to make it seem more tangible, more real. I am clothed in the righteousness of Christ - but maybe I'll be even more beautiful to God if I agree to teach a Bible study at church. I am clothed in the righteousness of Christ - but maybe I'll be even more beautiful if I keep my house spotless and demand perfect obedience from my children. I am clothed in the righteousness of Christ - but maybe I'll be even more beautiful if.... You get the picture. Obedience to God's word, service to my family and my church, giving my time and resources to those in need - these are all good things, but I am believing a lie if I think these things will make me more beautiful to my Father. I am called to do these good things, not because they will make me beautiful, but because I have already been made beautiful by Christ. Trying to embellish the righteousness of Christ with my own good works would be like wearing my shiny gold Wal-mart flip-flops with the ermine-trimmed, black silk ball gown designed by Cristobal Balenciaga for the elegant Claudia de Osborne. Or like topping off the fuchsia pink silk brocade cocktail dress he designed for Bert de Winter, with a MossyOak ball cap. Aaaaack!!!

So, what are you wearing to the ball? Let us celebrate God's good provision and revel in the fantastic beauty with which He has clothed us - the beauty of Christ. Come, Princesses, your garments are glorious: let us join in the dance!