Though pyjamas may frequently be my default mode of dress these days, I still retain a love of clothes (shoes, boots..) and the rare opportunity to dress up and go somewhere special.
As a child, fancy clothes didn’t feature much.
My parents were of the school of thought that cheaper and two sizes too big was better to allow room for growth that rarely came before all wore out.
One thing alone stands out from my childhood wardrobe.
No shop could have held such an item as The Dress Rarity enshrined it in memory while others faded.
Hands…that stole embraces mainly for their own comfort or pushed aside.
Eyes…that fired navy blue stones cut hard with disappointment.
Forehead….a pleated frown of disapproval.
Lips…caressing cigarettes, spoke harsh, ashed with irritability, scolds never far away.
Body….built for comfort, though it yielded little.
This Dress made all the difference. It spoke volumes
A mother who was far from motherly had crafted it
Hands….folding and holding
Eyes….poring and scanning
Forehead….creased with concentration
Lips….tutting, tense and pin-full
arched in supplication
over pattern and cloth
to wield instruments of magic
treadle and triumph
Sew fine and sing
out a song
a wheel of motion
hastening the end
Hands that skilfully produced marvellous meals, delicious desserts and celebration cakes – for such was her gift – were now employed in a project for a long-ignored daughter.
Once completed it was mine alone. No sisterly sharing. Just for me She had her own. I loved it.
Sadly, being a family short on albums, no image remains save that etched on my brain:
Stand-out scarlet fine needle-cord, burgundy-bright tones for a child used to fading into shadow. Edged with white-laced collar. Party pretty. I felt like Sara, Princess and childhood heroine.
Years have passed and dresses galore have entered my life, each special in their own way.
But none like this – for despite all thoughts to the contrary – as far as I was concerned: Here Lay Proof.
Denied or disabled, yet her love ran through every stitch, like a scarlet thread bleeding into the fabric as it bled afresh in my heart – she cared – my mother did love me; I held the evidence before me.
Years later, discovering her rejection from first implant of seed, attempts to remove our presence from her, seen as unwanted, treated as unloved, yet we came…twin girl companions to grieve her heart and soul as our arrival joined her in matrimony to a man she didn’t love or respect; doubts rose again.
What lay behind it all I will never know. She carried her private sorrows to the grave. Only that I was not enough to make her smie or cause her the joy she named me to be.
Long before I knew the love of God, He sent thosethreads of grace into my life to remind me that I am special and His love could thaw the coldest of hearts, breathe hope and life where all seemed lost, change darkness and despair into light, make a child dance in heart and hearth for joy of being loved.
And He still does.
“I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God. For He has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness..” ~ Isaiah 61:10
Many lessons have been learnt since then.
Now I seek to dress differently.
To clothe myself in His robe of righteousness instead of a garment of shame
To put on love as it has been put on me by His loving hands
To put greater store on my inner rather than outer appearance
To see myself as God sees me in Christ
“Instead of their shame my people will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace they will rejoice in their inheritance..” ~ Isaiah 61:7