It happens every morning. The alarm goes off and I stumble, bleary eyed into my walk-in closet. There I proceed to stare at my half (OK, ¾) of the closet praying for creativity to hit me. It never does, so I grab black or brown slacks and one of a handful of tops that I like and call it good. Still, every morning I can count on at least 20 minutes of my routine being spent in that closet trying to find something to wear.
Lately I’ve been really worried about my clothes. Not because my pants are getting too tight, or because my jacket might be out of style. But because I keep hearing God whisper… “What are you wearing?”
She is clothed with strength and dignity, she can laugh at the days to come. Prov. 31:25
If I were honest with you I’d tell you that I’m not wearing strength or dignity. If I were honest, I’d tell you I am clothed in fear, anxiety, worry, depression, heaviness, guilt, judgment, anger… well you get the idea.
Sometimes I feel like the girl who showed up to the ball wearing sweats and a grungy t-shirt. And all I want to do is go hide in the corner. I look at all the pretty girls in their spinny dresses and I whisper to myself, “What am I doing here? I’m such a mess. I don’t belong.”
But then I remember… I do belong! I wasn’t just invited to the ball, but this is my castle! I remember whose daughter I am, and what resources have been made available to me.
If I’m wearing sweats it’s because I chose it, not because there weren’t other options available to me.
God’s story begins with the Father clothing His daughter Eve in the garden. And it ends with the Son clothing His bride in glorious white.
And here, in between the beginning and the end, He wants to clothe me too.
He waits for us, with strength and dignity in His hand. He wants to clothe His daughters. He wants to cover our weakness, our shame. The question is… are we ready? Are we ready to let go of our worn and comfortable clothes? Are we ready to be clothed by the King? The choice is ours.
He has sent me… to give them a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness. Isa. 61.