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Short Stories To Read
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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. |
