The Lord Knows Clothes
Going to Sunday Mass is always an ordeal at this house. Usually its everybody trying to get into the bathroom at once to get ready, or being forced into the bathroom to get ready, and there's always a lot of yelling, arguing, stomping and slamming doors before we finally make it out and pile into the car. They say that the hour before church is the most unholy hour of the week, and that proves ever so true at our house. Someone is always trying to sleep in, or feigns illness in order to stay home, and no one can ever find anything to wear. This morning's catalyst of my hair-pulling episode was my middle son. He came downstairs in a pair of jeans his girlfriend had gotten him for Christmas. The knees were ripped out and the back of the legs were faded. I told him to put on something decent to wear, and that's when the argument started. At seventeen, he naturally thinks he can do pretty much what he wants, and short of tackling him, stripping him and dressing him at ten minutes before church started about the only thing I could do was to verbally try to convince him to change. It didn't work, and he stayed in the bathroom until time to go, when I yelled that it was time to go. He didn't come out, and being angry and refusing to let him make us late I herded the youngest son out the door ahead of me and went to church. He came into church about three minutes later, wearing those ratty-looking jeans. I can't really say I was embarrassed because over the years my kids have done so many things that made me want to crawl under the pews and out the doors that a pair of torn, faded jeans only had me letting out a sigh of disappointment. Afterward I sat him down and tried to explain that church isn't a place to try to be cool and that we dress in good clothes because being able to worship once a week is something we should try to look our best for. Not for everyone else to see, but to show the Lord that we think enough of Him to look our best for Him. I think he took it about the way I would have when I was his age... about half listening, although if my dad told me to change or else... I would have changed.
posted by Tim at Sunday, January 07, 2007
2 Comments:
Hey Tim,
I love this post. I always used to fight about what to wear with my mother when I was a teenager -- the more terrible looking the outfit, the better. But like you, when she said change, I'd change. Now I love to dress up -- I suppose everything changes a little over time!
I remember when my youngest son was a teenager and he would wear those real baggy pants, you know, the kind that makes him look like he's wearing his father's clothes. Well, whenever he would want to go anywhere with me, I would refuse to take him until he changed. Eventually, he rethought his position on the whole baggy pants thing when one day at high school, he forgot to wear his belt and while going up the stairs, his pants fell down around his ankles in front of everybody. He never wore pants that lose after that.
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