Blessed Love Affair

Don’t laugh. I have a love affair: with a skirt. I fell for the famed love at first sight when I was sixteen with my dream skirt…brown, corduroy, godet inserts, low rise, pockets in front and none in back. We have been so happy together ever since I saw it on a sale rack at Macy’s as a teenager. I took it home and we have enjoyed years of bliss. Except I’m definitely not a teenager now and its definitely aged, too. I have often been heard to say, “If I only I could have another one of these! I wish there had been two: I would have bought them both!”

I get second glances elevator-style from my mother. My sister says, “Oh. You’re wearing it again.” People still say “Where did you get that?!” but the intonation is oddly different. I turn a deaf ear to these feeble affronts to my friend. We ne’er shall part. Except, its parting itself. It is thread bare in the truest sense of homelessness and destitution and neglect. Like see-through quality. It’s bordering on being mistaken for curtain sheers on a gnarly waistband. (Well, not quite.) Call me strange, but I’ve even prayed and told God about my special skirt and my sadness to see it need to go.

I am 22 and take my little mother and big, little sister shopping. I take them to the secret places I have found and show them the wonders of second- hand stores. I toss them Banana Republic and Limited buys with one tag that says $150 and another that says $1.50. I’d do it for you, too.

This trip was different. That morning I had done my customary mental whine about wishing I had another edition of my skirt, and then I had worked on a frustrating hour long project from morning until four in the afternoon. Now trying to recover, I kicked completely into my shopping mode, glassily rummaging along racks using my systematic technique that bars all possibility of missing the perfect wardrobe piece, I moved along the aisles snatching buys for my ever-growing sister. People chattered noisily, co- workers were joking with each other; a boy in blue overalls threw a ball
past me and ran then slid after it, while a glass fish bowl shattered next to what was once a red-hatted garden gnome somewhere over by ‘Collectibles.’ Suddenly, everything faded to hazy, silent mist except one object. My hand ran along the edge of the most beautiful skirt I’d ever experienced. Except
this one was brand new. I shrieked. And soon I joined the huzzah of the bustling store as I eagerly eyed the size that matched mine exactly.

I was in love, again. This time with my Best Friend Who thinks of little details and knows me so well. He provided and was looking out for me. Such a little thing, I know. But that’s why I fell in love with Him all over. Jesus does care. And He looks into your life and sees the littlest of details. Tell him about your small treasures and big woes. He listens.

Singing to myself, I brought my new skirt into my bedroom and hung it on a hanger. I pulled out the old one and hung it next to it where I could see them both and I talked to them. I do not apologize: I told you it was a love affair. I took the old one down lovingly, folded it, and slipped it into the garage sale box. And then I pulled it out and hung it back up.