Dressed

A few weeks ago, Paul and I spent the weekend in New Orleans. We were planning to attend Sunday Mass at Immaculate Conception Church, the beautiful Jesuit church across the street from our hotel.

But I had a problem.

A wardrobe malfunction.

Without getting into the particulars, let's just say the outfit I'd planned to wear was no longer an option.

What I had available was a pair of leggings, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt.

For Mass.

On Sunday.

In a beautiful, historic church!

Now, I know God doesn't require designer clothes, but I believe in dressing respectfully at church.

Showing up like I was headed out for an exercise class wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

I considered skipping morning Mass, going shopping, and catching a later one.

But the rest of the day was planned, and I wasn't sure we'd make it home in time for evening Mass.

The possibility of missing Sunday Mass because of clothes seemed ludicrous.

Even for me.

Then I remembered the coat I'd purchased the day before.

A beautiful royal blue Yvonne LaFleur wrap coat.

I'm a genius!

I threw it on, and it covered a multitude of sins.

Well, not a multitude, but it covered everything just below my tailfeathers.

I checked myself in the hotel's full-length mirror.

The horror!

I moved to the bathroom mirror, the waist-up one, and I looked just great!

With that little dose of self-delusion, we headed out.

Every time I looked down and saw my black leggings above my tennis shoes, my skin crawled. But it was only a two-minute walk, and apparently that wasn't enough time to recover my pride.

So we kept moving.

Once inside the church, I knelt to pray before Mass began.

And I apologized to God.

Repeatedly.

Profusely.

I was so embarrassed.

My mind wandered instead of praying.

If the priest happens to look at me, he'll see my face and this pretty coat.

He won't see the bottom half.

Well, not until I go up for Communion.

Do priests even look down when distributing Communion?

Doubtful. Very.

Of course, God sees everything.

Including what was going on in my head.

What's wrong with me? I wondered.

Why am I so wrecked over this?

The truth is that I'd have looked less crazy if I hadn't put the fancy coat on top of my Sporty Spice clothes.

Ugh. I'm a lunatic!

"Alright, God. Please forgive me. For the clothes and all the obsessing about the clothes."

My logical mind knew God understood my situation.

My pride wasn't quite so reasonable.

Now, I'm not going to claim to hear God talk, but if I did hear Him, I bet He'd say something like this.

"You're here. Just pray to Me."

Of course, I'd probably keep obsessing, so He’d get louder:

"Child! Eyes on Me, not your leggings."

Yes, those are the sort of things that torture my mind on a regular basis!

Anyway, there I was, kneeling.

Apologizing.

Then I heard a commotion behind me.

I turned around and saw someone struggling to settle into the pew directly behind us.

The person carried a large cardboard sign stating that they were homeless, drug-free, and alcohol-free.

Some messages are in our heads.

And some are written on cardboard.

Just like that, I forgot about my leggings.

Mass began, and there we all sat.

Respectfully.

In His presence.

Now, I shouldn't pretend to know what God thinks, but of course, I'm going to pretend to know what God thinks.

I bet He was happy we showed up at His house on that chilly Sunday morning.

I believe God values reverence, and the way we dress can express that reverence.

But I also believe God knows the difference between a lack of reverence and a lack of "appropriate" clothing.

We had all come to worship Him.

And I believe He was happy to see us.