The Glimmering Gown
I brushed a strand of mousy brown hair from my eyes, bit my lower lip, and wiped the kitchen counter again. My husband’s best friends from college would be over for dinner at any moment.
I’d been cooking, cleaning, and chasing kids all day in preparation. How did so many fingerprints get everywhere? Why hadn’t we painted the house? I hoped the Martins wouldn’t notice the spots on the carpet.
Two children charged through the kitchen with a barking cocker spaniel in pursuit. The doorbell rang. I covered the casserole and shoved it back in the oven.
Lord, please help this evening go well.
I felt covered with sweat and worries, but I forced a smile. I hoped to sit down soon and catch my breath.
Ready or not . . .
We hadn’t seen David’s college friends since we’d moved to another state fifteen years earlier. That was long before children started filling our home and lives with a menagerie of pets, projects, clutter, and laughter.
After I welcomed John and Sara Martin into our home, their two children and our four were instant friends. I envied them their ease. I had always felt shy and nervous around people I didn’t know well. I was relieved when David finally got home so he could do most of the talking while I finished in the kitchen. David was excited to see them again. He had even come home early from his demanding job for the first time in weeks.
The Martins were taking an extended road trip, visiting relatives and old friends as they traveled from California to the East Coast. They had worked long hours in their home-based business before they sold it. Now they were taking a much-needed vacation, driving across country in a motor home and stopping to stay with family and friends on their way. That weekend was our turn to host them in our Colorado home.
While the Martins talked, John smiled often at Sara or grabbed her slender hand or waist. I crammed my worn nails into my jeans pockets and went to check on the casserole. Taking care of four active children, pursuing night classes, and doing volunteer work at church and the local elementary school left me little time for trips to the beauty or nail salon.
When dinner was ready, we fed the children first and then settled them in front of a movie in the family room so we could keep talking uninterrupted.
While we ate by candlelight, David and his two college friends quickly caught up with each other’s lives. Soon they began talking about pranks and stories from four years of campus life together. I listened, smiled, and nodded from time to time. David and I had met after they’d graduated. Most of their memories were new to me.
“Just think what might have happened if you’d picked Sara instead of Carla that night on our first double date,” John said. “Instead, here we are. And I’ve got the best wife ever.”
Sara’s cheeks turned an attractive pink as both men beamed their admiration. David didn’t think to say something nice about me in return. He was the take-the-trash-out type and not so quick with romantic words.
I wish I could say I took my husband’s silence in stride while both men admired Sara and then launched into another story. But my self-worth was at a low point that year while I was trying to raise children, lose weight, and complete a college degree. David and I had been fighting a lot about his overtime hours, the kids, and finances. David hadn’t looked at me as he was looking at Sara in a long time. Something about that moment pierced into a deep, hurting place in my heart.
I picked up several empty plates, retreated to the kitchen, and began to wash them. My long hair covered misting eyes. David offered to help when he brought more dishes to the counter, but I waved him back to his friends. Eventually the three college buddies went to check on the kids and settle them into pajamas and sleeping bags.
Misty eyes were becoming mini-streams, so while they were busy with the kids, I escaped to our bedroom to pray. I crawled under the covers. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen passed, and I still didn’t feel ready to face anyone. I just wanted to hide. How could I serve dessert when I only wanted to cry?
Lord, help me.
Eventually I heard David and the Martins talking in the living room. I knew I couldn’t avoid them much longer. I struggled to my feet.
I felt like the foster child I’d been in my early years—someone who could never really belong with the laughing people at the dinner table, who wasn’t good enough.
Light streamed through our bedroom window. I stood in it, looking out at the Rocky Mountains. Starlight illuminated the Colorado prairie and distant snow-capped peaks. I didn’t want to leave the sight. It was beautiful.
Lord, I’m sorry. You’ve brought me so far from a troubled childhood and hand-me-down dresses. You’ve given me a husband who loves me . . . and children . . . and a home. You’ve helped me so often. Help me again to do what’s right. Help me serve you and others, here, now.
I lingered in the starlight a moment longer, breathing slowly. Before I could force myself to go back to our guests and be hospitable, I felt something light float over me. I began to feel as though I wore a glimmering evening gown more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen on a movie star or Cinderella.
I looked down. I couldn’t see the gown, yet I could feel it, and it felt amazing. I felt beautiful in it and rich. I felt clean, valued, loved. I wasn’t an awkward, scruffy kid. For the first time, I felt like a child of a King.
This must be what it feels like to wear Christ, I thought as I rinsed my face and eyes. And I could smile. Even my eyes could smile. God had answered my prayer.
I think I half glided around the house the rest of the evening as I served cake and coffee. I even joined in the friendly banter now and then.
Since that evening I’ve sometimes prayed to have the heart to see myself covered in that beautiful gown again. Although I haven’t been able to see it, I know now God can.
I’m amazed that regardless of our hurts and troubles, past or present, God sees His children as beautiful. He sees us dressed in the shimmering light and textures of Christ’s elegance. When I remember this, my chin rises ever so slightly.
And when I step out to serve Him and others, even my eyes smile.