It was a warm spring morning as I searched my closet for something to wear to church. I finally settled on a dress I hadn’t worn in a long time. The white dress with blue patterned flowers didn’t need any extras, no ironing, nor struggling to get it on. I simply had to step into the dress and zip. Off I went to get my praise on.
As I stood at the alter for prayer at the front of the church, I clasped my hands behind my back with bowed head. My hands brushed against frayed threads along the lower center of my dress. That was when I realized I had a hole in my dress. I prayed a little harder that everyone else’s eyes remained closed until I could get back to my seat.
I made it back to my seat without anyone noticing, or so I thought. As I was preparing to sit down, Sister somebody (don’t remember who it was), leaned over two pews and whispered, “You have a hole in your dress.”
I whispered back, “Is it big?”
She showed me with her index fingers outstretched about six inches. I mouthed the words thank you and took my seat. I remembered why I hadn’t worn that dress in a while. Not wanting to be confined to my seat, I texted my fifteen year-old son and asked him to take off his white dress shirt and give it to me.
I looked behind me to see my son’s reaction and his face was contorted into a frown. He texted me back with, “Take D’s shirt.”
Well, I didn’t want to take my other son’s shirt because he was wearing a short sleeved yellow polo type shirt. First of all there were no for me to tie around my waist if I wanted and yellow would draw more attention.
After a couple of texts back and forth, I’d convinced my son to give me the shirt off his back. I knew he had a nice clean V-neck t-shirt underneath his button up and would still look appropriate. I didn’t see my son make his gallant move and take off his shirt, but a few minutes later my eighteen year-old delivered the shirt to me rolled in a ball.
Upon unrolling the shirt, I pulled it on like a jacket and left the buttons undone. The shirt was long enough to cover the frayed area of my dress. I could immerse myself in the church service once again.
Although it can be a struggle to get a teen to cooperate, this time my son came through in a clutch. He gave me the shirt off his back that day and didn’t mention it again.
Has your child surprised you by helping in some way lately?