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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?
