I ventured to church this morn with one hand stiffly splinted and wrapped in a medical bandage, fingers still tainted in betadine and stubby nails anything but manicured. My thoughts were not of the present but of the past.
It is the first Sunday in May. Three quarters of a century ago, my Mother would have been dressing me for Sunday Service. Come the fifth month of Chicago’s year, Mom would have replaced my wool mittens with white cotton gloves. My Mother firmly instilled a lady (and little girl) was never dressed without her white gloves; and God deserves our finest, nothing less.
What is my finest? What is your finest? What is finest, be it mine, yours or anyone else’s? Yes, white gloves when life is at its best; but could it be our finest is really revealed when we are at our worst? Is finest coming perfectly dressed to stand in God’s presence or coming wounded to kneel in His presence?
My Mother taught me respect in God’s presence. My wounds teach me humility, healing and Hope in God’s presence. Be it seventy some years ago or this 21st century morn, as we approach the throne of God, our hands, hearts and souls were created to wear both white gloves and bandages.
This dawn, I felt my Mother enlighten this newly acquired wisdom within me. Thank you, God, for sending Mom as Your morning messenger, I was yearning for her forever guidance and love.
“Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old, he will not depart from it,” Proverbs 22:6 (ESV). Mom, you did just this…
Uplifted in a Broken Down World 