Some random musings

"Why do you refuse to wear the clothes I give you?" The words spin around my head as I survey the garments in front of me. Why do I prefer what I'm wearing to the clothes set out before me? I look over the rich fabric laying just inches from my reach. It looks so expensive. I reach out to touch the soft folds of the simple yet beautiful dress in front of me. It looks comfortable too. The kind of garment that won't hinder movement; that you can move through life with, yet it's the kind of outfit that makes you feel good. I notice myself standing up a bit taller just thinking about it. 

Then the words start pinging around my brain again. "Why do you refuse to wear the clothes I give you?" My eyes travel down and the shock threatens to overwhelm me as I compare what I've just seen to what I now wear. It's almost laughable, but the tears that fill my eyes aren't from laughter. Think of the worst rag in your home; the kind you've used so much that it's almost falling apart and you've long forgetten what the pattern used to look like as years of use and cleaning up your own spills have marred it beyond recognition. 

My feet shuffle back as I take in the comparison. I'm filled with shame that I even ventured to touch the gown laid out before me when my own outfit, the one I've clinged to for so long, is so filthy. "Why do I refuse to wear the clothes You gave me?" I whisper through a constricted throat. "It's not because I prefer mine...it's because I know I don't deserve Yours."

Through my tears, I notice that someone else has entered the room. My head is bent in shame so I don't see His face, but I feel His presence. He radiates kindness yet there's a sense of power, the same power that radiates from the Person before me; the One I've refused the gift from. I can hear His footsteps coming closer, but I never raise my head. How could I? To my horror, His steps stop in front of me, and I see His hands reach out to take mine. I want to pull away, I want to run and hide, but I can't once I've felt His strong hands on mine. I know I should, but I want to allow myself just a moment and I close my eyes.

It's the gentle rumble of a deep chuckle that makes my eyes open again. The gift Giver is laughing, but at what? Then I see it. My hands...I was so afraid that I might make this kind Mans hands dirty from Him touching me. But against all logic, I find it hard to explain even now, the opposite has happened and His hands have made mine clean! I don't dare look up into His face as I feel one hand release mine. He reaches back to accept the gift of the garments for me from the gift Giver, and He places them in my hands. My fingers clutch the soft fabric as I hear Him say, "Here, this is the garment made for you. You'll find it's much easier to carry out the things we have for you to do if you're wearing this. You'll be tempted to wear your rags again because they are familiar, but this, this is the garment made for you."

"This is who you are now."