These are My Big-girl Pants

I cleaned out my closet the other day. My efforts didn’t reach the level of separating the items I don’t love into piles to throw away, donate or put away for a few months to see if I miss them. I simply went through and culled out stuff I don’t like anymore.

In the process, I came face-to-face with my fall and winter wardrobe. These are the clothes I was wearing last year when my hours were consumed with managing my parents’ affairs. When I was making those near-daily visits to the nursing home. When my dad was hospitalized and I was driving to see him multiple times a day.

I remember what I wore when I was rushing past the towering Christmas tree in the hospital lobby, down the long corridor with all the windows, past the Starbucks shop and up the elevator to the fourth floor.

I remember what I wore when Randy and I sang “O Holy Night” to my dad in his hospital room. I remember what I wore when I went to see him at the nursing home a few hours before my mom’s visitation.

It sounds a bit strange to say, but those outfits are full of memories. Memories that evoke emotion. The feelings started coming a few weeks ago, even before I cleaned out my closet. Knowing that cooler weather was right around the corner, I started wondering how it would feel to wear those outfits again.

This is not something I expected. These aren’t my parents’ clothes we’re talking about; they’re mine. I saved a few articles of their clothing for sentimental purposes, but other items from their home mean much more to me.

My winter clothes don’t make me sad, necessarily. I’m not at the point where I can’t bear to see them or I never want to wear them again.

But they take me back. Boy, do they take me back.

I’ve tried to figure this out. I’ve wondered if other people feel this way about the clothes they’ve worn in hospital waiting rooms, elementary school conference areas, counseling offices or other places they frequented during hard or stressful times.

I don’t know about that. But the other day, when I was getting ready in front of the bathroom mirror and thinking about wearing one of those outfits, it suddenly hit me.

These are my big-girl pants.

They’re my big-girl tunics. My big-girl plaid tops. My big-girl leggings and boots.

Wearing these clothes, I did things that I never imagined I would have to do. Not anything heroic or tragic or anything more than anyone else has ever done before me. But for me, it was pretty significant work.

It took emotional energy and physical effort. Maybe more than at any other time in my life, it required me to buck up and just do what I needed to do.

But I wasn’t doing it alone. God was with me. When I was wearing those clothes, taking care of those things that my parents needed me to do (even though they often didn’t even realize it), He was carrying me.

Yes, those sweaters and leggings make me miss my parents. But they also remind me how the peace of God sustained me during those days. How His strength somehow became my own. How His other children—especially the kind caregivers at my parents’ nursing home—spoke life to my hurting heart when I was weary and sad.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to set up an online store selling pieces of the garments that I was wearing when I felt such peace.

But here’s something that I didn’t realize before. Clothes can have meaning. They can take us back, for sure, but maybe they can also help us heal.

I don’t really recall what I wore during other intense seasons of my life. When I look at pictures of our two trips to China to adopt our daughters, for example, the only thing I think when I look at what I’m wearing is I’m so glad I don’t dress like that anymore.

In a few years, I might feel that way about my current winter wardrobe too.

For now, though, I’m going to put on my big-girl pants and do the next thing, trusting that the God of all my days knows what’s coming and will never let me go.

♥ Lois

P.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, Let’s Have Coffee, Faith on Fire, Faith ‘n Friends and Grace & Truth.

Photo by Lilly Flowers