The Pink Dress

One spring Sunday morning when I was no more than nineteen years old I had set out to go to church. I was wearing a new pink dress, pink high heels and sporting a white floppy hat. Though I was all decked out, my mode of transportation was not quite so stylish. That morning I had to take my Dad's 1947 Ford truck; not only was it not pretty, it often would not run properly. To my surprise the "ole girl" started without much fanfare so off I went. But true to form, the rust bucket began to sputter and stammer and came to a stop right on the side of the road. I knew what to do but hated to get my new outfit dirty. The carburetor needed "tweaked" that meant it needed to be smacked with the wrench that we kept on the floor on the passenger side of the old jalopy. I had to leave my floppy hat in the car for fear of the wind catching it and blowing it away. I grabbed the wrench opened the hood and began to take the dirty air breather off the carburetor. Trying not to touch the side of the truck, I gave the carburetor a blow with the wrench and pushed the idol leaver a notch to get it to run more smoothly. After putting all of the parts back in their place I got in, put the truck in first gear and I was off to church, floppy hat, pink high heals and slightly dirtied pink dress.


Today I thought of how these two worlds often clash. I don't mean just our pink dress versus a dirty ole truck but our church world versus the imperfect world around us. Sunday I sat across from a young man with an obvious mental disorder, who periodically would raise his hands at inappropriate times. His arms would flail as his head would sway from side to side. But as he swayed, a loving arm of a woman next to him would wrap around his shoulders to comfort him. In front of me was an old woman in a wheelchair who would clap her hands with the music. A young couple came in and sat next to her and my heart was touched as the young woman grabbed the elderly woman's hand and began to sway to the music, as if dancing, bringing a big smile to the old woman's face.


I wondered, as I sat in church watching these two examples of love, if I would be so compassionate. Would I shy away from the " imperfect" for fear of being inconvenienced ? Would I risk "getting dirty" to love as Jesus said to love.


For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger and you invited me into your home. I was naked and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison and you visited me.
Then these righteous ones will reply, Lord when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you something to drink? Or a stranger and show you hospitality? Or naked and give you clothing? When did we ever see you sick or in prison and visit you?
And the King will say, "I tell you the truth when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!"  Matthew 25:35-40