Clothing: (noun, verb)
On unsettledness, tenderness, and glory
I knew that relocating would shake things up, both outside and inside, and it has. The rhythms I do have keep me sane at the moment, but I find myself wondering if they are the rhythms I actually want to have long-term, or if I’m just keeping myself occupied in the acute bits of this season of change. Things will fall in line eventually, I’ll figure out the pieces and places I want to prioritize, and the unsettledness will fold into familiarity. No move is the same because I’m not the same, and neither are my circumstances. I’ve done this before, but it’s still uncomfortable.
Raw from these realities, I clicked into to a zoom meeting with my spiritual director recently. As always, she moved towards me in a conversation that touched on all varieties of the minor tones of life— regret, guilt, shame, failure, sorrow, longing, loss. At some point she brought me back to Adam in the garden, just after he had ruined his beautiful life. She mentioned that God stepped into the role of a tailor in that moment,1 and then said something to the effect of: Who makes clothes for someone else out of anything other than love?
Adam and Eve were standing there, wrapped in leaves that could easily tear or blow away, having wrecked the fabric of the literal universe. But God chose that moment to make them clothes from leather— a merciful material that could last for decades! I’ve watched my mom make clothes for her grandchildren over the years, so I know there’s nothing even remotely malicious in that act. She adores those kids, whether they rip the clothes or spit-up on them. Making something small and cute is just one way of showing that her grandkids are on her mind in the most beloved way, whether she is with them or not. I guess that’s why God makes clothes too.2
Several years ago, I went to look for a wedding dress with a dear friend. It was in the pandemic-era, and only two of us bridesmaids were allowed into the boutique for the appointment. The bride and the employee attending to her talked through the bride’s vision, style preferences, body type, etc., and then got down to the excitement of trying on dresses. With each dress we ooh’d and aah’d, talked through what the bride liked, what was flattering, what really worked. There was obviously just one dress that consistently took our breath away. It was different than what the bride went in thinking she wanted— it was better. She was stunning in that dress; she felt comfortable, like the most true and beautiful version of herself.
As we got in the car and drove away, she and I re-hashed the whole experience: That attendant was amazing! That was so fun to see you in all those different dresses! I’m so happy with the one you picked! And suddenly we were crying as we realized that maybe we had just walked into a spiritual reality in an unexpected way. Maybe the robes of righteousness Christ offers aren’t shapeless, engulfing the wearer into anonymity like choir robes. Maybe they’re tailor-made, fitted to beautify the particularities of our stories, our scars. Maybe they are created to accentuate the restorative glory bestowed, and the tenderness of the Tailor who fully sees and fully loves when he clothes his children.
“The LORD God made clothing from skins for the man and his wife, and he clothed them.” -Genesis 3:21, CSB
“Observe how the wildflowers of the field grow: they don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these. If that’s how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and thrown into the furnace tomorrow, won’t he do much more for you— you of little faith?” -Matthew 6:28b-30, CSB
Those last sentences are particularly beautiful.
i love this.