This month we have an invited blogger, Judith Raymont:
“Why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?”
Sometimes easier said than done.
Take, for example, packing to go on holiday:
What a nightmare! It is a tricky exercise at the best of times. But this time. Oh dear!
This particular holiday was in multiple sections, requiring clothes appropriate for: fell walking, dining, sightseeing, shopping, swimming, lengthy spells of driving, meeting old and new friends, rain, shine and high water!
How do you pack for so many scenarios – what do you put in and what do you leave out?
I think back longingly to a previous holiday when I packed everything I needed, including evening wear, snorkel, mask, sea shoes and puffy pillow all in a Ryan-Air-small, carry-on, wheelie suitcase. But now I have all the room I could possibly want in the interior of a car and therefore enormous amounts of that dreaded word – CHOICE! Aargh! I know I should be grateful but actually I hate it.
The lilies of the field are lucky. They have no choice. They are either arrayed in white, or yellow or pink petals and that’s it. Glorious as they are, they can’t change their colours. if only I had a limited set of petals to wear it would be so much easier.
So, my husband comes home to find a multitude of garments strewn all over the bed. “Haven’t you packed yet?” He comes back a little while later to see a suitcase full of clothes, in some semblance of order. He smiles and wanders off again. Next time he looks in, the case is empty once more, and there, all over the bed, and floor, is a jumble of trousers, tops, dresses, shoes, undergarments. His face falls as he realises all is not well, and his wife, rather than the unworried lily he had hoped for, is swiftly wilting into a neurotic heap of indecision.
Finally, we are off. The car is laden down with heavy suitcases (I can’t even lift mine), laptop, extra bedding, boots, walking poles, anoraks, maps, books on wild flowers and not forgetting the Mitchell Beasley guide to trees of the English countryside.
Halfway up the motorway a conversation begins about the possibility of dining out in a swanky restaurant in Liverpool, and a chance to wear the ‘Little Black dress’, or LBD, as they are now referred to in magazines. I begin to whimper, not very quietly, as the realisation dawns that the one garment I should have packed, is still hanging in the wardrobe at home.
This is obviously somewhat of an exaggeration but has the potential for a fortnight’s worth of regret and misery. I know in my heart of hearts I am being ridiculous. God looks on the inside and is more concerned with my spiritual state than what I am wearing on the outside.
Consider the lilies of the field!
Judith Raymont
