Mending and Marching

Can’t figure out what’s happening today.  Feels like I’m marching in place,  going nowhere. Maybe the chill of the day’s settled into more than my bones.

Maybe there’s something lurking in the refrigerator, leaving me feeling like I’m having a spiritual crisis when it’s  just mold allergies. There’s so much pollen, this time of year, I could’ve  developed allergies to go along with all the other changes in my body.

Then again, some days it’s just hard to get going, to keep caring, believing when a whole lot of me feels like quitting.

Didn’t help I went shopping for something spring and summer-like.  Tired of all the black. Discovered some designer thought it a good idea to cut costs and cloth by baring shoulders, ripping holes in jeans.  My mother and grandmother would’ve spent many an evening mending our clothes so we didn’t leave the house looking like ragamuffins.  Now, you pay big bucks to look poor.

Reminded me of what I read yesterday in Romans 12 in the Message, “Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking.”

Well, I took one look at those dangling pieces of fabric and thought, “my arms don’t look like Michelle Obama’s and I’m a little afraid of what could fall out of so many openings, not being as firm as I once was.”

So, after careful thought and a look at myself in a room with wraparound mirrors, I bought no clothes, but felt motivated to march, even in place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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