It’s a God Thing

Yesterday was an ordinary day.  It was also an extraordinary day.  I truly believe that each day is what you make of it and as good as you let it be.

I woke up at 6 AM.  Blech.  I hate 6 AM.

As I hunted in the dark for my post-shower clothing I remembered that my blue jeans were still unwashed.  Awesome.

This could have been a “Gaaah!  Crap!  My whole day is ruined!” moment but instead I sighed and went to my closet, content to see what God has in mind for my outfit today.  You see, I am a firm believer that if God cares enough about each and every one of us to give each of us different fingerprints on each of our fingers he also cares about what we wear.  He cares if I look fabulous or not.

Late September in Michigan is just too cold for crop pants and cute sandals so I now have two choices:  wear yoga pants (terrifying jiggle option) or throw on my black pants.

So begins the domino effect of not washing one’s denim in a timely manner.  Black pants mean I should not wear a T-shirt or sweat shirt.  Fine, whatever, I’ll wear a nicer shirt.  I grab my dark cerulean cowl neck shirt (look it up, it means blue) because my friend Brenda said it looked amazing on me and that makes me happy.  The fabric is kind of thin so I grab a warm, colorful sweater.  When you have only been awake for 4 minutes, colorful seems like a really good idea.

After my shower I dress and look in the mirror.  I say to myself  “Um,  Amy (that is what I call me), the stripes make you look like a clown.”  An ever-widening clown.  I couldn’t take the sweater off quickly enough.

Again I could have chosen to pitch a fit about how much wider and more clown-like horizontal stripes make me look but I sigh, still trusting God, and place my once beloved sweater in the Purple Heart give away bag.  I go back to my closet and see a black/grey tweed jacket that I have only worn once and decide to wear that, tossing it on the bed so it is safe from the splay of my “blow-dry and hairspray the heck out of my head” routine.

I finish my hair, grab my jacket and head downstairs.  I am way overdressed for what I have planned for the day (dropping the kids off with their tutor and coming home to wash a load of blue jeans) but I just accept that maybe God has a plan for this day that He hasn’t clued me in on yet.  I smile, wondering just when He will tell me the plan and I silently hope that I’m not too “busy” to hear Him when He does.

I eat breakfast with my kids and realize that I am miraculously running almost an hour ahead of time.  Fluke or reward for my resignation to Divine Will?  You decide.  All I know is that left to my own devices I’m NEVER early.

As I leisurely finish my second cup of coffee I take advantage of my extra time and apply full combat make-up.  How awesome is it that God is giving me time to get rid of my ruddy spots?  I even have time to pick out accessories so I go back up to my bedroom and choose earrings that make me smile and my beautiful three hearts necklace from my kids, which also gives me joy.

I look in the mirror, which as a rule I usually avoid, and I think “Oh for the love of Chico’s… I look like I’m going to a funeral.”  It really doesn’t matter because no one will see me; I’m just coming home to do laundry.

So I drop my kids off with their tutor and decide to pop across the street, into the parish office to ask a question.  There is a hearse parked at the front of the church so I said a  “Hail Mary”  for the occupant as I always do whenever I see a hearse or an ambulance, then I proceeded to the rear of the church to park.

Now don’t think I’m some sort of Rainman who counts cars because I’m not.  If the parking lot had been full of Fords or Toyotas I would never have noticed but the parking lot was almost completely filled with Nissan cars.  I noticed this because my husband works for Nissan and we drive Nissans.  Seeing Nissan cars on the road always reminds me how blessed we are.  I gratefully notice them everywhere.

Then I remember that one of Jon’s former bosses passed away last week.  I thought he was buried last week, too.  Wait, there was a hearse… I’m starting to get a funny feeling.

I get out of my car and start walking toward the building.  Just outside the door I see a familiar face, Anne from my daughter’s dance studio, her eyes are red and she gives me a wobbly smile.  I approach her and we exchange greetings.  My curiosity forces me to ask if  the funeral is for Ron, Jon’s former boss.  She begins to cry openly.  “Yes, he was one in a million.  We will all miss him terribly.”

I gave that sweet tiny woman a big hug and told her how sorry I am for her loss.  I hope that God somehow lets the certainty of His immense love for us transfer from my clumsy arms to her sorrowful heart.

Ron was, indeed, a wonderful, kind man.  Jon loved working for him.  We occasionally ran into him around town after he retired and he was always so happy and interested in us and our kids.  We were saddened to hear of his death.  He was only 65.

I dropped my plans for popping into the church office and headed, instead, into the body of the church.  I mean why not?  I’m dressed for it.

It is now a full day later and I’m still blown away by my awesome wardrobe malfunction.  If I’m counting blessings, and I guess I am now, there are at least 17:

1. Dirty blue jeans
2. Clean black pants
3. Striped “fat” sweater
4. Purple Heart give away bag
5. Nice tweed jacket
6. Cerulean shirt (Cerulean! Cerulean!)
7. Breakfast with my kids
8. Time for a second cup of coffee
9. Full combat make-up
10. Smile inducing earrings
11. Joy inducing three hearts necklace
12. My “Hail Mary for the occupant” habit
13. My Nissan hyper-awareness
14. Sweet Anne to light my path
15. Having known Ron
16. The privilege of attending Ron’s funeral Mass, which although sad was beautiful and inspiring
17. Being part of the Communion of the Saints