Outgrown

Ethan unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on my mood, has learned to dress himself. If we find ourselves for any length of time at home, he favors his old school style Spiderman pjs, disregarding entirely regular clothes. Which is fine, when we have time to fire up the TV and watch some circa 1960's Spiderman cartoons, when, in the opening cerdits, they advertise proudly that their cartoon is now in COLOR. And Ethan usually puts his shoes on the wrong feet, which is all very cute until you realize the lady behind you in the grocery line is staring in dismay at your child's feet ,and you, the mother, have allowed him to walk around in duck-like disarray for a matter of hours.

I do try to keep Ethan in clothes that fit, but over the summer, he has really has grown, and I haven't had time to clean out his closet. So, I get him ready for pre-school in some pants that I just bought, perfect in length, and as I am applying my mascara, thinking all is well, and that I would be getting him to school on time, he traipses into the bathroom, sporting only his Lightnening McQueen underwear and an old pair of jeans that appear to now be capris in length and too small for him to button around his middle.

"Mommy, button these. Button them, please." He stretches them at the edges, and hopes beyond hope that the button and the snap will actually meet. He stands there looking like he is ready to wade a creek, as we say in Kentucky, but there is no creek, just Ethan pleading with me to make something fit that clearly won't anymore, and me, fuming in my impatience that he doesn't understand that his pants have been outgrown.

I can be honest and say that life to me is like an all too small pair of pants. I have been so dismayed, even to the point of utter sadness, that my life doesn't fit anymore. I also imagine that God is in his bathroom trying to get Himself presentable for the heavenly host with me begging Him to make my old ways fit again. He looks at me and says,"I have provided you with a new pair of pants. Just put them on, for crying out loud."

The problem is, I am still sucking in my stomach, laying back on the bed, gripping the zipper in a pair of pliers in hopes that I can zip it all up. And even if I can do that, I will still be a picture of misery walking around in a pair of pants I have been poured into.

But, sweet Lord, I want to wear those pants for some reason.

I need guidance and reassurance that I will look better in some other kind of life, one crafted by my Maker, instead of the misfit one I am currently sporting. I don't care if it is even a Spiderman costume, complete with fabricated fiberfill six pack abs (which, by the way, is what Ethan wil be wearing this Halloween; society miscreants beware). I just hope to find the courage to go shopping with God and hope He knows what looks good on me.