One morning while on a holiday in the Caribbean, we were feeling, and no doubt looking, somewhat conspicuous as we poked along a highway (which is really just a road), in a golf cart, on the Island of Grand Turk. This is an interesting way to get around, especially for those sitting in the back, because we face backwards, and a following car gets a better view of us than I expect they want, and we in turn can see them very well, until of course they pass us, which they always do at their earliest opportunity. As my sister-in-law and I observed the passengers approaching us, our comments went something like this: “yes”, “no”, “probably not”, “for sure not”, “for sure”, and so on. “Very random”, you might think, but rest assured we were referring to something very specific. It was Sunday, so can you guess what it was?
Here we are! Ready for our slow journey - seat belts pending.
A lot of islanders go to church on Sunday, and we noticed that they get quite dressed up to do so. Now can your guess? That’s right! We were guessing who was on their way to church. Church, however, was not our destination as we bungled along the road that particular Sunday morning. It was the ocean, and snorkeling, that were calling us, but nevertheless my thoughts turned to dressing up for church.
From childhood on, I have always liked going to church, and back then it was definitely a dress up affair. We had a bath on Saturday in preparation, and in the morning I would don a dress. So would my mom, unless of course, she was wearing a suit that day. She usually wore a hat as well. My friends concurred that she always looked elegant. Mother sewed most of our clothes, and my sisters and I would get 2 new dresses a year. One dress was for Christmas and the other at Easter. These were worn over and over again, on Sunday; our Sunday dresses. I remember one Monday when I was in grade 3, I had no clean school clothes, so I had to wear my Sunday dress. It was red, with white lace trim-the Christmas dress that year. I was rather mortified, but by the time I had walked the mile to school, the dress was completely forgotten, and the compliment from a little friend saying she loved my dress came as a complete surprise.
I still like to go to church, and sometimes I even wear a dress, but there is no longer an unspoken rule that it must be so. I appreciate the line from a worship song that says, “Come, just as you are to worship, come, just as you are before your God, come…” That’s the important thing, isn’t it? Coming? I know that when I do, He looks at my desire for Him, not my dress; my attitude, not my attire. It seems no matter what I’m wearing, He says, “Welcome my child”, and He’s glad that I’ve come.