The Red Pants

It was the Sunday before Valentine's Day and I was determined to don a celebratory outfit. You all know this about me. I've written about it before. I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine's Day. It falls just five days before my birthday. I think it's over patronized as a holiday designed for us to spend money simply to say that we love another. It seems futile. At the same time I don't miss an opportunity to celebrate. There are often times when I wonder if I should have been a kindergarten teacher and then I could have appropriately worn my valentine heart leggings. But you all know that I would have never made it in a classroom with five-year-olds. All. Day. Long.

So there I was. Staring at my closet. Looking through all of the red. Then I spotted them. My skinny red pants. I felt certain they were the perfect complement to show my celebratory mood in honor of this day of worship before the day of love. Oh, but there was one problem. My post-partum body was not meant to fit in these skinny red pants anymore. Sure, there had been a time when they fit me like a glove. But this was not that time. It was more like the scene from O.J. Simpson's trial trying to squeeze his hand into a shrunken piece of fabric that simply wasn't going to work. I felt the same as I did the jig, jumped up and down, squatted, and bent over trying to get the pants to stretch and fit. If anyone had witnessed this episode they would have been in for a real treat. And not the sugary sweet Valentine kind of treat. More like the kind where your eyes bug out of your head and then you roll over laughing because you can't believe what you're seeing.

Thankfully, my jig worked at least enough for me to get them buttoned. Never mind the muffin top. We'll blame all that extra skin on my sweet little Violet even though I would do it all again. So much for the simply fit board I got for Christmas. I guess I should have used it more than a dozen times in the last six weeks. Oh well, I didn't have time for that now. I would find a long tunic that would cover up all the problems. No one would be aware. A cute pair of heels and some jewelry and I was all set. 

I have to laugh. As intended no one suspected that underneath that long flowing top that I was poured into my red pants. I'm sure if they did know they would wonder how I was breathing.

In true confession style I come before you to share all the gory details. It seems only fitting. After all, I was the one who fatefully chose to wear flashy red pants that didn't actually fit. And yet those bright red pants were not easily missed! Oh the irony...

It makes me wonder how much we are truly covering up. How much we would reveal about ourselves if we were truly honest. If we were actually exposed for who we are deep down, Would it reveal the case of the too tight red pants? Would we see the blemishes and flaws? Would it reveal something that's desperately trying to be hidden? It could be a wound. It could be shame, hurt, pain. Whatever it is, there are some things worth covering. And then there's also other things worth revealing.

In this case I would like you all to give me a huge amount of gratitude for what I spared you from. It was certainly not worth revealing. But I have to tell you, my heart has been in that place where I've hidden the wounds with a painted on smile, covered up the scars with empty words, all the while wishing I could just let it all hang out and reveal the depths of my heart and mind. If I would have been gut-level honest it would have revealed the gut-wrenching truth of me just needing someone to share with. (Thank goodness that's the only gut I'm willing to expose...)

Today I'm challenged. Determined to take some things at surface level and praying for discernment to know when I should look deeper.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go change into a nice soft stretchy pair of leggings!! 


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