My Dad’s White T-Shirt. Summer Notice. And #UNITE

It was summer, much like the ones we have recently been experiencing.

My parents century-old-house was in the eighties, come evening…the one I lived in as long as I can remember.

The high, exposed, cross-beamed ceilings drew the night air rising, making the second floor I slept on like an inferno, come bed time.

We had plenty, but were never frivolous. We were always clean because my mom continually pleaded…

“Water is free, and soap is cheap”, so there is never any reason not to be clean.

My tiny toes barely reached, crawled out, over our claw-foot bath, wary from a long day playing.

The adult-sized towel my mom wrapped around me, fit like an evening gown, touching the floor, toes barely showing out the bottom.

She walked me to her room, pulled open the antique drawer in her bedroom.

There, she looked among the carefully folded t-shirts my dad had, the ones my mom had carefully washed, dried, and folded.

I was too young to understand and too tired to care.

My head felt heavy, my eyes started closing at the sound of Elvis Presley, playing on their plug-in, clock radio, sitting regally upon their dresser.

That’s when I saw it. Crisp. White. Perfect. My dad’s starch-white, under t-shirt pulled from the drawer.

I must have looked confused, because my mom urged, “Come on, put it on.”

I lifted my arms as she dressed me like a toddler. That extra-large shirt draping over me like a nightgown I could swim in.

And I remember my mom smiling. “Oh how big you are. Look at you.” And I felt like the prettiest girl in town.

I remember that first night sleeping in my daddy’s white t-shirt.

My little body twisting inside, body shifting until I eventually turned to my back and fell asleep.

And I remember my dad boasting about how I slept on my back, so carefree when he came to look at me at night….

Un-intimidated. “His little girl”.

Over the years, my dad worked with cement. He was strong, capable, the one person in the world I knew would go to bat for me, no matter what.

When I was little, I would try to wrap both pinkys and thumbs around his biceps, but they never did seem to reach…

And that first night, I remember feeling safer than I think I have ever been.

My dad’s scent of bravery, and cologne, his smell that even now makes me feel like a little child when I link my arms around his balding head, and scruffy beard and squeeze tight.

Yes, there is just something about knowing who you are and where you belong.

As the years passed by, I continued to, on occasion, wear my dad’s white t-shirt.

My dad never changed sizes, but little by little those t-shirts shrunk on my growing body.

Some evenings, after asking my mom, “Can I wear dad’s t-shirt to bed?”..

I would rummage through that t-shirt drawer and find older, well-worn, even dirt stained t-shirts from his hard work and labor for us…

I thought how it would be considerate to spare him wearing an older, dirtier t-shirt to work…

And how I probably shouldn’t take the last, bright and white t-shirt he possessed…

But my mom always insisted, “Get the white one” she would tell me.

She knew Daddy’s girl’s should never wear rubbish…and oh what a lesson this was to me, even now as I sit here and write this.

And yet, as I have prayed about what to write about tonight, this white t-shirt of my Father’s keeps coming to mind.

And I am reminded of what an angel said to Joshua…

“‘Take off his filthy clothes.’ Then he said to Joshua, ‘See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put fine garments on you.'” (Zachariah 3:4)

And how all throughout the Bible, God gives us this example of removing our sin, guilt, and shame, and clothing us in His righteousness…

Like that white t-shirt of my Father…Making us by His blood, pure, holy, and righteous.

Yet, too often we live like a prodigal, thinking we must return to our Father as a servant, instead of the son or daughter…

Forgetting that the Father in that story, wrapped his child in royal robes upon his returning.

And how he put on a ring, sandals, and even killed the fatted-calf, though His child had done nothing good or beneficial….except come home. (Luke 15:11:32)

And how, we don’t have to clean ourselves up for our Father in heaven.

We are loved not because of our own merit, but just because we are His, created in His image.

Or we keep distant, laying with pigs, far away, unkept, because we live in guilt or shame, forgetting our Father is waiting to meet us, despite what we have done.

Or we place dirty, old, stained shirts over us as a covering…

Thinking we can have only partial forgiveness, salvation, or healing…

Failing to embrace His full redemption, not understanding it is by His goodness and righteousness we are saved, not our own.

This morning, me and my own daughter drove to that same, big, century old house.

My dad didn’t come home from working construction, he is retired now.

He didn’t walk in like thunder, or flex his big muscles, like he used to do when we were little…

But I do guarantee, upstairs, in his bedroom drawer, on that same second floor I used to sleep in, my dad has carefully folded t-shirts waiting to be worn…

And I just hope my heart never gets so hard, my sins never become so large…

My own rags don’t become so familiar that I forget that Christ died to re-cloth us, not just to simply swipe us clean.

And as a result we can sleep peacefully inside his purposes, claim His name and His reassurance…

That whatever we may face in this life, our God never leaves us. He never forsakes us…

He never runs out of white t-shirts to re-cloth us in His grace.

What are you wearing? Have you let your Father wash you, replace your filthy cloths with His white garments of grace?

It’s not too late.

Whether you are eight or eighty. His drawer of white, perfect t-shirts is always waiting.

The question is, will you come home and will you know, just how much you are loved?

NOTICE:

Each year I take a bit of a writing sabbatical.

With vacation, the Olympics, and company coming, I am choosing, again this year, to take a writing-break in August.

I will not be here for the next few weeks, but will be back in September, with UNITE Link Party starting again Monday nights at 6:00 p.m. Pacific time.

Please come back and visit then.

Also, you may find me on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and at my Facebook page, Rich Faith Rising during this break. 

Thanks for being such faithful readers. It is awesome to think how God has blessed this site.

Praying the rest of your summer is relaxing.

Before we go, please feel free to link-up at the last UNITE of August.

Keep dreaming! Keep believing! Keep clinging to Him! ~ Jen

UNITE LINK PARTY