They’re frayed with a gash above the hem and pockets that bulge out, those cargo shorts that Stuart was wearing on a day when we were going out.
“Are you going to wear those?”
“Yes.”
“But they're so ratty.”
“OK. I’ll change 'em.”
And he did. He changed into blue shorts with pockets that bulge out.
“Are you going to wear those?”
“Yes. I need to.”
“But there are bleach spots on the front. They’re not very good shape. You have nicer shorts.”
“I know.”
He changed, back into the first pair of shorts, and we went out the door.
Why couldn't he wear one of his better pairs? We’re going to spend all day together. I just love to look at him but, OH, those shorts.
We walked and held hands and the children shed, shed their hats and water bottles and sunglasses. The pockets in the cargo shorts made room for these things as the children dropped them or handed them to their Papa.
We walked. Single file. Mama in back, four goslings in the middle, Papa in front with a little one in his arms and his pockets bulging full of kid stuff.
He did need those shorts. His decent shorts don’t have enough pockets.
Those shorts, frayed with a gash above the hem and pockets that bulge out, he wasn’t thinking about himself when he put them on. The heart that beats under the tattered white shirt (to match the tattered shorts) is one that loves. He dressed to serve us.
And I am ashamed.
*******
“Are you going to wear those?”
“Yes.”
“But they're so ratty.”
“OK. I’ll change 'em.”
And he did. He changed into blue shorts with pockets that bulge out.
“Are you going to wear those?”
“Yes. I need to.”
“But there are bleach spots on the front. They’re not very good shape. You have nicer shorts.”
“I know.”
He changed, back into the first pair of shorts, and we went out the door.
Why couldn't he wear one of his better pairs? We’re going to spend all day together. I just love to look at him but, OH, those shorts.
We walked and held hands and the children shed, shed their hats and water bottles and sunglasses. The pockets in the cargo shorts made room for these things as the children dropped them or handed them to their Papa.
We walked. Single file. Mama in back, four goslings in the middle, Papa in front with a little one in his arms and his pockets bulging full of kid stuff.
He did need those shorts. His decent shorts don’t have enough pockets.
Those shorts, frayed with a gash above the hem and pockets that bulge out, he wasn’t thinking about himself when he put them on. The heart that beats under the tattered white shirt (to match the tattered shorts) is one that loves. He dressed to serve us.
And I am ashamed.
*******
Comments
May God bless you and your husband this coming week!
I love your writing. What a beautiful story, and a way to see God in even the smallest of things. I love how you see Him in the every day & make the typical seem so...not.
Blessings, my new bloggy friend!
Much love,
Angela
Praying that the Lord continues to bless your marriage!
steph.
In his endless love,
Angel ( Angel Mama ) ():)