My very own Christmas dress. A good friend sent me a pattern she thought I would like, and I finally cut it out last week. I started sewing Friday evening and hand-stitched the hem yesterday afternoon, watching Wall-E with my Sweet P'Taylor...
I remember Christmas dresses when I was a little girl. Sometimes we would buy them; sometimes, Momma would make them. On Christmas Eve we would all open one present from under the tree before going to the children's mass as a family. Momma would often suggest a particular gift for us to open, and I remember once I received a pair of brand new, shiny black, heeled shoes. I felt so grown up and beautiful walking into Church that night. Rustling dress, new shoes, warm winter coat. I sat up straight because I felt like such a lady. I paid extra close attention because I was so grown-up.
My parents always encouraged us to dress nicely for mass. It's important, Momma said, to look our best for God because we want to show Him that we care. You wouldn't meet the president in your swimsuit, would you? she'd ask me.
Dressing up isn't just about showing off new clothes or shoes or (wicked awesome) sewing skills. [Pardon the pride, this is the best thing I've ever made.] It's like cleaning the house for guests, or adding flowers to the table for a family dinner. The guests are no less welcome in a dusty house, and the family is no less fed at a table without flowers, but the effort made is a demonstration of Love.
That's what our Christmas dresses were. When Momma would take us shopping, or make our dresses for us, she wanted us to look the best we could to show God how much we loved him.
I can't wait for Christmas. I'll sit up straight and hold my shoulders back, just like a lady. And I'll think about Love, come down to us as a tiny babe.