Dress

 I have to be honest: the last few years have left me with a lot of scars--both physical and otherwise. I've written before about how I worry that I'll feel more like Micah's patient than his wife, and there are just so many days when my body (with all of its frustrations, limitations, and scars) feels like it gets between us. And on those days, especially, I feel far from attractive.

I don't say that to elicit any kind of response, but just to explain the background before the story I'm about to share. 

This past weekend, we went out to do something we rarely do: spend a few hours shopping for jeans for me. In full honesty, aside from the jeans I picked up at Costco a while back, I haven't bought new pants for myself since at least two of the kids were in diapers. Thomas was the poor hapless victim who got dragged around with us, since the other two were out for the day with activities of their own. I'm not a big shopper, but on this particular day we traipsed through at least six or seven stores looking for The Jeans that would break my several-year streak. 

As we were looking through racks of clothes in one particular (fancy) story, Micah pulled a navy blue dress off the rack. "Tell me this wouldn't look amazing on you!"

It was gorgeous: a sheath dress made from a beautiful thick, stretchy navy fabric. It had tailored 3/4 sleeves lined with buttons, and then flutter sleeves below that. It had a high, simple neck, and a long gold zipper. It was elegant but understated, and very much my style. I nodded my agreement, and then lifted the price tag. There was no way. I've never spent money like that on a dress. 

His eyes danced a little and he nodded to the dressing rooms. "Go try it on." 

I agreed somewhat reluctantly, and wiggled into the dress. It was a perfect fit. And it was as comfortable as it was beautiful. I walked out to the seating area outside the dressing rooms and stood  waiting for Thomas and Micah to see me. A woman across the way called out to me, "Where did you find that dress? It's stunning on you!" I pointed to the rack where we'd found it and, just as Micah and Thomas were turning to give their feedback, another woman said, "We vote 'yes.' That dress is a keeper!" I laughed. 

Thomas turned and grinned, and then looked at Micah. He was smiling over at me and just nodded. I was feeling self-conscious about the attention, and turned back to the dressing room to slip back into my own clothes. When I rejoined the boys, Micah reached for the hanger. "We're getting the dress," he said quietly. There was no question in his voice, but also no denying what he thought of it--or rather, of me in it. 

I wore the dress the next day, and will wear it many more times. It'll be added to the ranks of things he's picked out for me that I wouldn't have dreamed of picking for myself--some of my very favorite clothes. Because even when I see in myself all the scars and flaws and frustrations of my sometimes-broken body, he sees his wife. He sees beauty that's worth celebrating and dressing in the best we can possibly find. He sees me. 

And that is an even better gift than a beautiful new dress.