THE WORST PICKER-OUTER IN THE WORLD

 

By Peggy Still—

By age six Christie had already formed opinions about her wardrobe. Jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes were her preference for any and all occasions. She had a very distinct opinion about what was cool and what was not. I liked almost anything that fell into the latter category. Attempting to guide her and at the same time letting her make her own choices I drew the line when she wanted to wear her astronaut costume to church. Her hair was another particularly touchy subject. Full, thick and beautiful, it was sometimes unruly. Holding it back with a variety of hair clips was a challenge since she despised the things.

Flash back to the 1950’s when fashion rules stated that we were never to wear white shoes before Memorial Day, girls wore big dresses with petticoats, and gloves and hats were a must for Easter Sunday. This is the era in which I learned to dress myself. Twenty seven years later I stood toe to toe with a daughter who chose personal comfort over rules.

Anticipating shopping for a new Easter outfit for Christie raised anxiety in both of us. Her opinion of my shopping skills was that I was the worst picker-outer in the world. She would select a new t-shirt with a bunny or some other Easter symbol on it while I would look through the rack of adorable spring dresses. At last we reached a compromise. A one-piece culotte’s ensemble of a light denim material with a matching jacket was the choice that was both “cool” and comfortable.

This one particular Easter Sunday my entire extended family decided to attend the church where my cousin was the pastor. The challenge: keeping Christie together for the two hour drive. She actually liked her new outfit and even allowed me to use the matching denim hair clips we had found while shopping. She was happy, confident and comfortable. She would be sitting in the backseat of the car in an environment free from dirt. What could go wrong?

Arriving at the church she emerges from the car. Having taken her shoes off, her new white socks looked as if she had walked all the way to our destination. One clip was dangling by a single hair while the other one was nowhere to be found. The front of her outfit looked as if Picasso had used it for a canvas. How could I anticipate that the crayons she was using to keep herself occupied for the long drive could do so much damage?

I had an epiphany that Easter Sunday. This was just the beginning of my understanding that Christie would make many decisions in life about things much more important than fashion. I had to accept that the time would come when I would no longer have control over her environment. Now was the time to take my hands off and turn her completely over to her Creator. That Easter Sunday I prayer discernment over my daughter that she would become the best picker-outer in the world, not of fashion, but in all of the other decisions she would have to make throughout life.