every day is a special occasion

on "home clothes", death, and waking

My Mother walks into my room and sees me wearing the piece I FaceTimed her to see in the fitting room the day before. She laughs largely and tells me, “If you were to die, no one would ever have anything new from you.” I look at her the way only a daughter can, with joking annoyance, roll my eyes, exhale, and argue that they don’t need anything new from me, that my clothes are for me to live in. Andy Squyres says that “Eulogies are for the living,” and in a chorus, I say “And good clothes are for today”.

I’m a sentimental girl. One morning, during my time living in Dallas, I got up, slid into my clothes, and went for a drive. I saw a sign inviting me to an estate sale, and found myself parked in front of a home, and realized I was about thirty minutes early. Realizing there was no point in going anywhere else in the meantime, I sat in my car for a moment, and once I saw other cars approaching, I decided to get out and go secure a place in line. Standing next to an older woman, we struck up a conversation, and, upon learning I was taking a gap year in the area for ministry school, she felt comfortable to try and convince me that the KJV Bible is the only true one. I looked at her plainly and let her continue, disinterested in arguing with her. Soon enough, the door to the estate opened, and I was one of the first in line with my new KJV-friend, and we split off to look through the home.

The living room didn’t feel that intimate, nor the kitchen. Didn’t feel much about the garage, either. I looked around, disconnected, until I found myself in a bedroom. Everything was pretty much as it was before the woman who lived there passed, and the sight was sobering. Suddenly feeling connected, I glanced intently at the trinkets in her bathroom, the robes, the lovely dresses, the scarves. And I felt naked standing in the middle of her room. Memento mori, said the Romans and the Greeks—remember you are to die. Standing near the window, I took it all in as people poked in trunks and drawers around me, and I remembered it was true: lest the Good Lord come for me alive, I am going to die. And perhaps, when I go, there will be a twenty-something year old woman in the middle of my room, overcome with some kind of retrospective sonder; pondering how I was once alive as she shops my wardrobe, tapping her Apple Pay on a Square reader to take home the sweater once new to me, and remembers that she too, is going to die.

Death and waking. Waking itself is a miracle. It’s become a cliche that every day is a miracle, but clichés do not make a truth untrue; it’s just a matter of your perception. Some part of me feels like when we go to sleep, we die a sort of death. Because who among us can fall asleep and in our sleeping state, choose to wake ourselves up? It is the power, the grace, and the new morning mercy of God that comes into our rooms every morning and says, “Once again, begin”. And so, we wake. And God is why. And I think that God in my room, waking me every morning that He chooses to, is entirely miraculous.

How can I know that God ordained and approved my living, again, and not put on my favorite outfit because I feel like it? What should we do in this fleeting existence with daily miracles? We live every day as if it is a miracle because it is, and we also with the knowledge that it truly might be the last. “Tomorrow is not promised” should never be perceived as a cliche. It’s a weighty truth that should help us see significance in the mundane. The dead have no routines.

In light of these things, I burn expensive candles in mundanity, wear new clothes as soon as I buy them, and wear my “good clothes” in the house if I feel like it. I don’t withhold certain plates meant to be used once a year for a dinner party that might not come. Being able to eat today is more than enough of a call for a dinner party. Wearing a dress in the house, and baking something delicate and delectable is a more than fair way to embrace the day. Wear your “good clothes” to the grocery, put the “good plates” on the table, and light the “good candles” because today is good; today is a special occasion.

With love,

Rebecca