Cinderella

Of all the children lined up for the clothes distribution, I knew she was significant.  I wasn’t sure why, but I knew the Lord was drawing my attention to her.  She had to be coaxed inside, unlike some of the other children, who could hardly wait for a “new” article of clothing to wear. 

As she stepped through the doorway I caught my breath.  She was filthy.  Covered in dirt, or maybe it was soot.  And...she was mesmerizing, glowing in the sun’s rays that followed her into the dim room.  My heart was in my throat as I tried to capture her image in my mind and in my camera.  I did better with my mind.  The lighting was so tricky and I could barely get a clear view in my lens amid a room bustling with people trying to find a piece of clothing to fit each child.  The little one shied away from everyone and was obviously anxious to avoid this unfamiliar ordeal. 

Her sad, scared, silence spoke more than her rags.  She had no shoes, though I imagined, if I looked hard enough, that I might find a glass slipper in her pocket.  Her “dress” was an old jumper—the kind that snaps around a baby at the legs so you can change a diaper more easily.  But she had outgrown it so that what should have been the ankles of the outfit now hung from her knees, the snaps hanging open around her legs.  She had a little hooded sweatshirt on top, with writing that was illegible to me under the grime and glare.  I knew she was saying something to me.  I just couldn’t read her…not until today.

I was editing photos--trying to salvage some of the shots I took of her even though I have much clearer ones of other children.  I just couldn’t let her go.  So I zoomed in to look at the photo in pixel view-- and there it was written across her chest in crusty white and faded pink. 

Princess.  A little African Cinderella. 

The day of the clothes distribution I had the privilege of seeing her come out of old garments and into new ones.  Now I realize the Lord wanted me to see that her royal title was inscribed on her heart long before she got a new dress…though I’m pretty sure He was even happier than me to see her in clean, colorful clothes that fit her.  As we drove past her on the way to another care point, I remembered thinking that it was such an important thing to give her a new dress, and yet such a little thing compared to the great many needs of her heart.  What has she endured already in her young life?  Probably the loss of her parents and likely HIV positive, herself.  I wanted to give her so much more than a physical garment.  I wanted to give her sanctuary, healing...a home.

As I thought about her, the Lord began reminding me of all the gowns He's been showing me over the past two years--beautiful dresses in rich, vibrant colors and luxurious fabrics.  I had started to pray that the Lord would bring the women to me in their rags, so I could clothe them in His gowns.  I had a sense that this was a spiritual (metaphorical) and physical picture. Now I began to think about clothing His children, too.

Many things began to come together for me.

Jesus cares to clothe all His creation…

“Consider the lilies of the fields…your heavenly Father knows you need all these things.”(Matt. 6:28,30)

Jesus has come to put new garments on the spirits of His children—

“To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” (Isaiah 61:3)  

I see in a way that I never have before, that garments matter to God. 
He dresses us in beauty and dignity, tenderness and healing,  joy and cloth.

Clothe us all, dear Jesus. Dress us up in Your love.