I went to bed by passing Barbara Brown Taylor's new book Holy Envy that had just arrived--for those who know my obsession (possibly to the stalker level) with BBT, you know that means I was beyond exhausted. I went to bed and tossed fitfully most of the night. Between my heart and my knee I was feeling a great deal of pain. Every time I woke up I sent a prayer up to God--God got many many prayers from me last night--the dark circles under my eyes this morning are living proof.
Seven years ago when I was ordained, my daddy a life long devoted Roman Catholic gifted me, his daughter being ordained into The Episcopal Church, with a cassock, amice, surplice, and alb made specifically for me from J. Wippell & Co. The significance of this gift has so many levels.
Two years ago the dry cleaners burned and ripped the alb. (And took no responsibility)
I couldn't afford to replace it; I bought a cheaper cassock/alb; I continued to wear the burned ripped one. I refused to give it up. Most of the time you couldn't see it under my chasuble--sometimes you could.
February 3, Bishop White made his annual visitation to St. Thomas. Obviously I wore my alb without a chasuble. As I entered Robison Hall for the reception following the service, I was summoned to a table packed with women. They all began talking about my alb and the damage. One had even gone to the sacristy and retrieved it. As they studied it, the consensus quickly was it could not be fixed so that it wasn't obvious--the damage was too much.
Many suggestions of possible solutions were presented--the most logical was too take it apart and save the lace (which also had several holes) and remake it with other fabric. I love these women and the care they take of me, but I inwardly panicked a little bit. I couldn't give up this alb my daddy had given me. I knew it could be remade but I wasn't ready to not have it just like it was. I took a deep breath and said so.
They understood.
"May I take it home and see how I can patch it so it isn't damaged further?" one woman asked. I gratefully said yes. She along with her friends fell into deep conversation about the best way to do it and where to find fabric as fine as this for the patch. A second woman signaled me over...
"My husband and I would like to buy you another alb exactly like this one," she said. "I can't accept that," I quickly replied, "it's such a kind offer but this comes from England and it's just too much." We were both then distracted by the entrance of Bishop White (good timing for me--I'm not good at accepting compliments or gifts).
The next day I received an email. "We looked it up. We know how much it costs. You need to order it because it has to be specially made. Please order it this week. We're sending a check to the church."
I was speechless. (I know that doesn't happen often)
My original alb was returned to me. Yes if you look closely you can see the patches--I look at them as patches of love and care. I sew--I know the effort it took to fix it so beautifully. I'm not sure I will ever be able to give the alb up--it's significance is even more now. It was given and mended for me by people who love me and believe in my call. It was given and mended for me by people who want to care for me. It was given and mended for me by people who want to help carry my load in anyway they can.
This morning I stumbled (remember the knee) downstairs to make coffee. I tripped over a package I hadn't seen last night. After I made the coffee I opened it. It was my alb from England. Tears sprang to my eyes as I felt a warmth spread throughout my body.
Last night I didn't listen to God; this morning God made sure I did. This morning I was reminded of God's love and the love of others. This morning I was reminded that while I have to carry some things alone, others are carrying me. This morning I was reminded of God's timing. This morning I was reminded...
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