Better than Flowers

Today—a gorgeous 63 degree, sunny day in Round Rock, Texas—I walked my girls to the park. On the way, London stopped to pick flowers. Where she’d stopped was close to the road, and I felt uncomfortable letting her stay.

I told her to come to me.

She ignored me.

I said, “London, come to me right now.”

She smiled, reached for another purple flower, didn’t even look up.

“London,” I said in my best Mom’s-the-boss voice, “Right now.”

“But Mom, you’re going to love these flowers I’m picking for you,” she said smiling. “They’re beautiful and you’ll love them.”

“What I would love, ” I said “is for you to obey.”

The exchange made me think of God’s words to Israel:

“Does the LORD delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as in obeying the LORD? To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams.”

Seems a little grinch-y, but I get it. Sometimes I don’t want a gift. I just want my daughters to do what I say, and in obeying to be protected and loved in full measure.

#1 I’m Done

In Samuel Richardson’s Pamela, a father counsels his frivolous daughter:

“Be sure you don’t let people’s telling you you are pretty puff you up; for you did not make yourself. It is virtue and goodness only that make true beauty.”

I’ve spent years chasing beauty, beauty of the worst sort. I’ve sought public praise and the affirmation of strangers. I’ve aimed to turn heads and inspire envy. I’ve spent more money than I should on more clothes than I need. I’ve worn what I didn’t like because I liked being liked. I have fallen into almost every trap set by my superficial, artificial culture.

Today, I say “No more.”

I am done looking for satisfaction and fulfillment in the way I look. In how fashionable my clothes are. In how well I fit in or how much I stand out.

I will not wear clothes in which I feel uncomfortable out of resignation to the fallen world around me. 

I will not buy more than I need to feed an appetite I will never satiate.

I will not seek attention, admiration, or belonging through the shoes I wear or the purse I carry.

No. I will seek virtue and goodness.

I will, as the apostle Paul enjoins, “Clothe [myself] with the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Today, as I step out—one foot first then the other—of an unhealthy reliance on clothes, I put on—one arm at a time—something so much better:

“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.”

“Created to be like God…”

I can’t help crying as I type these words. Because they’re true. And because they’re beautiful.

#2 My husband learned stuff too

Today you get to hear from my favorite person about what he learned from this project. Justin Gerhardt, my husband of 11 years, had a front row seat for this thing, and, as someone who is not me, might provide us all with some valuable perspective.

May I introduce you? :)

#3 I Am What I Wear

Here’s the deal, whether or not we want to admit it, clothes both identify us and shape our identity.

First, they communicate who we are because we choose them. Even if we don’t choose them, if they’re gifts or hand-me-downs, we choose how best to arrange them. To a certain degree, our self is the sum total of our choices.

Your clothes, for better or worse, communicate to others something about you, about who you are and what you value. 

A few weeks after my brother Bobby, a notorious clothes horse, died my mom started getting requests from his friends.

“Would it be too much to ask for Bobby’s Goat Roast t-shirt?”

“It would mean so much to me if I could just have those shoes he and I won on Ebay.”

“Bobby always looked so ridiculous in that PoBoy shirt. Is it weird to ask if I might… have it?”

My mom sorted through Bobby’s clothes and doled out the pieces, each item a memory. We all looked at those clothes and remembered not the clothes exactly but Bobby in the clothes. The clothes, in some weird way, were Bobby and having the clothes meant having a piece of him. 

I have his board shorts sitting on a shelf at the top of my closet. When I wear them (and I often do) I feel freer, younger, relaxed—more like my brother. 

Clothes don’t only reflect identity. They alter it, too. John Harvey, in his book Clothes, says that clothes have a way of seeping into the skin so that we become what we wear.

I’ve witnessed this over the last year. I am a different person for wearing different clothes, undoubtedly.

The principle can work to our disadvantage as well. Try wearing sweatpants and stained t-shirts every day for a month (I’ve done that) and see if you aren’t changed, dulled. Or consider “club clothes.” There is a reason women dress provocatively for certain occasions; we muster the courage to be loose, the opposite of buttoned up.

I was surprised, in my study of clothes in the Bible, to find Jesus’ identity closely tied to what He wore. 

In the interaction between Jesus and the woman with the issue of blood, the woman reaches out to touch Jesus’ garment, knowing that if she can just touch the hem of His robe she’ll be healed. When she does and she is, Jesus says “Who touched me?” Me. 

On the mount of transfiguration, when Jesus is transformed, the text describes not just the transformation of Christ, but the alteration of His clothes as well. When He changes, so does His robe, His once dirty now pure white robe.

As Jesus hangs on the cross, soldiers divide up His clothes and cast lots for His garment, “seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom” as was prophesied hundreds of years before Jesus’s birth. One cannot help but see some truth about Christ wrapped up in that cloth, some message about who he is, as if even this cross, even death, will not tear Him apart.

#4 Clothes Matter

It’s true that clothes matter. Similarly true that they don’t. I’ve learned both truths in great measure this year. 

In addition to hands on experience, I’ve spent quite a lot of time these past several months scouring the Bible looking for references to clothes, trying to patch together some sort of theology of clothing, a cohesive way of seeing clothes like God sees clothes. My conclusion is the above paradox—God loves a good paradox; I get this idea, that they matter and they don’t, from God.

While I have little time or space for a full run-down of examples here, I think Jesus himself proves a fascinating case study.

First, the white dress, blue robe picture in our heads is a guess. Unlike John the Baptist, the camel-hair wearing outsider, Jesus’ clothes aren’t described in any detail—interesting as Jesus is our high priest and high priests, historically, have been pretty flashy dressers. We get the idea from Isaiah that Jesus’ clothes were probably plain.

Jesus’ first clothes, swaddling clothes, are also plain—but of course, extraordinary in their plainness.

When Jesus talks about clothes, He encourages us not to worry about them and rebukes men in good clothes with bad hearts. He teaches us that moths will eat our clothes, and so we must set our hearts on things above.

However, He also cares very much that the poor have clothes. And, in one of the most striking parables in the Bible, the wedding feast, describes a king who banishes a wedding guest for not wearing the appropriate clothing.

Three instances from Jesus’ life indicate a very strong connection between identity and clothing (we’ll look at those later this week). 

When  John describes the risen and reigning Christ in Revelation, he notes that Christ’s clothes are beautiful. 

All these pieces work together to paint a quite complicated picture of clothing and the role it should play in our lives. Considering the text of the Bible as a whole only feeds the complexity. 

Honestly, I was surprised to see the Bible speaking to clothes as important, even if on the next page it suggested otherwise. 

I think it’s unwise for us as a church to downplay the role of clothing in a life, dismissing it as a superficial topic of conversation. That’s why I’m writing about it. Because clothes teach us things about ourselves, about God, about love and grace, purity, grief, community and identity. And, certainly, those things matter. 

#5 Clothes Don’t Matter.

In honor of clothes not mattering I’ll skip waxing poetic on the thought.

Tomorrow’s Post: #4 Clothes Matter.

#6 A Small Wardrobe Takes Work

I’ve received a handful of questions about how I chose the clothes I wore this year and the clothes I’ll wear this next year (and how I intend to buy clothes in the future). Answer: deliberately.

When you intend to wear only a few outfits, and you like clothes, you really must love the outfits you pick. Otherwise, you will be fussy. I found this out within a week of beginning my project.

One of the combinations I’d picked included a grey maxi skirt and an off the shoulder over-sized t-shirt worn over a navy, high-necked tank. It looked cute enough in my head, fit my requirements for simplicity and modesty, and seemed to fit my lifestyle, but I knew from the first time I wore it in the rotation—it was not going to work. I felt sloppy, boring, and cow-sized in this detestable get up. The second time I put on the outfit, the husband told me this: “I love you. You’re beautiful no matter what you wear. But, you look like a linebacker in that shirt and you need to find something else to wear or you will be in a bad mood for a fourth of the year.”

He was right. I tossed the outfit and started over. Its replacement was probably the most versatile, practical, sassy thing in my lineup.

So, given that not all clothes are the same, you need to make wise choices and recognize quickly when you’ve made a mistake (hopefully while you still have the receipt).

Here are five tips for ensuring that your small wardrobe works:

1. Decide on your personal style.

When you have only a few items in your closet, those items must work together. I picture my clothes like family members. When I’m shopping I think, would this shirt fit in the family? For this reason, for example, I don’t buy any black. I’ve committed to brown. If it doesn’t work with brown shoes and a brown belt, it won’t work (I do wear red shoes and purple shoes and blue shoes but only of the sort that works with brown). I also have a list of six words I’ve jotted down to define my style. If a piece of clothing can’t be described with those words, no dice. This keeps me from making impulse purchases like a furry vest or a sequined dress—they don’t fit with what I have and I’m committed not to buy what it takes to make them fit.

2. Try everything on.

So many of my wardrobe mistakes can be chalked up to not trying something on or trying it on too quickly. I end up with something that just doesn’t fit or, worse, isn’t wearable because of what it shows. Now, when I’m considering buying an item, I lounge around in the dressing room. I bend over in what I’m wearing and take a look in the mirror. I squat down. I look at the view from every side. I am brutally critical of clothes. Because I already have clothes and don’t absolutely need more. I only want what works perfectly.

3. If possible, stick to one level of “dressiness.”

For me, a small wardrobe works because almost everything in it is at the same level of dressiness. I shoot for a consistent Sunday night church level. That means dark trouser jeans, more casual dresses in washable fabrics (sometimes with jeans), skirts. The stuff you can wear to work with heels and a blazer, on a date with a fun necklace or to the grocery store with cute ballet flats. I like this level because I always feel pulled together. 

I know this won’t work for everybody, but it has been wonderful for me. And the husband loves that the sweats are rotting in the back of the closet.

4. Don’t repeat.

This means don’t buy more than one of the same item. I have one pair of dark skinny jeans, one pair of trouser jeans and one pair of more casual bootleg jeans. I have one cardigan and one loose, drape-y sweater. I have one sundress, one playful, fancy dress, and one black dress. Get the idea? If you like cardigans, buy one beautiful one, not ten okay ones.

5. Buy quality.

This does not mean spend a fortune, but it does mean avoiding fast-fashion retailers like Old Navy, Forever 21, and Target. In addition to producing their clothes in a way that is morally questionable, these stores do not invest in the quality of their products. It’s why your Old Navy t-shirts don’t fit as well after a few wears. They’re banking that instead of going somewhere else and buying a more expensive shirt, you’ll just come back to them and buy another $5 one. If you’re trying to keep your wardrobe small and your shopping minimal, go ahead and spend $30 on a well-made fair trade or organic t-shirt. 

My process for buying clothes has, honestly, become quite tedious. I look at dozens of factors before I buy a shirt. That’s why I’m happy to only do it once a year. Thing is, even though the shopping’s harder, the living’s easier. I think that’s worth the cost.

#7 I Don’t Like Posting Pics of My Clothes

I’ve had several people ask recently for pictures of my outfits, either the ones I wore last year or the ones I have in the que for this next year. I totally get why you’d be curious (and I’m excited that you are), but I’m not going to do that. My reasons are two-fold:

1. I think true modesty involves downplaying the importance of what we’re wearing. I like the idea that my clothes this year have become, in so many ways, transparent, allowing my inside to shine more brightly than my outside. Because of that, I don’t want to shine a spotlight on the outside. This is admittedly complicated when you’re blogging about clothes, so I’m using caution. Only once this year have I posted a picture of clothing and immediately I regretted it. It’s not about the clothes. But to get to that point we need to talk about the clothes. I feel like pictures of clothes take the discussion outside the sphere of the spiritual and into the realm of the physical. 

2. Modesty must be personalized to work. What modesty looks like for you will inevitably look different from what it looks like to me. Our bodies are different and our senses of style are different. What looks completely appropriate on my body may be too revealing on your body. Similarly, what I think looks beautiful and fun, you may write off as silly. So, I refrain from posting pics of my clothes on the blog in order to both challenge you to make your own decisions about what is and isn’t modest (with God’s word as your guide) and to prevent you from being turned off to modesty by the particulars of a style that doesn’t suit your tastes or lifestyle. 

Having said all of that, I do have certain personal tips I’d be happy to offer about building a small wardrobe. I’ll post them tomorrow.

P.S. Having written this post a few days ago, I now want to make it clear that I DON’T think those of you who asked about pictures are shallow. I think there are several good reasons to ask for pictures. Makes total sense to me. I just wanted YOU to know why I’m not doing it. Lots of good reasons to do it. Two solid reasons not to.

#8 Modesty Misconceptions Abound

As in, it’s not cool. Or attractive. Or interesting.

I saw a friend this last month who I hadn’t seen in a year or so. He’d read about my project on the blog and had some questions. Here’s the first thing he said to me:

“So, I guess this is one of the outfits?”

Yep.

“Huh. Well, that’s not so bad.”

He’s one of those lovely blunt friends who actually says what he’s thinking. :)

His words weren’t surprising. After a year of blogging about modesty I can say with certainty that He’s not alone in his expectation that modest would be, somehow, “bad.”

Still, nothing could be further from the truth. 

To dress modestly is not to dress like a pioneer woman (although if that’s your thing, more power to you). It is actually possible to dress almost any personal style within the realm of modesty. 

I liked the clothes I wore this year. I really like the clothes I’ll wear this next year. And all of them cover me up in a way that feels safe, liberating, and empowering.

Modest does not mean frumpy. Modest does not mean jean skirts (again, if you like the jean skirts, rock on). Modest does not mean dressing like your great grandmother. 

I promise, modest is better than “not so bad.” It’s good.

#9 “I Have Nothing to Wear” Means “I Have Too Much to Wear”

You know you’ve said it.

Standing there in the closet, arms crossed, pursed lips, frustration steaming out your ears, you sigh. You flick a shirt or two with your index finger, shift your weight from your left to right leg. You’ve been in this closet for twenty minutes. You glance out at your bed, covered in clothes, possible pairings strewn like pizza toppings across the covers. No matter how many times you look, nothing new magically appears. Finally, you stomp out of the closet, throw yourself onto the bed, and sigh again, loudly. A hanger poking into your hip, you say it perhaps only in your mind, maybe aloud, probably quite loudly so your parent or spouse or roommate will recommend shopping. You say:

I have nothing to wear.

Those inexperienced in the I have nothing to wear dilemma will certainly be confused. I imagine someone living in a homeless shelter, for example, might think, “So, you’re standing in a closet full of clothes, but… you don’t have any clothes?” Similarly new husbands, still naive in the perilous waters of women and their wardrobes, have been know to say, “You have a closet full of clothes. Just pick something.” And while their words may reveal a lack of compassion and empathy, they still sting, because somewhere deep down we know they’re right.

How is it that we can look at so many options—shirts and dresses and whatnot, all personally selected—and not find a single one to fit our expectations?

There’s a long answer and a short one. For the long answer, read my book. The short answer is this: We have too many options.

The more options you give yourself the harder it is choose. 

It’s true. People have written books about it, given Ted talks, written articles for the New York Times. Psychologist Barry Schwartz says, despite what culture tells us (maximizing choice maximizes freedom), “choice has made us not freer but more paralyzed, not happier but more dissatisfied.”

He says 300 varieties of salad dressing make us both less sure of our eventual choice and less likely to make any choice at all.

This year, I basically wore what was clean. I had four outfits to choose from and a rule prohibiting me from enlarging my pool. I never, not once in 354 days, felt like I had nothing to wear. And yet, I had less in my closet than I ever have.

It’s weird, and it doesn’t make sense, but this year, I had confidence in my clothes. I didn’t sit around whining about how nothing worked. They worked. I felt appropriately dressed for every situation I encountered. 

This single truth, that I could be content with four outfits, was worth the price of admission. In limiting my wardrobe, I had freed myself from the tyranny of second-guesses, doubt, and dissatisfaction.

I think of Jesus when he gets onto us humans for worrying about our clothes. He says, “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.”

I love how He compares us to flowers here. Have you ever seen a flower change its clothes? Never. Every morning the flower wears the same outfit, and every morning its beauty surpasses even Solomon’s. Forty outfits don’t increase our chances of looking beautiful. One beautiful outfit is all we need.

When you find yourself saying, “I have nothing to wear” the absolute best thing you can do for yourself is to limit your options. But you have to really limit them. You have to make buying something new absolutely off limits. You have to promise yourself that the clothes in your closet are the only clothes you will wear and you have to reduce the number of clothes in your wardrobe. It sounds crazy, but I can tell you from experience, it works.

This year, I’ve chosen ten outfits. I’d planned to go for eight, but I’m human, people, and I caved when I saw these two dresses at Buffalo Exchange (tangent). Anyway, just like last year I’ve decided to limit my shopping to a two month window during which time I buy the clothes I’ll need for the year (I’m also letting myself shop in June for summer essentials like a pair of capris and flip flops). I’m doing this not as another project, but as a pattern for my life. I look back at this year, at my level of contentment and intimacy with God, and I can’t help but admit that it worked. 

You know, Solomon, the best dressed chico to ever live, looked at his piles of expensive duds and said, “Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.”

I don’t want to be a Solomon. I want to be a flower.