Church Rules

When I was a little girl, there were rules for church:
Little girls wear dresses to church.
And outfits.
No gum is allowed and no running either.
We're in God's house.

I agree in spirit with the sentiments of these "rules". Meeting with God in a formal way should be a special occasion, after all. But yesterday I was challenged by these traditions.

Morgan and I were getting ready for church.

I knocked on her bedroom door and asked if I could come in to help her get dressed. I didn't expect her to tell me she was already done.

*gulp* Done? She can't be done. I haven't told her what dress to wear.

Before I turned the knob to her door, I knew that I would be greeted by a very proud little girl.
A very proud, albeit strangely dressed, little girl.

I set my expectations very low, unfurrowed my brow and pasted on a smile.

To her credit, all her clothes were pastel colored. Not bad. Blues and purples, mostly. Blue shirt, mint green pants and purple socks. She looked like an Easter egg.

She was not, however, wearing a dress. The "rainman" inside me repeated "Little girls wear dresses to church. Little girls wear dresses to church."

But there stood my proud little girl, beaming from the joy of dressing. All. By. Herself.

I melted. I sat on her bed and marveled at her growth. No really- I marveled... the pants and shirt were becoming too short for her sprouting limbs. She was wearing mismatched, too-short clothing that was not *gasp* church wear. And I couldn't be prouder.

What happened next really floored me. She sat by my feet and started rubbing them. And it felt amazing.

"What are you doing, funny girl?" I asked.

"Daddy said that when you're sad, that you love foot rubs."

So she did know. Gulp. I just love this kid.

We went to church. Dressed a little funny. But with smiles.