Cashmere Security Blanket

My wardrobe is my security blanket.

Volunteering in the toddler nursery at church, I come across children who have an unusual attachment to a particular item. Charlie carried around his Thomas the Train t-shirt and is only comfortable talking to me if he is speaking on behalf of Thomas. Nathaniel sits on a blue mat holding a hard plastic bus and insists that he needs his bus if he cannot have his mom.

I have a closet.

I recently was offered a teaching position at a local undergraduate school. For various reasons, the decision of whether or not to accept this job was overwhelming. The changes it would force on my life for the next six months would be stressful, however, opportunities like these are not to be ignored. Instead of addressing these pros and cons, however, I talked about wardrobe.

"I don't know if I should take this job, Andy."
"Well, let's talk about it. What things are concerning you?" asked my sweet boyfriend who is especially good with handling with toddler-esque breakdowns.
"I don't have any teaching attire." I said, my words muffled by a blanket I had recently buried my head underneath.
This was met with a "you can't be serious" stare which I knew was focused on the blue fleece where my eyes should be. I pulled my head out of the blanket long enough to say, "But I don't!"

This is how all difficult decisions are made. When I do not know what to do, or how to handle a situation, I run through my dresses and shoes and conclude that they are simply inadequate. I think through my collection of cardigans and skirts and try to conclude what in my wardrobe fits the upcoming task.

Today, I attended the funeral of a fourteen year old boy in my church whose family frequently volunteers with me at church events. Their son died unexpectedly from a heart attack last week and I am at a loss for words on how to express my sympathy. I have no words, no actions which are adequate in the face of this tragedy. No tangible service I can render them in order to feel like I have sufficiently shown my condolences. I feel utterly incapable of caring for this aching family.

I spent the past 4 days debating my wardrobe. Are heels too sophisticated for a morning funeral? If I wore this black dress, would I have an appropriate sweater to accompany it? Is it wrong to wear purple tights to a funeral? Should I remove my neon nail polish to express my sadness?

It's not that these things matter. If my sweater didn't match and my tights were neon green, no one would think twice about my appearance. Nothing I wear or do not wear will change the focus of the day nor will solve the despair in the room. But it helps me. It helps me process the events without belaboring my emotions. It gives me something tangible to work on so that the overwhelming stress of reality might be mitigated momentarily.

Today I chose to wear a black sheath with a charcoal wool cardigan and a pair of nude flats. I wore waterproof mascara and put tissues in my purse. These are things I could prepare for and control. As I sat towards the back of the sanctuary, I could not have prepared to hear a fourteen year old boy crying as he told us all the things he would miss about his best friend. I could not have prepared for a mother's honest words as she told the whole church that she would give thanks for her son's life at Thanksgiving, but would still be angry at God for taking him away. I could not have controlled the tears which streamed down my face.

Choosing the right cardigan, like talking to your Thomas the Train t-shirt, does not make the scariness of the moment go away. Thomas can't change the fact that Mom and Dad have left you with strangers in the church basement. Likewise, my cardigan can't take away the sorrow that filled the church this morning, but it did make it a little easier to walk in the door. It made it a little easier to look at a picture of a handsome 14 year old resting on top of his casket and it made it a little easier to face the difficult reality that is death.

Security blankets don't change the situation at hand, but they do give you an opportunity to step back from it. So as long as there are difficult choices and painful days, I will continue running through every item of clothing in my closet in hopes of having some answer on days swarmed with unanswerable questions.