Lessons Learned The Hard Way

The source of my frustration is hanging on the back of my bedroom door, and the black sheet placed behind it only magnifies the flaws that were obvious enough. Spots and stains, rips and tears, alterations, discoloration---this isn't what a wedding gown is supposed to look like! 

Tinged, but easy to clean. Hemmed, but not torn or adjusted. I purchased with an expectation of receiving an almost perfect dress. Not completely without flaw, but something close. It's been days now, back and forth, back and forth with the seller, how could you sell something so obviously messed up!?

I pull out my camera. Flash on. Flash off. Snap! Snap! Snap! So many pictures, so many angles of so many flaws. Righteous indignation, man. I paid alot for this dress!

Put the dress away, or leave it? Forget it, it can't get any more messed up than it already is. Leaving home, returning hours later, immediately regretting that I didn't put it back. The last thing I want to do is go to sleep with that overbearing, beautifully flawed dress looming over me.

I stand. I stare. The white on black. Then it hits me. This is what He's trying to teach me.

That. Dress. Is. Me.

to be continued...