I rarely wear red. There’s a photo of me in college in a red wool blazer, corduroy knee pants and, and a white swashbuckler shirt – standing on my grandmother’s porch steps when I was full of myself my freshman year of college. I ditched the read jacket – but stuck with the beige corduroy and white flowing shirts.
Red lipstick, though, always rubbed off with wear, leaving streaks in my imperfect lips – and I couldn’t stand that. I love lipstick, though – and I found my way to rich cashmere and an occasional bronze.
I’m a pink girl – except for my son’s occasional senior night for high school sporting events.
Red overwhelms me; it’s like living in the spotlight with all my glaring imperfections.
I see pink, like a mini-rage – like when I find Sadie, our lab puppy in the middle of myyarn, literally inside the skein
Or when a boy forgets his lunch after I remind him
Or when I’m behind a tractor at 7:30 in the morning for 15 minutes on the way to school
I see red over big things – things that threaten the hopes and dreams of me and mine – like dishonesty over placement in the classroom (really? Why would you take a straight A student in advanced classes and move him to a regular classroom?)
I see red over a teen who doesn’t want to get a job until the end of the summer
I see red over one brother taking advantage of another brother.
I’ve felt glare of my boy’s seeing red, speaking red– felt it spill all over me – until my heart bled. It’s not an easy thing being the mother of sons only. For some son’s, the first steps into independence and owning the title “man” – are painful – and they spill the red of their frustration over the one’s who love them unconditionally.
Sometimes people who belong to us due to proximity and path – they spill and hurl red all over us, too. What right do they have to red-up my life? But He gives them to us – just differently than through marriage vows and birthing. He gives them to us to love unconditionally, to forgive unconditionally – because through Him they all belong to us.
In all the spilling, and the seeing, and the avoiding of this red – which is really all that challenges us, hurts us, scares us – I find myself on my knees before my savior, so terribly glad of the red of his sacrifice that saves me, my husband, my sons – and those that God gives me – and washes us all clean of this red thrown, splattered and spilled.