The store fitting room scenario is one most people know well. It is quite a challenging excursion beginning with the arrival at the Fitting Room desk. An assistant appears from the back somewhere, distracted with the twenty or more plastic hangers she is trying to balance on one arm. She greets you pleasantly, 'How many are you trying on today?' As if I do this every day? Like I'm a regular at trying on things. As if I'm ordering my regular Café Misto with almond milk.
I have three items.
She is trained to count them herself, so even though I tell her I have three garments over my arm, she checks.
OK, one, two, three
Cubicle Number Six. She hands me a giant plastic orange Number Three. Like huge. Maybe people steal the tags ?
I enter the cubicle, hoping the lighting is flattering and the mirror has been adjusted to make everyone look thinner. It benefits both the store and me. I've already spotted a jumpsuit left by a previous customer behind the door. It looks promising, so I try it on first. What do I have to lose? And so the struggle begins. The jumpsuit, seemingly made for an ultra petite mechanic or astronaut, turns into an exercise in sweat. Right off the bat, I'm losing. The first pair of pants won't even make it up to my thighs, and garments lie in a puddle at my feet. I regret wearing my black and white sneakers, which make everything look odd. I have to summon a couture imagination that I simply don't possess.
About five minutes into the routine, I start dreading the task of turning all the items right-side out and getting them back on hangers. Nothing fits, and I feel ugly. It's like a furnace in here. The only relief I feel is that the cubicle assistant hasn't come to check on my wellbeing. I've been spared the quintessential "How are you doing in there? Need anything?"
I exit, handing the load to the assistant, before running back for the enormous orange '3' token left inside the cubicle.
To the friendly question,
“Find anything you like?”
I mumble something like, ' No, not today. Nothing fitted very well.' Now I'm using the ‘today’ word like I will be back again tomorrow!
I scurry off. Finding the nearest exit to breathe in some fresh air.
Finding a faith that fits is equally challenging. Over the years, you gather up possible faith garments that may be a good spiritual fit. One day you get serious about determining what might be a path to God. You enter a well-lit church. Ready to test the sizing.
I entered a church over thirty years ago, assuming nothing would fit. I was accompanying Master Chef, hoping he would find an outfit to energize his resolve to quit drinking. Nothing else had worked, so maybe God could give him a nudge into sobriety. I thought my cynicism and baggage would act as a vaccine against any possible spiritual predators.
So when it suddenly and surprisingly became an intimate experience, in my own dressing room, I was shocked.
It was a fitting room experience - awkward, messy - but I made a good purchase. I’m still wearing the faith outfit over 30 years later.