This was a hand-out when I did my internship for counseling at Grace Ministries. It had all of us crying, so I thought everyone needed a good cry for the day. I was sending to a friend and I thought why not post it for everyone else.
Have a blessed day and enjoy this, it will take 10 minutes to read.
The Dress
Margaret Jensen from “First We Have Coffee”
Mama sat rocking gently, the bright wool afghan wound around her bony knees. Staring out across the quiet lake below our house she sang softly to herself. A faraway look filled her eyes, her mind was somewhere in the “long ago.” Janice, who had come for a visit, heard her murmur, “Love and forgive, Love and forgive.”
“Bestemor, you are talking to yourself again,” Jan laughed as she pulled up a stool to snuggle close to her. The house was quiet with the contentment that comes when those you love have returned home and are close by your side.
Pressing Mama’s thin, blue-veined hand against her own soft, younger cheek, Jan asked, “What were you reading?”
Mama stroked the open Bible lovingly, “When you stand praying, forgive: (Mark 11:25)
“But, Bestemor, there are some things you can’t forgive.”
I knew Jan was in for a story.
Stroking Jan’s soft blond hair, Bestemor rocked a little slower and added, “I’ll tell you a story, Janice. We’ll call the girl Mary and the man John.
“It happened a long time ago.” I reached for my coffee cup and listened from the kitchen. I had heard the story a few days before, but had promised not to tell it.
Bestemor’s white hair framed her gentle face, and her blue eyes held that far-away look. Jan waited. These were moments she would hold in her heart forever. She would remember and tell her children.
“Mary was young, filled with dreams of love for her husband, John, and her love for God and His service. John, restless and impatient in his new pastorate in the farmlands of Wisconsin, longed for the libraries and action of New York City or Chicago, where he had attended seminary. John’s brilliant mind craved books. Mary saw beauty in everything—the smell of the freshly plowed fields, the song of a bird, the first sign of spring, crocuses and violets.
“She tied her tiny daughter to her lap while she drove the horse and buggy to the country church. John would ride with Deacon Olsen to gather parishioners along the way. Mary sang to the wind and laughed with the birds. But she had one secret longing, a new dress for spring. Not the somber brown or black, befitting a minister’s wife, but a soft voile billowing dress with lace around the neck and sleeves, and a big sash. There was no money! Carefully she laid plans. She would put pennies into a box until there was enough money to buy a new kerosene lamp for John and material for a new dress. She would reuse the lace from an old velvet dress in the trunk. Someday she would make a blue velvet dress for baby Louise.
“The day came when the treadle machine purred like music while Mary sang and sewed. Golden-haired Louise played with empty spools and clothes pins. The small house shone, clean. The new lamp had a place of honor on John’s reading table. Violets filled a bowl on the starched tablecloth, and cups were placed for afternoon coffee when John would return home.
“In a playful mood, Mary pulled down her long brown hair, brushed it in the morning sun. Then she put on her new dress, soft pink voile with violets and lace. A sash tied in the back and Mary swung around to the delightful squeals of Louise. It was spring! She was young, just twenty-three, with another new life within her and Louise to rock and love. The wilderness church, the somber immigrants tilling the land, and the severe harshness of long winters had isolated the young wife into her world of poetry and song. She grew to love the faithful people and share their joys and sorrows.
“But today was spring and she danced with abandoned joy in her new billowing dress.
“With a flash of summer lightning, Mary was whirled around by an angry John, whose storm of frustration unleashed the fury within him. “Money for foolishness! No libraries, no books, no one to talk to about anything except cows and chickens, planting and harvest.’ Like a smoldering volcano, John erupted with rage and ripped the dress to shreds. Just as suddenly the storm was over, and the galloping hoofs of John’s horse broke the quiet terror. As he rode into the wind he unleashed the remainder of his fury on the passing fields and their wide-eyed cows and clucking chickens. He longed to gallop from Wisconsin to the heart of New York—his beloved library.
“Huddled in a corner, Mary clutched Louise and the shredded dress. Trembling with fear and anger she remained motionless. Too drained to weep, she was sick with an emptiness and an unutterable longing for her mother in New York. There was no one to turn to in that lonely farmland. She remembered Psalm 34:4: ‘I sought the LORD, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.’ Then she wept, long and deep, and cried unto the Lord.”
Bestemor paused. “Be slow to cry to man, Janice, but let your cry be unto God. ”She rocked slowly, then continued.
“Mary set her heart to seek a way of escape. She would make a pallet up in the loft and take Louise to sleep with her. John would sleep alone. Then she folded the shredded dress in a small package and hid it in her trunk. Pastor Hansen was coming to visit the rural churches and Mary decided to bide her time, to quietly wait and show the dress to Pastor Hansen, then ask for assistance to leave John and return to New York. With quiet determination she put on her dark dress and combed her long brown hair into a severe knot, befitting a minister’s wife. She set the table for supper. When John returned late in the night his supper was in the warming oven. Mary was asleep in the loft with Louise curled in her arms.
“Quietly John ate his supper and looked for Mary. When he found her in the loft, he ordered her back to their bed and put Louise in her crib. Mary gently tucked Louise in her crib and obediently went to bed. John’s storm had passed, but he was unaware of the debris in its wake.
“Life went on as usual, but the song was gone and Mary’s steps were weighted with bitterness. She quietly waited and thought out her plans.
“The arrival of Pastor Hansen brought a new exuberance to John as the two ministers discussed books and theology and the work of the church conference. Mary served quietly. No one would have guessed the anguish behind her gently face as she worshipped with the faithful congregation but she heard little of the sermons.
“The final service was drawing to a close and, as yet, Mary had not had the opportunity to see Pastor Hansen alone. She had to find the opening, perhaps this Sunday afternoon, when John would visit a shut-in member while Pastor Hansen would meditate on the evening message. With a quickened mind she decided to listen to the sermon and perhaps use his comments as an opening.
“The text this morning is found in Mark 11:25: “When ye stand praying, forgive.” Forgiveness is not optional, but a command. Forgiveness is not a feeling, but an act of faith, a definite act of the will to forgive, in obedience to God’s command. The feeling comes later, the feeling of peace. When we offer to God our hurts and despair, God will pour his love and compassion into the wounds and His healing will come.’
“Oh, no,’ Mary cried inside. “I can’t forgive, and I can never forget!’
“The sermon continued. “Someone may be thinking, “I can never forget, even if I could forgive.” You are right, you can’t forget, but you needn’t be devastated by remembering. God’s love and His forgiveness can and will cushion the memory until the imprint is gone. When you forgive, you must destroy the evidence, and remember only to love. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” In closing let us stand and say the Lord’s prayer. “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
“John and Pastor Hansen rode home with Deacon Olsen. Mary stepped into her buggy, tied her wide black hat with a scarf, and carefully secured Louise around her waist. As the horse, Dolly trotted briskly down the country road, Mary’s scalding tears poured forth.
“She knew what she must do. She would obey God. Without waiting to unhitch Dolly, she fled from the buggy and placed sleeping Louise in her crib. With trembling hands, she took out of the trunk the package with the torn dress, but she couldn’t let go. The Sunday dinner was in the warming oven; Mary poked the fire and added more wood. Automatically she put on the coffee pot and set the table. ‘The evidence must go’ rang in her memory. ‘I forgive you, John’. She finally picked up the tattered dress with one hand and the stove lid with the other. Tears splashed on the fire and the dress burned slowly.
“True forgiveness destroys the evidence’ pounded so loudly in her heart that she failed to hear John’s footsteps. ‘Mary what are you doing?’ Trembling with sobs, she said, ‘I am destroying the evidence.’
“To herself she said, “My offering to God.’
“Then John remembered! Pale and shaken he murmured, ‘Please forgive me.”
Bestemor rocked quietly.
“Please Grandmother, what happened?” Jan begged. Bestemor waited. Her eyes followed the ducks on the lake, but her heart was somewhere else. Softly she continued:
“Now John has gone home. Fifty-eight years together, and I miss him.”
Wide-eyed with understanding, Jan wrapped her arms around her beloved Bestemor! “That was you and Grandfather!” The chair rocked slowly in the quiet room as Bestemor’s loving hand stroked the bowed head.
I slipped quietly down the path of fallen leaves to the lake to feed the ducks. The four white pet geese honked majestically across the lake as I drank deeply of the cool autumn breeze and felt the burden of old hurts slowly ebbing away. God’s cushioning love heals old scars.
P.S. A few days later Mama had a dream. Three angels appeared to her and said, “Come, we are going to a celebration.” Over the arm of one angel was draped a beautiful dress.
Alphabet Of The Father Heart of God 
