ironing and ego

I ironed my Farmer's shirt tonight.  I'm not what you'd call an ironing expert.  I buy knits, mostly, and his other button-downs are "easy-care" and prints that don't need ironing, really.  So it's been awhile since I've even needed to iron a shirt.  We still use the fold-down travel iron he bought for college.

But tonight I was ironing a new white shirt for Tomorrow.  Remember?  The Sermon (about grace).

Grace was not on my mind as I ironed, though.  I wondered if it was okay to use a hotter setting than the wimpy "blends" that was not, in my opinion, getting the shirt flat enough.  I ironed a wrinkle in (and got it out again).  Memories of learning to iron my Dad's shirts took me back to adolescence.  I wondered how often he'd gone to work with creases off-center in the sleeves.

I finished and hung it beside the shirt he'd borrowed from his Dad (freshly laundered and perfectly ironed by his Mom), which didn't fit as well as he'd hoped.  Hmm.  My shirt didn't seem to flow from the hanger the way the other did.....

When my Farmer preaches tomorrow, I hope they'll see his Father's heart, and not his shirt.

(I hope I will, too).