Recently one morning, I was upstairs getting dressed. Something wasn’t right. Couldn’t place it at first. Just felt different. Off-kilter.
Didn’t take long to realize it was my bra. Looked like it had a flat on one side. Upon closer inspection, it was apparent the underwire was missing from the deflated half.
How did the underwire get out? And where was it now?
I must interrupt this saga to tell you this was no ordinary bra. No, sir. I had tired of ordinary bras months ago.
It couldn’t have been that my old bras had simply worn out. No, that couldn’t have been it. Surely I’d been wearing the wrong size and the wrong bras. I needed a professional fitting by an expert.
Two of my BFFs talked up a lingerie shop in the ritzy part of town.
“Oh, they’re good,” said Peaches ‘n Cream. “They’ll fit you perfectly!”
“And their stuff is beautiful,” said Strawberry Blonde.
“They’re expensive,” said Peaches.
“But totally worth it,” said Strawberry.
“At least go in and get the fitting,” said Peaches, “and buy one there.”
“Then go to TJ Maxx to buy more,” said Strawberry.
Eureka! No more wimpy straps, pinching hooks and eyes, or dull, lifeless cups. I was going bra shopping uptown.
Peaches and Strawberry were right. The shop was delicious. Beautiful, tasteful undergarments. A perfect fitting. Expensive bras. And so convenient.
My husband had been trying to convince me of the worth of my time. How much was it worth for me to drive all over the city searching for cheaper options when I could be done in one easy, albeit expensive, trip?
So I bought a bra. And I bought another. And one more for good measure. I’d never spent so much on undergarments before. I walked out confident I’d gotten it right this time. I had what I needed and was finished in less than an hour. Could I ever lead The Glamorous Life!
You can understand my brief state of shock the morning the bra blew out.
“Honey,” I said. “Can you come upstairs for a minute?”
“Yes?” he said.
“Did you see a thin wire thingy floating around in the laundry?” I said.
“The underwire has escaped from this bra,” I said.
Silence. Poor man. Grew up with all brothers.
“What does it look like?” he finally said.
He retrieved the underwire from the laundry. It had mischievously punctured its encasement and slipped out. I repaired the bra best I could.
It doesn’t matter where you get it, how it comes to you, or even how much it costs you. What matters is how it holds up. How it does its job. How true it is to its purpose. The moral of the story? You’re sunk without a firm foundation.
“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. Rain poured down, the river flooded, a tornado hit—but nothing moved that house. It was fixed to the rock.” Matthew 7:24-25 The Message, from a parable of Jesus
Michael Card sings the timeless hymn How Firm a Foundation with a Celtic twist. Someone called Beanscot set the song to pictures with an American twist. Melodramatic, but let yourself watch. You may end up teary-eyed like I did.