The Wedding Garment

I like to think that any self-respecting doomsday prepper would find something to admire in my van’s stores of extra clothes, snacks, boredom-busting toys, sunscreen, and seasonal outerwear. You never know when you’re going to pass a free splash pad or a particularly amazing sledding hill. And you never know when one of the kids is going to find the world’s most irresistible mud pile or fall into a river.

All this pre-planning for fun and disaster, and still, I usually devote a fraction of that effort to spiritual preparedness.

I swap out my traveling first-aid kit every season, imagining hypothetical emergencies — and I push confession off another week. “I haven’t committed any mortal sins,” I tell myself, “And I’m just so busy.”

I shove extra outfits into my car’s trunk on the off-chance my son decides to paint himself in Go-Gurt — and I shrug off the daily examinations of conscience that could help me overcome a persistent sin.

I stock my purse with bags of Cheerios to ward off sneaky attacks of kid hunger — and I fall asleep without saying the Rosary, murmuring to myself: “I’m so tired. Mary understands.”

I am overwhelmed by the here-and-now, consumed by the minutiae of earthly life, that I forget there is only one eventuality I — or any of us — can expect with any certainty. We will all be invited to the feast.

Is my van stocked for that?

“The king said to him, 'My friend, how is it that you came in here without a wedding garment?'” — Matthew 22:12

©LPi