When I was growing up, the only time I didn't get along with my sister was when we were engaged in the heated battles of our ongoing Clothes War. Those with sisters might relate. The accusations about the missing shirt that you just KNOW your sister borrowed. Or, the stain that magically appeared on your jeans that SHE just wore. Sharing clothes brought a thrill of victory (double the wardrobe) and the agony of defeat (see above references to actual events).

As a mom, I'm sad to report that a new and not-so-improved version of the Clothes War has erupted in my home. We have always tended to not pick at this battle, choosing instead to let our children dress themselves (even backward and inside out). Every day, that is, except for Sunday. For three measly hours of the week, my children must follow my rules about their church clothes. Those who shall remain nameless actually bring the clothes of their choosing to change into in the van. Before we leave the church parking lot. Because they can't wait to get out of their church clothes (AKA jeans and a collared shirt). I find this last comment particularly amusing and suddenly become Great Granny as I reply, "Yeah? Well, in MY day, little boys wore SUITS with TIES to church."

We can float through a delightful Saturday, and even a pleasant Sunday morning until it's time to get dressed. Then my little darlings seem to grow horns and turn a funny shade of green. And my head spins around my shoulders in response. Last Sunday was no exception. But, it went on and on and on and on.

With a bit of a chill in the air, my husband required that our son wear jeans. Not shorts. And, you would have thought he'd asked him to cut off an arm. "But, WHY? I don't see WHY" (in a whining, nails on a chalkboard tone). "Because it's too cold to wear shorts," was the response. There was the bargaining chip of bringing shorts to change into in the van just after church. Back and forth. Back and forth. Trying everyone's patience. Then, it would die down, and the child would disappear to his room, seemingly ready at last to obey.

But, wait...there's more. He would come back and begin the whole whining and questioning thing, ALL over again. This went on for nearly an hour. My patient husband endured, firmly standing his ground, and graciously answering the endless QUESTIONING.

I am not nearly so patient. So, at long last, I intervened in a not so gentle manner. "There's a time you just quit questioning your authority. You may not understand why. We've told you why. Quit asking why, and JUST PUT YOUR JEANS ON! It's time to just choose to obey."

Yeah. You might imagine how that loving retort eased the drama. Just a few minutes later, we sat with our Life Group discussing Jesus' last week, and his prayer in Gethsemane for the cup to pass, if it were God's will. Someone noted that Jesus must have been anguished about what He knew was coming. But, He obeyed His Father.

And, it hit me. I am just like my child. My Heavenly Father sometimes requires something of me, and calls me to obey. And, I stomp and moan and groan and whine wanting to know WHY. Most of the time, I even know why. His Word clearly explains it. But, that's not good enough. On and on, I push back, stating my displeasure, bent on pursuing my own way.

Really, sometimes, don't we all just need to put our jeans on? Just choose to obey? Because He said so.