The Dress I Bought for My Husband’s Funeral Changed How I See People

I will never forget the moment. I was standing inside a local clothing store, going through the racks, searching for that “perfect” outfit. I hate shopping in general, unless I can do it from the comfort of my recliner. But this particular assignment required me to physically go to a store to find what I needed.

I saw them standing nearby. They looked to be mother and daughter, laughing and chatting while they combed through the endless apparel. All at once, a thought permeated my brain — one I wanted to scream to them, to anyone who would listen. What are you looking for today? Updating your wardrobe, perhaps? Me? Oh — I’m just here picking out a dress to wear to my husband’s funeral.

Obviously, they had no idea that’s what I was doing. We never spoke a word to each other. “They” could have been me at another time in my life. And the reverse was just as true: any one of them could have been a version of what I was in that moment — walking around looking for an outfit to wear to a loved one’s funeral. I never would have known it.

It might seem absurd to let a single thought saturate my entire being for those few moments. But that one thought permanently changed me. It left an indelible mark on my character — one I’m thankful for, at least now.

The rebuilding that follows any tragedy, loss, or hard event has certain obvious elements, depending on the type of loss. Someone might be rebuilding a bank account after bankruptcy, while someone else is restoring a family torn apart by divorce. In my case, the rebuilding took on both of those elements — and more — following my husband’s suicide.

With the loss of his income, our bank account suddenly looked bleak. With his absence in our home, our family dynamic shifted so much that we had to figure out our new roles in this mother/daughter duo. Most importantly, I discovered some ugly pieces of my character that needed to be rebuilt — a complete gutting, a reconstruction of qualities that had lived in me for so long. Qualities that were not only difficult to admit, but that, I’m sure, displeased my Savior.

Those character elements were seldom obvious to the people whose lives intersected with mine. Truthfully, I was known as a sweet, often soft-spoken woman who would give the shirt off her back to anyone who needed it. That was mostly true. But it was the thoughts I allowed to take up residence in my mind that nobody knew about.

I was very judgmental, silently condemning those I felt superior to. I criticized everything — if only in my thoughts: the way they parented their children, how clean they kept their homes, even how they conducted themselves in public. It’s embarrassing to admit now. But I’m thankful God revealed it to me, beginning with that shopping trip for my funeral dress.

The lightbulb went on in that moment, when I realized the other shoppers had no idea what I had just walked through — no idea about the grief-stricken heart breaking within me. To them, I was probably just another shopper. Or maybe they never truly noticed me at all.

Now when I encounter people in public — especially the ones who aren’t all that congenial — I catch myself thinking, you don’t know what they might be carrying to make them act this way. When I see someone who looks as if they’ve recently been crying, I offer up a silent prayer, asking God to meet them in their need.

And the rebuilding didn’t stop there. Whenever a judgmental thought enters my mind now — even one about people near and dear to me — the Holy Spirit gives me an immediate check, and I lay the thought down and take it captive. It has no place in my life anymore.

I love these changes God has produced in me. It was hard work to endure the season in which He reshaped the woman I had become into the woman He created me to be. But on the other side of it, I’m so thankful.

As long as I live in this earthly shell, I’ll never be able to completely eradicate every imperfect thought. Only one perfect person ever walked this earth. But the new me catches a glimpse of the way God sees us — the woman laughing with her daughter and the one buying a dress for a funeral, both at once, both fully seen. These days, by grace, I’m slowly learning to look at people the way He does.