Five things are needed to properly iron a shirt. First, you need the cooperation of the shirt. Second, you need a desire on the part of the ironer to iron. Third, the shirt must be stretched out. Fourth, pressure applied. Fifth…heat with pressure, i.e. the two essentials for an iron to work properly.
I am the shirt and God is the ironer. I must cooperate. He must spread me out applying both pressure and heat. I don’t particularly enjoy ironing but apparently the Father likes to iron. I suppose I could buy one of those steamers but even then I would need to hang the garment, suspending it between heaven and earth. And still, I would have to apply heat.
I still can’t help but believe that the best way to iron a shirt is the old-fashion way…using an iron and ironing board. Another frustrating thing about shirts is that they don’t stay wrinkle-free…the wrinkles come back. I guess I could replace my entire wardrobe with those “wrinkle-free” shirts but that would be expensive and I’m not sure that I believe they are really, truly, wrinkle-free. If I were a shirt I would feel out-of-place with those self righteous, wrinkle-free shirts.
The reality is…my life does have wrinkles. For short periods of time things are smooth but then the wrinkles come back. God stretches me out, applies hot pressure and heat in an attempt to de-wrinkle me the old-fashioned way. Some shirts I have seem more difficult to iron than others. I don’t know why that is…maybe the fabric. But it seems like they just don’t cooperate. I’ll get a wrinkle out on one side and find one on the other. I’ll work on that one, turn the shirt back over only to discover I’ve created a new wrinkle. Darn shirt!
Sometimes I’m like that shirt, I don’t cooperate…instead I whine and complain when stretched, when pressured, when heated. My life will never be wrinkle-free and since God likes to iron there will always be that stretching out, that heart, that pressure. I guess I could jump off the ironing board and scurry down the hall yelling, “No, no, no.” But God would come after me. For some reason he really likes to iron.