Whoa! Would you look at that? I mumbled, supporting myself against the vanity in the bathroom. My brown jeans, still buttoned, had slipped over my hips and pooled around my bare feet—evidence of more weight loss.

Unlike many, my weight had never been a problem, given the onset of rheumatoid arthritis in the 1960s and my adoption of the Paleo diet; disregarding it added additional knee pain and swelling. But dropping a pound here or there, in recent years, alarmed me since I was unable to regain them.

The eventual diagnosis of ILD with rheumatoid arthritis named the underlying disorder, but the weight loss was slow in manifesting, until recently. 

Whenever I needed alterations in the past, I resorted to a South Korean Dry Cleaners in my neighborhood—nothing fancy but it served my needs. Besides my brown jeans, faded from many washings, others especially my tan ones—my favorite—needed also critical stitching, not that I was going anywhere.

For days, I obsessed over transportation, the energy available for the fitting, the cramped quarters of the dry cleaners, and my ability to maneuver on my walker. Ordering new pants on line was not an option because of my height. Finally, all was arranged for yesterday afternoon, but I was too weak to go.

So, what happened when I opened the door of my bedroom closet this morning, long cleared out of clothing, in preparation for my demise in 2019? Hanging among other light-colored pants was another tan pair I had used only for travel to Gloucester, Massachusetts. I’d forgotten that I’d bought them it at J Jill’s, size 4, long, years ago. The fit is still perfect.

So, no need to fret. Precious God takes care of all my wants, even clothing until there’s no need.