A different hat every day

Dr. Suess was a staple in our house when I was growing up. I loved the way his stories sounded when read aloud and I frequently irritated my brothers and sisters by reading and re-reading "The Cat in the Hat," "Green Eggs and Ham" and the lesser known "The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins."

For those who have forgotten the tale, first published in 1938, Bartholomew is a peasant lad, who immediately obeys the king's order to doff his hat, only to discover a hat beneath that hat, and a hat beneath that one. In all, Bartholomew doffs 499 hats before uncovering an extravagant hat, bedecked in jewels and fine decorations. The king is so enamored with that last hat he purchases it from Bartholomew for 500 pieces of gold and places it on top of his own kingly crown. Another happy ending.

The story makes it way into my conscious thought whenever I consider the many hats I've worn during the course of my life, one replacing another. Sometimes I have to return to the past to reclaim a hat for special circumstances. For potluck celebrations, I dust off my food service hat. When balancing the checkbook, I put on my business hat. I occasionally try my parenting hat on, when the need for remedial parenting becomes apparent, but my children, all grown up now, doff that one for me. They don't care for remedial parenting.

Different hats for different days and for different circumstances. If anyone were to peek into my imaginary hatbox they might suspect that I suffer from some kind of multiple personality disorder. They may be closer to right than wrong.

After all, some days I'm more like Peter than Paul. Exuberant, impulsive and liable to say anything, I find myself needing to back-pedal to undo the damage. On another day, I may be likened to Jeremiah, deeply saddened by the seemingly willful blindness of those around me. Then Jonah surfaces and I find myself wearing black robes of judgment, resentful of God's offered deliverance of an obviously ungrateful people.

Another hat flies off and I am Thomas, suddenly doubting, again.

Then Paul re-emerges and I reprise the role of "a wretched man" in desperate need of a savior. (Romans 7:24)

Truth be told, I'm more Mary than Martha most days, though my Martha hat makes regular appearances whenever we have company. I love to cook for company. (The Martha hat looks suspiciously like a chef's hat.)

Sometimes, during quiet times of deep reflection, when my hat comes off, long hair spills free and I become the woman with the alabaster jar, wiping tears of remorse, regret and gratitude from Jesus' feet. (Luke 7:37-50) My soul is somehow cleansed by those same tears.

Once, or maybe twice, I've found myself wearing a carpenter's hat. A brief moment of unguarded compassion, a moment of generosity untainted by impure motive, and for just that moment I own a heart free, however briefly, from the chains of sin.

It isn't hard, when studying Scripture and the characters revealed there, to find that I have something in common with each one of them, even the most maligned. Sadly, there's even a Judas hat in my wardrobe. Seeing that Jesus was not going to fit into his preconceived idea of what he thought Jesus ought to be, he was faced with a choice. Either shift his perspective, or force it. He, as we know, chose to force his perspective, and was compelled to betray Jesus. When our perspective is at odds with Jesus, we too have a choice. We can either shift our perspective or turn away, in effect betraying him again.

Multiple choice. Multiple personalities. Many, many hats to choose from each day. And, just like young Bartholomew Cubbins, when one hat comes off, another is already in its place. I find myself longing for that 500th hat.

"Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life." Revelation 2:10b)

Things you won't see in heaven:

Chains

Audio from KNGN 1360 AM:

http://www.kngn.org/mp3/A%20Different%20Hat%20Every%20Day.mp3