Mary Campbell

Stuff. I don’t hang on to it. Especially clothes. I regularly perform a cold-blooded ritual of weeding out pieces that I haven’t worn in a year. Yet there it hangs almost six decades later—my First Communion dress.

Catholics know First Communion as one in a solemn progression of sacraments or rites through life. For a seven-year-old girl, First Communion is a day when you are the center of attention, have a family party, get some gifts, and act beatified through it all. Plus, you get to wear a fancy white dress and veil. 

My mother sewed my dress out of embroidered linen. She worked on it late at night when our house full of kids was finally quiet. With its cotton lining, mother-of-pearl buttons, piped and laced sleeves and collar, the dress is a brilliant piece of craftsmanship. But I didn’t like it at the time, preferring to have a store-bought, chiffon dress like many of my classmates. I recall a mild rebuke from my grandma over my less-than-saintly lack of gratitude.

The dress comes out of the closet every now and then. I admire it while alone or sometimes show it off to family or friends. How often do you get to touch a pure act of love?