Magic Mirror

Nothing shakes my confidence like looking in the mirror after a long day of interaction with people and finding that I had food in my teeth, a booger in my nose, or dandruff in my hair.  That probably seems shallow.  That's because it is, but I can't help it.  I'm a little narcissistic.  If I wasn't, I wouldn't have a blog, now would I? 

Ironically, the place that I normally sit to study my Bible and pray is directly in front of a mirror.  I call it Magic Mirror because it elongates images and makes me look five to ten pounds lighter.  It used to hang in the hallway of my grandmother's house.  I loved it.  On Thanksgiving, when I felt that I had eaten way too much and was sure that if I didn't get my rings off soon they'd be stuck there forever, I would go to Magic Mirror for reassurance.  Then and only then did I feel justified having a piece of pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream...or two.

This morning, I realized something.  Magic Mirror has become a real distraction to me during my personal Bible study time.   Catching a glimpse of hair out of place or an unbecoming expression on my face as I concentrate on what the Holy Spirit has revealed to me, I look up to investigate, primp, fuss, and worry over what I just saw, breaking completely my concentration on difficult Truth and numbing myself to the healing conviction of the Holy Spirit.  The prick in my heart tells me that this tendency goes beyond the half hour I spend in intentional Bible study on a given day, and I wonder how long this has been going on.  How many opportunities for enlightenment, growth, and intimacy with the Father have I missed while looking at my own reflection? 

Magic Mirror is not longer that.  It has revealed an ugly flaw in me, one that I've been wearing around for who-knows-how-long for all to see, a preoccupation with myself, and I'm embarrassed.  The very fact that it embarrasses me reveals the depth of the blemish.  It shouldn't matter so much what other people think beyond the fact that I may have unknowingly discredited Christ before others in some way.  What matters is that this preoccupation with myself has probably dulled my discernment and hindered my obedience, rendering me less effective in my service to Him.

So, what to do about Magic Mirror?  Well, I could find somewhere altogether new to read my Bible and pray so that I won't be so easily distracted, or I could cover it with a cloth when I study and pray like people used to do when they were in mourning.   That may not be such a bad idea.  In fact, a funeral may be in order.  A funeral to self.

Sorry, but Not Sorry

There are cute kids, and then there are impossibly cute kids, the ones with large eyes, long eyelashes, and soft, ample cheeks.  It was one such cutie that caught my eye at the mall last week.  A soft little guy, he appeared to be a good eater, one that looked ready to move from size 2T to 3T, though I'm guessing he was only about eighteen months old.  

He and his mother were waiting next to me in the breezeway at Dillard's for the boy's father to pick them up.  Anxious to get home, he wiggled and squirmed and resisted as his mother worked mittens over balled up, sticky fists and situated a woolen elephant hat with ear flaps onto his head.  The hat itself was too cute for words, complete with elephant ears, love knot eyes, and a stuffed trunk that curved outward and downward a full four inches, but when she tied it under the toddler's chin, the result was more than I could have hoped for, pushing those soft, ample cheeks forward and forcing the boy's full, pink mouth into a perpetual "chubby bunny" pout.  

When the struggle was over, all three of us exhaled, and two of us giggled.  The little boy wheeled around and pressed his face against the glass, looking for his daddy. Just then, a family of adults entered the breezeway, pulled their scarves over their mouths, and proceeded out the door to their car, forcing a gust of wind past my legs.  The little boy with the elephant hat was intrigued and waddled to the door that had just closed.  

"Aaron," his mother warned gently.   

Trying to smile from behind his cheeks, the little boy showed teeth and pressed his mittens against the door with purpose.  

"No, no, Aaron," his mother cautioned again.

The little boy closed his eyes to her words, turned his attention toward the door, and leaned, opening the door an inch or so.  He froze, avoiding eye contact and hoping his mother hadn't noticed. 

"Aaron Chad," his mother corrected, lowering her voice and setting her bags down just in case she needed to make a snatch and grab, "don't open that door.  Come here."  

For a long moment, it seemed as if Aaron Chad would obey. Straightening, he slowly lowered his mittens from the glass and watched the door close.   Still no eye contact.

"Good boy," his mother praised him, picking up the bags she had set down.

Big mistake. 

Aaron Chad giggled and, with renewed enthusiasm, squared his mittens on the glass, pushing with all his might.  "I sah-wee," he announced with surprising sincerity even as he disobeyed his mother and drew the outside chill into the room.  

With impressive speed and skill, Aaron's mother dropped everything and scooped him up before he could make it out the door.  "No!" she corrected, a hint of panic in her voice.  "I want to keep you.  Stay here with me, and let's wait for Daddy."  

Minutes later, they were gone, and I chuckled at what I'd witnessed.  A mother of two, I've been there, done that.   

You know, I believe Aaron Chad.  I think he really was sorry, not sorry for what he was going to do, but sorry that it was going to make his mother angry.  He didn't want to disappoint her.  He didn't even really want to disobey.  He simply wanted to do what he wanted to do more than he wanted to please.   

Just like me.   

How many times have I had my mittens on the door of disobedience, regret in my heart even as I leaned into my rebellion?  Too many to count, I'm guessing.   

"I know you told me to give more than my tithe, but I'd rather redecorate, Lord.  I'm sorry." 

"God, I know you told me to forgive and move on, but I've worked up a good mad and want to enjoy it a while before I give it up.  I'm sorry."  

"I know you told me to reach out to so-and-so like you would, Jesus, but I'd rather spend time with people who will love me back.  I'm sorry."

Thank goodness I've a Heavenly Father that will scoop me up one way or another and rescue me from my sin, bringing me back into fellowship with Him and sparing me regret. I don't always like it. Sometimes He has to take hold with a pretty firm grip, but I know it's for the best, mine and His.  He loves me, so He keeps me.  He's the very best kind of daddy.    

For What He's Worth

Like countless others, I have made a few New Year's resolutions.  For what they're worth, here they are. 

I plan to read my Bible more and memorize more of what I read, like a verse a week.  I'm not starting a Bible reading plan or anything like that, though that's not a bad idea.  It's just that when I set goals like that, I tend to quit the first time I fall off the wagon.  I never catch up and end up feeling defeated rather than encouraged by what I did accomplish. 

I'm also going to work on being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry (James 1:19). (Those of you who see me every day are invited to hold me accountable on this!)  My plan is to count to ten and recite "see as He sees...love as He loves" to myself as many times as necessary to get through each day, an approach that generally works for me. 

Finally, I'm going to write something every day, even if it's just one sentence before bed in the five-year journal that Hunter bought me last year for Christmas, you know, the one that only has about twenty entries in it so far.  God has called me to write, so I need to write whether or not anyone reads the words.  

So, here I sit, much as I did about a week ago, surrounded by holiday decorations, a modest pile of brightly wrapped intentions before me, sacrifices I intend to make, effort I intend to put forth, all of them gifts that I intend to offer.  But to whom, and what are they worth? If I'm not careful, they will all end up right back under my own tree, so to speak, spent for the glorification of myself, the making of a better Angela, and that idea that just doesn't settle well with my spirit. 

A couple of verses come to mind. 

"Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain..." Psalm 127:1a

and

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." Colossians 3:23

According to Scripture, spinning your wheels on anything behind which God is not the driving force is a monumental waste of time, but hard work performed in accordance with God's will as an act of worship counts for something even if no one around you recognizes your efforts or cheers you on. 

Friends, let's make sure our efforts count for something in 2014.  Let's put our own lists aside and focus only on the things God wants us to focus on.  Let's work faithfully toward that to which He's called us in sincere worship. 

For what He's worth, let's lay our gifts beneath His tree.