“You are not.”
“Yes I am. I am ugly and fat.”
I thought to myself, "Ok, you need to tread very carefully here".
“Didn’t you hear me? You are not.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“So now I am a liar?”
“No. You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just that you see me through rose colored glasses.”
Is it not peculiar how we humans sometimes erroneously envision ourselves.
I came up behind her as she continued to frown at her reflection. Cautiously I put my arms around her- careful not to squeeze as fibromyalgia has stolen the simplicity from hugs and touches.
“Honey you are stunning- just as beautiful as the day we met- a vision of loveliness. And I love you.”
Eleven years later and I remember it well. While I lunched at a local diner through the door glided the most gorgeous of God’s creations. How could even He conceive of such beauty? I wondered if this was a miracle and I had been granted a brief glimpse into the spirit world. It seemed I was beholding an actual citizen of heaven. I prayed she would somehow be made human- with bad eyesight. (I too experience bouts with feelings of inadequacy.)
Suddenly the proverbial light came on. A word burst into my thoughts- I believe the biblical term is hypocrite.
Here I have been consoling my wife- assuring her that to me she is as beautiful now as the day I first saw her. Reassuring her that there is absolutely no reason to feel the way she does- that I still love her and desire to be with her as much as always.
How many times have I been too ashamed to step into the Father’s chamber? Too many to remember, that’s for certain.
Countless times I, me, all on my own, have needlessly and wrongfully talked myself out of blessed closeness with Him. All because I felt that I was unworthy- that somehow my sins and disobedience had made me less attractive- no just plain ugly- to Him.
When all I need do is re-read His love letters to me and believe what I claim to believe- that He is all truth- the creator, the father of truth- and nothing less. He cannot lie. When He said He loves me no matter what that is that.
My Father sees me through blood colored glasses.
When He looks at me he peers straight through my weaknesses, my disgrace, my ugliness. He looks through the filter of Jesus' blood and sees the person he created me to be and not the person I have created.
He no longer sees an unrighteous transgressor draped in the repulsive tattered coverings of sin; rather he observes a beautiful child bleached spotless by the innocent blood of Christ.
I hope you will excuse me. All of a sudden I have an overwhelming desire to visit my celestial Dad.
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