Internal Reflection

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall.
Make me slimmer, make me tall.
Make me who I'm not at all.

The person I see in the mirror is a distraction. She never lets me see who I really am, instead she bullies the Internal-Nadine and makes her sit in the corner while she points out minute flaws that can only found in a pamphlet of the world's imperfections.

There are many days when I feel beautiful until I look in the mirror. Then my focus slips from my head like jello down a windowpane. I forget that I'm fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139). I forget that God looks at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). I forget about the part of me that matters. All I see are my silly flaws sticking their forked tongues out at me.

"Well I think you're beautiful."
You're my mom/sister/best friend, you have to say that.

"Who you are inside makes you beautiful on the outside."
Yes, but that doesn't count.

Why doesn't it? Who was the first to stand up and say, "The inside of a person is a cheap card. That's a given."? Whoever it was must have been a great orator because the world believed them.

My old roommate, Julie, and I owned a shoddy full-length mirror our senior year at college. It sat propped on an overturned shower-caddy, draped with a tacky curtain that we couldn't fit over our single window. The mirror had warps and flaws in all the right places. No matter how groggy, frumpy, or grungy I felt, "the mirror" fixed it all. Just a glance in its spotted, smeared pane turned an XXL sweatshirt and holey sweats into a cute, flattering, study outfit. We were always thin and perfectly curvy in the mirror. No one was allowed to move it.
You and I both know it's reflection was fake. It didn't show how I really looked, but the confidence booster was enough to push me through the day with a smile. So why was I content with a lie that I didn't even believe?

We don't look in the mirror to see if our make-up is even, or if our hair is smooth, or if our smile looks genuine. We look into the mirror to judge ourselves, to fix already perfect things, and to tell God He messed up. To ask, "Hey, did You mean to make my nose crooked?" or "Did You know that my teeth aren't even?" or "This is the wrong skin. You misread my order."

If I had a choice, would I choose to be beautiful on the inside or the outside? Why can't I have both? Because one comes from the other, no matter what the world says. The inside transforms the exterior of a person. I know many people--men and women--who are far from super-model-stipulations, but they exude beauty beyond external understanding. Their beauty fills my soul. It makes me see God's creativity.

That is real beauty. It's not a "cheap given", but we've tainted the view of internal beauty. Inner beauty is Christian phraseology that allows us to judge actors and actresses. It's an excuse that helps us ignore our discontentment with our looks. We're missing the point (as we usually do). Internal and external beauty are holding hands, but we must talk to Miss Internal before we can understand Miss External's language. Then, and only then, will we see the whole. We're stopping at the exterior when the interior is screaming for recognition.

To uncover internal beauty takes effort. We're a lazy world. No wonder we resorted to easy fading beauty. Internal beauty transforms the exterior--we just need to put forth the effort to know each other. You'll rarely find deep beauty in first impressions. It comes through deeper searching. Through quality time. Through things that our hollow culture avoids.

We're a superficial nation not because we focus on the external, but because we're ignoring the internal.

Let that sink in. It's not because of our focus on the external, it's because we choose to ignore the internal--it's too complicated. Too time consuming. Too raw. Too real.
But everyone wants to be known. Everyone wants to be seen--really seen.

God has made me beautiful. He's given me a deep beauty. I know this because that beauty is Him. He is inside me and He is ultimate beauty. I distract myself from Him by reading the world's list on my mirror.

Mirrors aren't bad. It's my reflection that needs a firm spanking. I can't see past it, so I'm taking Internal-Nadine out of the corner and we're putting Reflection-Nadine in time-out.
No mirrors.
I'm covering each mirror in my apartment until my heart remembers I'm beautiful. My head understands, but that's not enough--not enough for me and not enough for God. I won't look into a mirror again until I'm certain my heart will see God's creation.

.

Amputee

.
. . .The Surgeon reviews her chart. "Why are you here?"
. . .Her pale fingers clench the thin, sweat-soaked sheet. "I want to let go of past wounds, but they're bleeding into the present." The faded red stains spread like a yawn, tickling the hem of her future. "I've tried band-aids, I've tried stitches, and I've tried tourniquets. The blood won't stop."
. . .He places her file on her bedside table and sets cloths and medical tools beside it. There is no need to wash His hands, they're already clean.
. . .Her gaze fixes on His scalpel. He doesn't bother to hide it. "You're a specialist?" she chokes.
. . ."The best."
. . ."What's your price?"
. . He moves aside a crinkled pamphlet on Phantom-Limb Syndrome. "No anesthesia."
. . .She touches a shaking finger to the bead of sweat slipping down her temple. "And will it be gone forever?"
. . ."Some days you will feel its shadow more than others, but I offer your last--and best--option."
. . .Her breath crawls into her lungs in tentative wisps. She lies against the pillow. Her eyelids close, but their thin film can't shut out the terror.
. . .She holds out her pulsing heart and whispers, "Goodbye."
. . .His smooth experienced hands peel her blood-coated fingers from around the rhythm of life. Her heart trembles as He places it beneath a guillotine. The cord tightens, raising the blade to the peak. A quiver of anticipation. A twitch.
. . .Slack.
. . The glinting metal plunges like a stone into the ocean's abyss. With a dull clunk, cold-edge meets soft life-tissue. All color in the heart bursts like a mighty splash and drips over the guillotine edge. In its place, rests a pale white heart.
. . Silence twirls through the air like stunned smoke tendrils. The white heart releases a single beat. It grows louder. Faster. Stronger. There is no seam. There is no stain.
. . It shudders when the Surgeon's thumbprint brushes its surface. He leans over and breathes flakes of snow over it like a winter whisper.

. . ."Be whole."

"Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Make me hear joy and gladness,
That the bones You have broken may rejoice.
Hide Your face from my sins,
And blot out all my iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
And renew a steadfast spirit within me."
(Psalm 51: 7-10)

The Positive Magnet

What if...

...we only looked at the positives in other people for a single day?

Slide on a whole new set of glasses, just for a moment, to dim the brightness of the negatives. Yes, negatives are bright. Negatives are blinding. We tend to associate the word "negative" with negative words: dark, gloomy, unpleasant, mean, ugly. But in all reality, negatives are far brighter than positives. I know this, because it's not until I put on those sunglasses that I can see past the negatives. The positives may not be brighter, but they're far more beautiful. They take more choice to look at.

My dad: he's giving--selflessly and without reserve.
My mom: she cares about everyone with a sincere mother's heart.
My brother-in-law: he's selfless and genuine.
My older sister: she's fiercely protective of those she loves.
My younger brother: he's helpful, ready to drop what he's doing to do what needs doing.
My younger sister: she's good-hearted. If she sees an ounce of hurt, she looks for emotional and physical band-aids.

Choosing to look at the positives doesn't mean pretending the negatives don't exist--it's a + and - magnet, forever stuck to our refrigerator of life. I know there are negatives in my family members. I've grown up with them. But when I flip the magnet to the + side, it makes my heart swell with pride. I am reminded how good they are. I can't believe this is my family.

What if I did this with everyone? Even the people who are harder for me to love?
A boy in junior high may have tormented me for two years...but he loved to make others laugh. He loved to see people smile. And in the end, he apologized with true sincerity. He cared about others' well-being.
A girl I know may have stolen from those providing for her, but she relished companionship. She loved to be loved and she adored pouring quality time into others. A pastor I know may have left his congregation burning, but he loved his family with every ounce of his existence.

Sometimes negatives make us flare up. "Why should I look at her positives? She doesn't deserve it."
But do you deserve it? Don't you want people to see the positives in you? To know that there is more to you than your mistakes, your gloomy days, or your selfishness that always seems to pop out like a jack-in-the-box? Don't you want people to look for your heart? To know you have a heart?

Everyone has a heart. One of my favorite things to do is try and find it, because once I do--once I see that teensy glimpse in someone--there's no forgetting it. I'll always know that, underneath the hard, tough, slimy exterior, there's desire--desire to be something more. To be something genuine. To be something beautiful and worthwhile.

I know it's in you. I know it's in me. It's in everyone. All we need is to make a choice, for a single day...a single hour even...to block out the negatives with those glasses. Even if it just consists of writing a name on a grocery list and forcing ourselves to think of a minuscule positive. Let's not doom those around us to our negative gazes. God's given us an ability to look deeper. Let's not waste it.