Looking in the Mirror

My sweet Lilly Grace has entered the fabulous and frilly, enchanted world of make-believe.  “Twirl me, Daddy,” comes from an honest place and melts hearts instantly.  Lilly wants to be a Princess.  It started back in the summer when every outfit had to be a dress.  The only princess she even knew of was Cinderella and her brother, Jake, seemed to enjoy watching it more than she did!  But she insisted on a dress… every day.

Her favorite kind of dress is a long one, one that spins and sways, and hovers just above the floor.  Her plastic pink slippers are the finishing touches to her dreamy apparel.  Once completely dressed, she will do two things. 

First, she will always, always, always ask to look in the mirror.  She loves the mirror in her Daddy’s closet because it is a great big, long mirror that shows every inch of her.

Lilly only smiles in the mirror.  She never, ever changes her dress afterwards, because the looking is only part of the thrill.  She only expects to find beauty.  She knows she is elegant.  She believes she is special, important, unique.  Looking at herself in the mirror is like opening a gift.

The next thing Lilly will do after looking in the mirror is quite simple.  She gets out her tea cups and her cookies and throws a party. She is not the guest of honor.  No one serves her.  She serves them- all twenty-six of them sometimes.  She is happy serving her stuffed animal friends, and she knows she is beautiful.
 

When I watch my daughter, I wonder if it will always be that way.  Will she always see what she sees now when she peers at herself in the mirror?  It terrifies me because when I watch her, it seems foreign.  It seems distant.  I struggle to see beauty in the mirror.  I look hard and always find imperfection.  I usually change the dress- a few times.  And I know that when I finally feel semi-confident, I usually want it to be all about me. 

What if I looked at myself and expected to see beauty, not physical beauty but the inside-kind that counts? The kind that comes from Jesus moving in and taking up space in my heart.  The kind of beauty that I have nothing to do with.  What if I believed I was a gift, a precious jewel?  If I was secure in who I am, would it change the way I loved others? Would I see them first, serve them first?  Would it start to be less and less about me?

The other night I was reading in Isaiah.  I was reading a chapter that has become so precious and familiar to me- a place I go when my soul needs to hear I am loved and I have purpose.  I will never know for sure what made me linger on this word, but I have a feeling it was my Creator pouring His love right into my heart.  The word was jewels.  I stopped.  I parked.  I prayed.  Then I looked up this word, because when you are obsessed with words and their meanings that is just what you do.

The Hebrew word for jewels is kĕliy.  My fingers trembled as I clicked the button that allowed me to hear this word spoken out loud.  Kelly.  My name.  Personal, and spoken straight to my forgetful heart.  I am a jewel.  I am beauty.  I am wanted.  I have purpose.  It frightens me and thrills me all at once to say these words as I look into the mirror of my soul.  But when I walk away, I know that I am not the only one who is unique and cherished and beautiful.  You are, too.

You are a vessel, made with a purpose.

You are an instrument in God’s hand.
You are a jewel, reflecting beauty and wonder. 
You are precious and loved and created to bear the image of God. 

And you are a princess, too.  Not the make-believe, fairy tale kind- you are a daughter of the One True King, and He is wildly in love with you.

Now repeat these words in front of your mirror until you believe them completely. 

Then, throw a party and tell your girlfriends that they are beautiful, too!

Empty Hangers

This morning's car ride starts with a question.  Before I can begin to gather my answer together, fold it neatly into a tidy playful paper airplane and send it zipping behind me to the backseat, another shoots forward, and another, and another, like I am suddenly under attack.

Coming face to face with my own inability to adequately answer each one, I call for silence and politely announce, “No more questions,” to my two curious co-pilots. 

In the quiet, I remember my own questions.  The ones that seem silly, the wonder-questions, the what-ifs, and the questions that I cannot even utter. 

Questions are like hangers.  They are meant to be dressed with answers.

Some hangers are made of wire and covered with t-shirts; others are more sophisticated with their sports coats and suits.  Small plastic painted hangers display teeny tiny newborn onesies while padded, elegant hangers hold up long, flowing wedding gowns.

  

Hangers are meant to be covered. 

Questions are meant to be answered.

No one dreams of a closet with rows and rows of empty hangers.  The joy is in the outfit, the possibility, the wonder of selecting and pairing and starting over if it doesn’t work out the first time.  An empty hanger is bare, naked. I do not like empty hangers, and I am terrified of the question that hangs without answer. 

Solutions are safe.  The possibility that there may not be one is risky, even dangerous.  A neatly packaged explanation is comforting; walking away without an answer is so incredibly uncomfortable. 

So what do we do with our empty hangers?
 

I want so badly to drape clothing that covers here. 

I seek beautiful, coordinating layers that balance and complement one another.

I long for accessories that polish the look and seem as if they were made for this. 

I crave a sense of tidiness, put-togetherness, and completion.

I want a solution.

Answers are filled with hope.  But could an empty hanger bring hope as well? 

Jesus hanging on a cross, bloody and bruised, was God’s solution.  The wooden hanger that held God's Solution to the fall of man was spoken of for centuries before the Answer was hung.  God was faithful then.  He is faithful now. 

 
Every question’s answer is Jesus.  He is the Answer the world waited for, not attractive or neat or tidy, but every bit perfect and complete.  God’s solution gave us Life.  God’s answer rescued us from darkness.  God explained Himself to us through Jesus, and He granted us peace through Jesus’ blood.  There was no other answer- only this perfect solution. 

If this was God’s most profound answer, might we find Hope here?  Instead of fearing the empty hanger, might we trust God, the Answer-Giver?   

Listen to the words of the prophet Isaiah... 

I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,
My soul shall be joyful in my God;
For He has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
He has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with ornaments,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

Isaiah 61:10

 
The empty hanger is necessary.  Jesus is God’s solution who hung there.  He is the Answer, the One who holds all things together.  No matter what the question may be, Jesus is enough.  The question may linger for years, for days, or mere seconds.   

God can handle the questions that hang unanswered- your curious questions as well as the questions that knot together in the deepest parts of your soul.  Hand them over to the Answer-Giver who came up with the perfect solution.  Then inhale Peace and grab onto Hope and be filled with Joy, knowing that Jesus covers you completely and perfectly.  The hanger may be empty, but you are dressed in Life, in Freedom, and in Beauty.