Reality and our minds’ eyes very rarely agree. Depending on the type of person we are–and the situation–we tend to see things in extremes. As either terrible or grand, though it’s really somewhere in between.

Right now we’re doing some remodeling of our old house. And as I fill trash bags with all the stuff I didn’t want to take with us when we moved, I see that old house as something like this:

Which is ironic, because in my brain, my house should look something like this:

But as I grumble and pack and strip wallpaper and scrub and carry boxes until my back screams at me, I can hear that whisper in the deep places of my heart. The one that says:

I gave you a roof over your head.
I gave you heat in the winter, even if you had to build it by hand in the stove.
I gave you air conditioning in the summer, even if you had to put it in your window.
So many of my children don’t have that.
I gave you the means to buy all this stuff you now deem garbage. 
I gave you enough, always enough.
More, I gave you plenty. I gave you bounty.

 And I am shamed. And I have to pause and thank Him for providing. For always making sure what I have is sufficient. For the luxury I live in as an American. And I need to learn that what I make of those blessings is up to me. It’s mine to say no when someone offers what I don’t need, what will only clutter things up. It’s mine to say thanks for what I have. It’s mine to take care of it all and be a responsible steward.

I load all those boxes and bags into the back of our old clunker minivan that we bought for a song last year. And you know, sometimes I’m almost embarrassed to be seen in that thing. It’s not sleek and stylish. It’s not filled with cool features or storage compartments or the latest technology. It literally clunks every time we go around a turn. I often look at that old thing and see this:

 when what I want to be driving is this:

Then I hear that voice again.
You prayed to somehow
have a van but no extra debt.
I you a van with no
debt.
I gave you wheels.
I gave you storage
space.
I gave you extra seats
for hauling around nieces or friends.
I gave you this to
keep you from spending money that I knew you wouldn’t have.
I took care of you
with this old machine.
And I remember how I knew, knew when the offer for the van came, that the Lord was preparing
us for changes. I knew, when I saw Him taking burdens of debt from us, that it
was because we’d have to be free of it—which meant financial change on the
horizon. And I thank Him again for taking such tremendous care of us.
So I scrub that old carpet. My husband crawls under it or
leans into the hood to fix what’s broken. My kids scrabble in with all the love
for that old clunker that they would give a shiny new car.
In April when I was on my writing retreat with my best
friend, we listened to a couple workshop MP3s from past conferences. The
amazing Susan Miesner said something that I found both hilarious and true. That
she doesn’t know why they call them “royalty reports.” Because when she opens
them up, she never feels like a princess.
For most of us, that is so, so true. I look at where my
books fall in the scale, and I realize I’m not at the top. I’m not a
bestseller. I’m not an award winner. In this business, it’s so, so easy to get
discouraged when we compare ourselves to others. But oh, how well I know the
whisper on this topic!
Your words are
reaching My children.
You’re telling the
stories I plant in your mind.
Publishers invest in
you.
Readers email you.
I gave you your
dreams.
I am humbled, and so very grateful. I praise Him for this
opportunity, and I put my nose to the grindstone and work as hard as I possibly
can to be faithful to this blessing.
But then…then there are the times we all know so well. The
times when we look in the mirror.
I’ve always been oddly confident in my appearance. I
honestly don’t know why. I’m not a super model by any stretch, my body is far
from perfect. I can no longer fit in those size 2 clothes I still had in the
back of my closet. I’m not willing to spend hours each day exercising or give
up the foods I most love. So yeah, my figure has changed over the years. It’s
not exactly what I want it to be. I still have a bump on my nose, and my
complexion hasn’t been clear since I was 10. But I’ve always thought it’s more
about how I feel than anything. So I make sure I feel great in whatever clothes
I buy. I’ll change my outfit five times even on days I’m not leaving the house,
because I need to feel right in
whatever I’m wearing on a given day. I like to think I carry myself with
confidence that people notice more than my actual assets or flaws.
I don’t always like the reality that looks back at me in the
mirror. I get self-conscience when I’m stuck wearing clothes that don’t make me
feel like a million bucks. I hate it when makeup won’t cover the flaws. Or when
an adorable outfit in the store doesn’t fit.
But I know that God doesn’t see that either. I know I’m His
daughter, precious in His sight. And it’s that whisper that matters most. It’s
what He sees there that is so very important.
I want Him to look at me and say:
You have a spirit that
seeks me.
You answer when I
call.
You love despite the
risks.
You feed those who are
hungry.
You clothe those who
are naked.
You nurture even when
you hurt.
You forgive when it’s
tempting to cling to offense.
You sacrifice when I
ask you to.
You teach your
children, My children, to love Me.
You speak the words I
ask you to speak.
You seek My reward
above man’s.
You are My daughter—well
done, faithful servant.
If that is my goal, if that is my achievement in life, then
I’ve lived a life worthwhile. And then it doesn’t matter what I wear or what I
drive or where I live. It doesn’t matter what I have or what I don’t. It doesn’t
matter what others say, though I still pray they see Him in me.
What matters is that, in His eyes, I’m more than the sum of
my parts. Because I have Him in me.

Masnion photo credit: Werner Kunz via photopin cc
Rusted car photo credit: GOC53 via photopin cc