“You’re beautiful from head to toe . . . beautiful beyond compare.”
Song of Solomon 4:7 NIV
They say love is blind and to anyone who’s ever loved someone . . . you know it is.
My husband always tells me I’m so beautiful. He sits across from me on the living room sofa, leans in to sweep my frazzled hair out of my freckled face with his rough, masculine fingers. I sit breathless as his wedding ring brushes my check ever so lightly. If I said I didn’t eat it up . . . I’d be lying. But often times I honestly can’t see what he sees in me.
He looks at me and sees beautiful . . . I look at me and see a beautiful mess.
So what’s so wrong with me, you ask? Well . . . how much time do you have? I mean, if you have vacation time left at the office and don’t need to be back to work this week – just give me a call. But since you’re probably just stopping in for a chat over chocolate coffee – I’ll give you the short version that can be easily whispered over our mugs.
Are you ready?
Well, when it comes right down to it – I can’t stand not to get my way. In fact, sometimes I’m a bit of a diva. And though I may be a bit of a diva, despite a closet full of platform heels and adorable dresses . . . most of the time at 5:30 p.m. you can still find me puttering around the house in my pajamas and dirty mismatched socks.
I don’t always feel beautiful. In fact, usually I feel nothing but. Many times, instead, I feel like the first grade version of myself – freckly face, knobby knees, satellite ears who despite having plenty of friends never really felt like she “fit”.
My hair isn’t always brushed, my makeup is often smeared by tears shed in quiet solitude and from time to time I believe that if my kids pinch or bite each other just one more time I will quite possibly be wound so tight that I will fly off into orbit like a balloon who’s been freed of its air . . .
And girl – that’s just the surface.
On the inside I worry about everything and everyone. I can’t let things go. I have a tendency to forget that grace isn’t just something I need but something I need to give. I lose my cool. I growl at my wet sheets when they get caught around the washing machine’s agitator. I mess up. I mean REALLY mess up. I fall flat on my face . . . I bust my hump on the pavement of “me and my big mouth.”
You see I am indeed not only a mess but an eclectic one. I’m the kind of mess that never gets boring because it’s ALWAYS being added to. Let’s see – how do I put this? I’d make great reality TV. I’m not just flawed – I am a jumbled jigsaw puzzle of a red windmill whose pieces don’t always fit.
When I think of all my husband overlooks in me, when I think of how he thinks I’m a real keeper despite my pieces that may never quite “fit in” with the others . . . his love reminds me of my Father – my heavenly Father who despite my flaws loves me through and through and through. My imperfection, my complete and utter insufficiency to do it on my own . . . it’s not a clunky piano sour note. It is a quiet, soothing right hand rift of a classical piano; it is an angelic cry, a melody of grace.
In all my imperfections, every time I’ve failed him, hurt him, every time I get myself in a pickle I can’t get out of , my Savior looks down at my messy hair, messy heart, messy life and says “Baby . . . you’re beautiful.”
Is there something in your life that’s an eyesore to you? No matter what it is today, don’t be so hard on yourself. God loves you – and just because love is blind doesn’t mean there isn’t any beauty to see.
Girl . . . God thinks you’re beautiful . . . and I do too.
What makes you a beautiful mess?