I'm sitting here this morning with my significant other at the Sunshine Washateria. I'm being lulled by the hum of the machines and the fact that there's nothing I can really do but sit at the moment. And think. And enjoy my blueberry cake donut and my husband's company.

A couple of minutes ago he snapped a picture of me in all my Monday morning holiday glory; messy ponytail with a bite of donut in my mouth. I protested but then gave in.

I sit facing a front loading washing machine. You know the kind that has the round window where you can watch your clothes wash. The window really seems unnecessary but I had to have a window last time we bought a washer. You see how well that turned out. We bought our washer two years ago and here I am at the washateria.

I like washing machine windows. I like windows period. What I see doesn't always have to be beautiful. I just like to see.

Socks swirling in dingy water isn't that pretty.

I remember a long season where I felt I wasn't attractive on the inside or outside. I was very reserved and spent way too much time considering what my appealing qualities were. (I still do that.) I refused to go out in public unless I met my expectations of presentable. During my middle school years and through high school, my hair had to be in perfect place, sprayed down with my supersize can of Rave.

Anytime I went to the "beauty salon" I would immediately thereafter retreat to my bathroom and not come out until my hair was fixed, making all right with the world.

And being in pictures? Forget it. I saw the camera as a weapon to be used against me. I dodged the lens for years. I remember agreeing (for some crazy reason, probably peer pressure) during high school to do Glamour shots. I'll never forget my Granny looking at them and saying "I just think you're better in person". I remember being surprised at her candor.

But now I think I get it.

The "glamour shot" me is such a flat, ingenuine, imposter version of myself.

What would be the point of framing and passing out wallet-sized pictures of a me sporting a white fur boa-thing with helmet hair? It's not me. Well technically it was me, but only underneath the caked makeup and forced smile. Why would I only be willing to share a misrepresented me?

The real me is messy.

The real me isn't always pretty.

In fact the "pretty" me is often a staged fallacy. I find myself wanting you to see only the sweet me. The neat me. The "I obey traffic rules and always say grace before I eat" me.The "I completely have-it-all-together" me.

But that's barely and rarely me.

I decided some time ago that I want to invite people into my life, my real life. A life that isn't always pretty, but a life that reflects the work of God. A dingy life in continual need of the cleansing power of God. And like I like my washing machines, I've decided to choose a style with a window.

I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done.  Yes everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. Phillipians 3:7,8

 

He makes all things beautiful in His time. Ecclesiastes 3:11