Perfect Already

It was love at first sight!  It caught my eye and beckoned me over as soon as I crossed through the door and over the antique stores threshold.  I ran my hand over the top of the huge, 12 person table and thought how perfect it would look in my 1800's farmhouse.  I wasn't shocked to see a price tag I couldn't afford but my heart skipped a beat when I saw the date that matched the age of our house.  As the rest of my family slowly sauntered off, I stayed behind daydreaming about this gorgeous piece and mentally added it to my "dream" list of  "must have- gotta have -someday" items.  Who sat at this table?  Who put all these neat nicks, dents and scratches in the top? I smiled wondering if it were naughty, little children careless with their knives and forks....did they get in trouble?  There were deeper slices and gouges that made my imagination soar.   Maybe this table doubled as a cutting board for Ma, or an emergency surgery table like I read about in my favorite book, "Mrs. Mike." Most would look at this old, beat up and worn table and see only flaws and imperfection.  Immediately restoration would come to mind... and only then would it be perfect. "No", I thought, with my fingers running over a deep gouge, "it's perfect already."

"Yuck!"  I moan.   Disappointed, I shake my head and scrunch up my nose in disgust at the woman staring back at me from my bathroom mirror.   My shoulders slump as I wonder out loud, "I still feel like me.....why can't I look like me!"  It's hard watching the slow, gradual and unstoppable transformation of aging!  The ever growing, sagging bags under my once bright, youthful eyes, the deep creases that are taking up permanent residence on both sides of my ever paling lips, age spots, zits (Still!  As if wrinkles aren't enough to deal with) and the refusal of my aging eyes to wear my beloved contacts.  Pulling back the skin on my face, I call my husband over.  "MUCH better, isn't it?" I ask waiting for his reply.  He matter-of-factly answers, "Yeah, great if you like looking like a freaky alien."  "What does he know!" I think to myself as I grab for my bag of tricks to hide all my forming imperfections.  Smearing on my foundation, I sense His disappointment.  He sees the beauty..........why can't I?

Helpless, my husband stood quietly by as the brushes, powders, pencils and tweezers worked at a frenzied pace.  Frustrated at the limitations of my Cover-girl age defying foundation and its inability to cover age spots, my eyes filled with tears and my voice choked as the flood of negative and hurtful adjectives rushed out of my mouth and over my tongue.  As my soul purged its true feelings about my appearance, in my ear, I could hear ever so softly, a hissed, "Yessssssssssssss!"  Through bloodshot eyes, I could see the pain on my husbands face, mirroring how my Jesus felt.  Chills ran down my spine at the realization that the hurling insults that were meant for me, deflected off the mirror and hit the two people I love the most.  My blood ran cold sensing Satan's pure delight at the sight of the devastation my flood left behind.  My words hung heavy in the air as my husband held me tight and bravely became the first to organize the clean up. He spoke from his heart as he gently put my feet back on stable ground, "Please don't take this wrong but if your face were burnt off tomorrow, I'd love you just the same.  I love you."

Satan slithered further into the shadows as Psalms 139:14 was whispered to my heart.  I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Fearfully, I learned, means with great reverence and heartfelt interest; wonderfully meaning unique and set apart. I was fashioned from my Master's hands with care, love and with purpose (Isaiah 44:24). No one is like me...no one's story reads like mine.... I am uniquely marvelous! Being discontented with the way I look or the way I am, is a direct insult to the One who I am made in the image of.  If I despise myself, than I must also despise my Saviour!  Being held by my husband, I picture Jesus as part of the embrace. Satan was no where to be seen as I became cradled in the arms of forgiveness.

We went back to the antique store, and my table was gone.  I stood in the empty spot and silently hoped that whoever bought my table appreciated every nick, dent and scratch.  That table had a beautiful story to tell and it was perfect just the way it was.  The antique store around me slowly disappeared as I saw Jesus come into view.  Smiling, He put His hands firmly on my shoulders, and gently squeezed as he looked at me.  Uncomfortable, my eyes look down at my feet as I feel Him examining every crease, age spot and wrinkle; lifting my face to meet His, He lovingly whispers, "Perfect already."   Maybe that beautiful table was never meant for my kitchen, but for my heart instead.