beauty

When I was a little girl, maybe around the age of 6 or 7, I used to beg my mother to take me to this Art Deco furniture place on Poplar Ave, just down the street from Dan West. Its still there-- small, packed with colorful furniture, crazy mirrors, and lamps. I never wanted to buy anything, but could spend literally hours running my little stubby fingers over the vibrant red fabric of love seats, and lying on the royal purple fainting couches, marveling that anyone would make furniture this bright and beautiful (and uuuuncomfortable, but beautiful-- in other words, everything ours was not). Mom didn't get as much joy out of going there. Whether it was because of the haughty Asian owners that glared at her socks-and-clogs combination or the price tags stuck to the surface of the very fragile mirrors I loved to twirl in front of, I'm not sure. Because of this, it was a rare occasion for us to actually set foot in the place. Most times I just begged until I was blue in the face. But on the rare occasion that she stopped the car, it was magical every time.

The world is obsessed with beauty. Beautiful people, beautiful homes, beautiful stories. We delight in the "perfect" marriages of glamorous stars and marvel at the bright art deco furniture only the very wealthy could afford. The thing that blows is that even though we know deep down (sometimes really deep down) that the glittering surface is merely a facade and there's no way it is actually as perfect as it seems, its still becomes the ultimate desire-- "if only I had a house as beautiful as so and so" "if only your father looked like Brad Pitt" "if only we made enough money that he wouldn't have to buy broken down Hondas and fix them up" (oh that last one is just me, eh?) The grass is always greener, insert every cliche under the sun. Bottom line: we aren't happy with what we have because the world tells us we need more, and that if its beautiful, its right.

Its my number one Achilles heel, beauty. Somehow it got twisted into my mind that if I could make the surface appear beautiful, it would spread throughout. If I could appear okay on the outside, surely I would heal on the inside. If I smiled, I would be happy. If I loved others more, I would love myself more. And honestly? It just doesn't work like that folks. (Shocker, right? Most lessons I learn daily, a kindergartner would roll their eyes at, so its okay to judge me...)

How many times do I have to learn that I love everyone more (including myself) by loving Jesus more? How many times do I have to learn that happiness is fleeting and joy is eternal? How many times will my strive for worldly beauty affect my strive for eternal beauty?

I am an imperfect person. Couldn't possibley be more imperfect. But the truth is, I have been given a gift of the greatest beauty, so far beyond anything this world can offer. And daily I take a shit on that beauty. And the next day it is given back to me, shining and as beautiful as ever. I have been purchased and paid for, I am a SLAVE to freedom. How insanely amazing is that? And still, I strive to find the best product to make my mile-high hair a quarter of an inch closer to my head. Huh.

It almost makes me sad to think about those times, because now when I look at the Art Deco store on Poplar just down the street from Dan West, I see a store filled with tacky, overpriced crap that would never be comfortable or durable. The childhood wonder is gone, and I'm left with a realistic view of the world.

I guess the trick is knowing the truth, and seeing the beauty in it anyway.