Attractive

It's everywhere, isn't it?! It's. In. Everything. Whether something is 'attractive' or not may as well be the new high fructose corn syrup.

(Alright. That's my one bad joke. I promise.)

Here's a good example though: on one of our routine 'stay at home - no plans' days a couple of weeks ago, I caught Elliott singing and dancing, which is common, but the difference came when she stopped suddenly, looked at me and said, "I sure don't feel pretty. Can I be pretty again?"

I can't describe the response that went through my head, because it was simultaneous and overwhelming, and I'm sure I'm not alone in this, parents. I wanted to grab her and shield her from even having that thought, irrational, but fierce. It ranged from confusion, a clench to the gut, then expletives forming a news ribbon running across my face, and finally the thoughts: Who said you weren't pretty? Why don't you feel pretty? You are beautiful! HOW do you know what pretty even is? You're THREE. I'll find out who told you this... a quick throat punch is in order.

Thankfully, she had just been quoting the Sweet Pea Beauty Veggie Tale, which in retrospect, should have been the first conclusion drawn. But whoa. If that wasn't a taste of what 11 or 13 (or earlier? Scared face!) is going to look like... I may need to book myself a coincidentally timed 6-7 year cruise, if you know what I mean... ;) I commend anyone who has raised/is currently raising/will ever raise a teenager (and it's not just girls... aren't we all self-conscious?).

Also coincidentally in all of this, Nathan and I just got back from our trip to Los Angeles this week - an amazing trip, rounding out a lot of these ideas that sync up in my mind. L.A.:  land of the sunny, rich, and beautiful, yeah?

Yeah.

I saw a lot of, what I assume the majority could agree upon calling, "physical 'beauty'" in CA; it makes sense. It's just... beauty is subjective. Especially physical beauty. And I'm quickly becoming convinced it's not all that important. And maybe I define physical "beauty" the way that I do, fishing from a stereotype bag, because that's the definition we've all been fed. While the people we saw were 'all' envy-inducing beautiful on the outside, I'm assuming (and really, when is assuming ever good...just saying...)... some of their insides were probably hollow (I won't say 'ugly' because only God knows the heart - and it's super harsh, especially operating off of an assumption). We're talking Beverly Hills, Hollywood, downtown L.A., where there are bright lights, Italian convertibles and billboards for Prada and Gucci everywhere, and you get the sneaking suspicion, no, you know, that these are not pipe dreams or luxuries, but afforded expectations.

Yeah, I was amazed. And jealous. And homesick for a place I didn't belong.

You can shine a diamond in front of an infant, and she'll clap her hands.

But.

Money is dirty; it cannot buy beauty. It can't ensure esteem or worth. Veneers do not cover true ugly; a tan won't make you fundamentally desirable. There is not enough money in the world or a creatively fabricated enough mask you can buy to hide or to change your insides.

The lies I tell myself are dirty; the idols I build in my mind are dirty. Believing "I" am the music "I" listen to, the hilarious shows "I" watch, the witty words "I" say, "my" friends, "my" family, "my" weight, "my" pants size... If "we" just make the gospel attractive enough, if slides, images, and flyers look like this and not like this, making this dang blog 'look cool', if "I" use this filter for my pictures, if "we" use this font instead of this, if "I" am just influential enough, If "I" am intelligent and pretty enough, they'll notice me... Guilty!

(More good, painful growth right here):

"I" am is the idol, while I AM is God, the creator of beauty. His Spirit watches from our insides, waiting patiently to actually identify us. To actually change us. To actually make us beautiful.

The Holy Spirit inside of me, inside of you, is attractive. The gospel being lived out through me, through you, is beautiful. Extenuating what flows unnaturally from me, from you, to me, to you, caught like unaware vessels, is attractive. Serving selflessly, is attractive. Dads who love their kids, who still date their wives. Loving sacrificially, living sacrificially. That's desire! That is passion! I can't help being attracted to and admiring and loving people who genuinely love God and His people, because that is the Spirit recognizing Himself in another filled shell, like 'Friend! I know you. Reach out to me!'

'How is it that you find beauty in everything?' 
'I don’t. It’s God who sees beauty in everything. I just choose to agree with Him.'

- Sweet Pea Beauty

Change

I'm really ready for summer to be over.

I can look back on this blog, and pinpoint where I wrote at this exact time last year that 'I didn't want summer to end; it's bittersweet' yada yada yada... but this year; oh. I'm ready.

I love that we even get to experience seasons; God knew, He knew before time began, before He had Jesus create everything from scraps of nothingness, that we in our limited ant-likeness, would get bored, easily, so quickly, and that we would crave this vital change in environment. Like clockwork. Hence, a love for seasons, and another notch of worship for the Creator.

I anticipate and soak up seasonal change, in its familiarity, consistency and comfort, but I equally and vehemently detest and will resist the unknown kind of change, the kind that makes my stomach flip over, the kind that brings us all to our knees. You know the kind... facing a potential job loss (or the job loss itself), a shock to your system, to your relationship, grieving the death of a loved one, a move, standing at the edge of a huge life milestone, or when your 'friend' record skips and it ruins the whole song. This summer, and now beginning of fall, I'm learning to trust God, even during times of detestable change, to let Him help me choke out the fear, to crucify it.

I want to 'be ready', eager, to embrace the next step, whatever and wherever it leads (in a variety of circumstances). And it's seriously liberating, because I am the runner in pain who sees the finish line, because my days are becoming less fearful, more hopeful. And it didn't come from one huge single pious prayer; it's coming from daily reliance, daily baby prayers, the daily cry for more strength. Literally, like an unashamed kid begging unabashedly for help.

This summer I learned a lot. About myself. About God. About our relationship. About friends and 'friends'. Esperanza. Trials. Perseverance. And aside from wishing I could Men-In-Black-Flashy-Thing a few things away, like 'Psych! That didn't happen!', I can look over my shoulder into a setting summer sun and see the good kind of change sprouting in my life, the honest, stable kind that masks fear with hope, the inner growth given life by Someone else, that soothes, the kind only the best Gardener can cultivate ... and then maintain.