There’s something stirring in me, something growing, like a seed, slowly unfurling and pushing its way up through the dark soil toward the light. It’s uncomfortable, a little scary, but exciting too. I feel my soul stretching, pushing and pulling, moving beyond its place of comfort. And not only is there movement in my soul, questions swirl inside my head like food coloring in water. Am I on the right path? Where do I go from here? Do I change careers? Do I move? How do I balance the realities of life and explore my growing desire to do something else? What is that something else? What exactly is it that was planted in me?
And that’s the problem, right? I don’t know what kind of seed God planted in me. I just feel it expanding, moving, and pushing its way thru to the light. Does a seed wonder what it will eventually become? What it will find when it finally makes its way through the soil? If I only knew what kind of seed was growing, I could better prepare myself for what was coming and where it would take me. Or could I? Do I really need to know what this stirring is about? Maybe it’s a new career. Maybe it’s a new way of being. Or maybe my job isn’t to worry about what’s growing, but just to tend the soil, to maintain an environment where growth is possible. And then, when the seed finally grows to its glory, to share the flowers or the fruit or the shade, or whatever it is that God has provided. Look at me closely.
Do you see them? There are words written all over me. Some are stuck to the surface and are easily brushed away, Others cut deep and create wounds that never heal. They have all shaped who I've become, the visible me and the hidden. But do they define who I am? Who am I? We sit in silence. Listen carefully. Do you hear the words playing over and over in your head? Can you hear the ones playing in mine? Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” I return His question with my own. Who am I? He answers… You are mine. Before the beginning of time, we dreamed you into being. We chose the time in history, the place of your birth, your family... When we knit you together, we placed into you a pearl of great price. This pearl is a reflection of Me; it is the unique you that is unmarked by words and labels. However, life’s debris buries it and you forget it's even there. Come to Me. Abide in Me. Rest in Me. I will help you uncover and discover this part of you. In finding this jewel--your unique you, your essence, your true self--you will also find Me. For it is here, in this core place of your being, that I dwell. I am closer to you than your breath. Who are you, you ask? You are My beloved. In you I am well pleased. Look at Me closely. In you I am well pleased. Listen carefully. In you I am well pleased. My first guest blog! This piece was posted on Elisa Morgan's website yesterday. "You are BEAUTY FULL!" a dear friend responded to the picture I had sent.
I smiled to myself as I read her kind words. But even as gratitude caused my heart to swell, questions of doubt pierced it. BEAUTY FULL? Really? Me? Were we looking at the same picture? I even went back to my "Sent" folder to confirm that I had attached the correct picture. I'm not sure what I expected when the file opened, but my heart sank when I saw the same face I see everyday in the mirror staring back at me. Confirmed. Correct picture. Like the lips of the princess on the frog, I subconsciously hoped that the double click of my finger on the mouse had transformed me, as well. No such luck. Still just me. Even on closer inspection, I didn’t see what she saw. Part of me wanted to thank her for her kind response, and part of me, with a pang of deep and utter sadness, wanted to say, “No. You’re wrong. There’s nothing about this face that is beautiful.” I felt compelled to point out to her every imperfection, every flaw. Did she not see the unevenness of my eyes, the lopsidedness of my nose and of my smile, the divot in my forehead, the scar that runs under my eye and down the side of my nose… Was she just being nice? Or did she see something I didn’t? Something I couldn’t? Perhaps. Or, maybe the real problem isn’t what I don’t see, it’s that I see so much more. I don’t just see the moment in time captured in the photograph. I see what I used to look like and how much that has changed. I see how many tears those eyes have cried and what is beneath that “say cheese” smile. I hear comments playing in the back of my memory from kids, strangers, and doctors: “Why does your eye look like that?” “What’s wrong with your face?” “There’s been another complication and we have to operate again.” I know what cancer has done to my face and I don’t see BEAUTY FULL when I look at me. But how do I move from avoiding my image in pictures and in the mirror to embodying BEAUTY FULL? Must I forget the years and the memories that live behind my face? “No,” I hear God tenderly chuckle. “I want you to learn through your memories, not carry the weight of them. Embrace all you’ve been through because it broke you open and allowed Me in. You see yourself--your scars, the asymmetry, your (as you call them) “imperfections”--through a cracked and clouded lens. Come close, sit next to me, see yourself through My eyes. My daughter, behold your beauty. You can’t hate what I have created and fully love Me. Honor Me by honoring this magnificent vessel that I so carefully and lovingly crafted just for you.” Wow. I’m off to look at that picture again. |
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Would you like to be notified of new blog posts? Sign up on the Connect page and the post will be delivered right to you! AuthorNicole Mills is an oncology nurse, cancer survivor, nerd, and contemplative. She has a secret desire to be a nun or a double-dutch jump rope champion. Not being Catholic or able to jump 2 ropes poses significant hurdles, but she remains hopeful. Archives
January 2017
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