:. scarred .:

I'm not a People magazine-type of person. I don't really care which celebrities are sleeping with whom, or who just went into rehab. And I certainly hadn't planned on posting about Michael Jackson. But a recent headline on Drudge jumped out at me, compelling me to blog.

It seems the people performing the autopsy on Jackson noted that without makeup, there was significant scarring on his face. That doesn't come as any great surprise, given all the plastic surgery. But I was struck by how that statement sums up the human condition.

We are afraid to show the world who we really are, so we carefully construct masks that keep everyone at a safe distance. Many of us have deep hurts, but we cover our scars with makeup; we don't want to appear weak or needy. Or we are simply afraid that we won't "measure up" to some standard or other that we have set.

Wendell Berry speaks of the "bloodied and the bewildered", a good description of many in our world. No one gets through life without some heartache, and where there is suffering, there will be scars. When will we learn to be transparent with our hurts? On the other hand, when will we learn to help those in need rather than judge them? (or worse, turn our backs on them?)

We are told to 'weep with those who weep'. We are told to 'bear one another's burdens'.
Let's be willing to remove the makeup, take off the mask, and be REAL with one another.

:. tenderized .:

Awhile back, my little Katie bought me a meat tenderizer. For years I had used the handle of my heaviest knife to pound out a nice cutlet, so that was a thoughtful little surprise, indeed. My new heavy-duty mallet is a wonder!

I've been thinking lately about trials . . . and about suffering . . . and about all the hurts in this world. I have come to realize that repeated trials pound our hard, selfish hearts into something tender, something malleable.

Anyone with even a smidgen of human kindness will feel badly for someone facing cancer. A tenderized heart will go beyond feeling badly; a tenderized heart will understand the fear, will feel the 'aloneness' of the sufferer.

If you've never experienced the death of a loved one, you can still understand the pain of someone facing that loss. But once you've been there yourself, you never forget how much it hurts to have part of your heart torn away.

It is the dearly-bought difference between sympathy and empathy.

The Bible tells us that "the Father of mercies and God of all comfort" will comfort us in our afflictions. Out of love for His child, yes, but also "so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction."
As we persevere under trials, we begin to look more and more like the One who suffered for us all.

As long as we are on this earth, there will be trials.
It actually gives me comfort just to know there is a purpose for our suffering.

:. beauty .:

"May the beauty of the Lord our God rest upon us."

Psalm 90:17

This verse jumped out at me the other day, and I can't stop thinking about it. What is beauty, anyway? And what does it look like to have the beauty of our GOD covering us?

Obviously, our culture has a twisted view of beauty. How many women are 5'8" and only weigh 102? How many men carry around a six-pack (that doesn't say 'Bud Light')?

We buy rogaine to turn back baldness, slim-fast to fight the battle of the bulge, cosmetics by the gallon, and don't forget the Spanx, ladies!

In other eras, and other cultures, curves have been/are actually 'in'. (Why, oh, why couldn't I have been born when Botticelli was painting?!?!)

So, what does God's 'beauty' look like?

To get an idea of that, first consider what God Himself looks like: holy, perfect, eternal. He is Life and Truth and Love. He is Comforter, Father and Savior.

To be covered in His beauty would be to know peace; to be filled with love; to experience joy. His beauty resting on us would soften our hard hearts; it would turn our eyes away from self; it would enable us to hear the cries of the wounded.

His beauty is everlasting. His beauty isn't subject to the world's shifting standards.

I think of Moses, who spoke to God face-to-face "as a man speaks with his friend". He always came away from those conversations literally glowing.

The beauty of our God resting on us would make us different.

:. return to ordinary .:

Well, mommy and daddy are home, which means Gavin and Liam are where they belong. I know the boys had a good time at grandma's house, and then at Uncle Chris and Aunt Katie's. There is no doubt in my mind that they enjoyed themselves.

But oh my PEAS! did they miss their mom and dad! You may have read elsewhere that Gavin regressed as the week went on. It absolutely broke my heart to watch him slipping into autistic behavior, knowing I really couldn't do much about it. We cuddled, we reassured, we hugged, we sang. But we couldn't BE mommy and daddy. He knew where he belonged.

I've decided 'ordinary' is good. Routine is fine. There is comfort in the dailiness of life. So often we're not content with the small things in life; we want excitement and adventure. That certainly has its place, especially in the life of a Christ-follower (who is oftentimes called to step out of that so called 'comfort zone').

But in reality, isn't life mostly made up of ordinary, small, routine events? And aren't we called to be content wherever we find ourselves?

"Who despises the day of small things?"

Zechariah 4:10

I think we need to remind ourselves where we really belong.

:. if frankenstein were your father .:

you would never have trouble with bullies.

(of course, you wouldn't have any friends, either.)

Happy Father's Day to all you daddies out there!