Beautiful

My daughter Ivy is a ballerina who dances at a fairly high level. She is currently teaching at the studio she grew up with, and she is honored to dance the featured role in many local productions. She has not chosen to pursue ballet professionally, but she is all too familiar with the pressure ballerinas face to be thin. 

So far, only one dancer from her studio has become anorexic. Thankfully, she seems to be doing well at this point, but one of the first things she did as she and her family began to do battle with this monster was to quit ballet. Hours every week in a leotard in front of a mirror were not helping the cause.

Next week, this gal we will call Macie is coming to speak to the young dancers at the studio about her experience with anorexia and what she learned about the issue of body image. The tricky part of it is that the studio director, although she has the best heart in the world, operates under an opposing set of pressures, so to speak. The sweetness of her heart and intentions is reflected in the fact that she is the one who invited Macie to come speak in the first place. But honestly, she would like most of her dancers to lose weight. I suspect she secretly believes just a touch of anorexia would do them good. 

For many years, she wanted Ivy to lose weight. A happily trim teenager by everyday standards, Ivy was a little too fleshy by ballet standards. Ivy has been deeply scarred by this pressure. She has been cut to the quick by various conversations with this director over the years. In the director’s defense, to call her remarks cruel is laughable compared to what she endured from her director growing up. Ballet can be a cruel, cruel world indeed.

However, whereas Macie responded to this pressure by not eating, as many ballerinas do, Ivy had the opposite reaction. The pressure certainly created in her an unhealthy fixation with food, but ultimately caused her to gain, not lose weight. More tears. More consternation. Deep wounds.

Right now, however, Ivy is lovely by anyone’s standards. She is at a healthy weight for a young woman (at the low end of her healthy BMI range), and even thin enough for a ballerina. What happened? 

Well, I can't say for sure—but my romantic imagination would like to think that Jack happened. Jack, her boyfriend, also a dancer. He came along at the height of all this trouble and made her feel beautiful. She was beautiful. He thought she was beautiful. Stop worrying. Stop thinking about that. You’re beautiful. I think you’re beautiful. You look perfect. You’re beautiful. 

And the next day: You’re beautiful. I think you’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. 

They have been dating three and a half years now. And she still knows, Jack thinks she is beautiful. 

Could it be that Ivy lost interest in what the ballet world thought of her? Maybe she only cared about what Jack thought, and he thought she was beautiful. 

And, with the reassurance that she was beautiful, did she let her appearance go? Do you think she gained weight and began dressing sloppily? Stopped wearing makeup?

No. She didn’t. She enjoyed dressing beautifully all the more for him. She enjoyed putting on her makeup for him. And she was careful about what she ate. Whatever her body was doing before with weight seemed to correct itself naturally, and she is currently a full ten pounds lighter than what she was during those years. 

She still bears some scars. She doesn’t like eating in front of other people, especially anything unhealthy.  I see her looking around to see who is looking when she pours cereal for herself in the morning or puts food on her plate at dinner. I am careful to avert my eyes. It breaks my heart. But she is getting past it, all because the young man she loves calls her beautiful.

Jesus calls us beautiful. He calls you beautiful. As we draw near to Him in repentance and obedience, we enter a joyful union with Him that God Himself likens to the wedding of two young lovers. This is what we were created for. This is what the depths of our hearts long for. Do you believe it? Can you believe it?  Most of us do not have Jacks, but we do have Jesus. 

Like a lily among thorns
    is my darling among the young women.   Song of Solomon 2:2

Arise, come, my darling;
    my beautiful one, come with me.             Song of Solomon 2:13

How beautiful you are, my darling!
    Oh, how beautiful!                 Song of Solomon 4:1

You are altogether beautiful, my darling;
    there is no flaw in you.           Song of Solomon 4:7

Ballerinas suffer with a damaged body image. Most of us instead suffer a with damaged soul image. How would our souls be healed if we basked in this truth day after day?  

If day after day after day,

as we drew near to the Lover of our souls,

as we bared our hearts in confession and repentance,

as we knew His forgiveness and grace,

as we sought His direction and will,

and we saw in His eyes

that we

            to Him

                                    are beautiful.

The Great Physician

My mother-in-law stopped by yesterday. I love to see her, but I have learned over the years that when she stops by unannounced, it’s because she has something serious on her mind. Yesterday was no exception.

After the usual pleasantries, she quickly got to the point. Her daughter, Karla, had married her girlfriend.

Karla and her friend Carol moved in with my mother-in-law a year ago. It was a blessing because Mom wasn’t quite able to afford living in her house anymore on her own. Yet Tom and I had strong suspicions about the nature of Karla and Carol’s relationship. Did Mom too? No one was willing to broach the subject, including Karla and Carol.

It turns out Mom had understood what was going on from the beginning, and diplomatically ignored it. But now it was out in the open. There were rings. No more pretending.

Naturally, she was upset. She said, “I just want to know my daughter is going to heaven.”

“Well,” I reasoned, quite unhelpfully, “Spiritually speaking, nothing has changed from before they were married, just two weeks ago.” That was not what she wanted to hear.

Mom said, “I know it isn’t right. It isn’t Christian. I just don’t know the verses.”

I could have found the verses for her, but I didn’t think that was going to be very helpful either. This time I was diplomatic and just nodded my head. I had already said enough that was unhelpful.

What I was struggling to convey to Mom, and what was leaving me woefully tongue-tied, is that Karla and Carol’s problem was not so much lesbianism as it was plain sin. Karla and Carol had a sin problem. Just like she and I had. And as repulsed as she may feel about lesbianism, the answer to it is the same as the answer to our sin: Jesus. Jesus, the Great Physician, the One who came to heal the sick, to bind up the broken-hearted, and to redeem us from the sin that desperately entangles us all—not just lesbians.

I was reminded of an incident that happened a couple summers ago while our family was on vacation. Tom was in the house, and the kids and I were down at the beach with our dog, Oliver. Oliver was running through the beach grass and didn’t see a horseshoe spike hidden in the weeds. As he leaped over it, the sharp top caught his underbelly, and he ended up filleted in a most horrific manner.

At his cries, the entire family was mobilized into action. I ran over to him and began barking orders to the kids. “Beatriz! Get me a towel to wrap him in!” “Reed, go tell your dad to put shoes on and get ready to go.” “Dom, get online and find a vet in the area.”

Of course, it was a holiday weekend, so we were lucky to find a vet open at all. But we did. They took great care of him, and he has lived to tell the tale.

Oliver needed a doctor, and the entire family jumped into action to get him there.

Karla and Carol need a doctor. They need the Doctor.

When Oliver got hurt, none of us even looked at the wound. Not one minute was wasted in examining the injury, discussing the damage, guessing at the prognosis, or debating the next step. We knew that we could not help him. His situation was beyond our expertise or abilities. None of our opinions or deliberations would be of any use at all. With great urgency, we devoted all our energy and resources to getting him to the doctor who could help him.

Likewise, with Karla and Carol, is this the time to pronounce judgment, debate genetics, and argue legislation? Rather isn’t it time, with great urgency, to get the doctor involved?

Oliver had been playing in the water and was soaking wet. He had also been playing on the beach, so every inch of his body was also coated in sand. Now, his entire underbelly was ripped open, and the open wound was also coated in sand. The one private structure located in that region was almost taken off. Was the urethra severed? Even the doctor wouldn’t know until he was able to get him into surgery. This was very messy business.

Sexual orientation is also a messy, deeply personal, multifaceted affair. Will our disappointment, bewilderment or opposition do any good – anymore than my clumsy first aid skills would have helped Oliver?

Karla and Carol have a sin problem, and they need the answer to their sin problem. They need the same answer for their sin problem as I need for mine. We can dissect the verses and argue the genetics and examine the societal implications. But they need Jesus. We can be repelled by their perversity. We can be angry about the changes they advocate for the culture. But they need Jesus.

They do not see their own need any more than Oliver knew that he needed a veterinarian. But we see it! Let us mobilize to get them there. Let us mobilize to get them there!

What urgency we felt when Oliver was in need! How quickly the entire family jumped into action! How efficient and coordinated was every effort on his behalf! Where is our urgency for Karla and Carol?

Get them to Jesus! Get them to Jesus! Jump up! Move!

Instead, at this moment, Karla and Carol are feeling rejected by the only people around them who know the Great Physician. Whereas Mom knew what their relationship was before, it wasn’t in her face and she was able to let herself forget. Now she is uncomfortable around them. Karla isn’t wearing her rings at home, and Carol is hiding her left hand when they’re together. Conversation is labored. Mom is talking about moving out. If she doesn’t, how long before Karla and Carol are uncomfortable enough that they move out?

And yet, I understand Mom’s coolness. Her disquiet is real, but she may also sense that warmth and acceptance look a lot like tacit approval. Certainly, we do not want to condone sin. Yet, there must be a way to walk a path somewhere between cold rejection and warm blessing. We know there is because Jesus Himself walks it!

We, on the other hand, tend to waffle between rejection and rational entreaties. We try, fruitlessly and often injuriously, to change their minds. How we would rejoice if only they would forsake this aberrant behavior! But only the thinnest layer of the trouble resides in their minds and behaviors anyway. The much deeper trouble lies in a much deeper place, a place we have no admittance or understanding. We work to change the bark of the tree when the real problem lies in the sap.

Even if they were to change their behavior, their hearts would still ache, their desires would still scream, the storms would still rage in the depths of their beings, where no man has access. But there is One who does have access to these depths. He understands their deepest pain. He heals the hidden wounds. Most importantly, He loves passionately and guides those who come to Him along the paths of life. Our only power is to introduce them to that One.

And it’s not a holiday weekend. He is always open for business.

Extravagant Devotion

In John 12 we find Jesus reclining in the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus just before the Passover, in fact, just before His own death and resurrection.

It says, “Mary therefore took a pound of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair.” (v. 3) Judas Iscariot took issue with this extravagance, saying, “’Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?’” (v.5) Apparently he was not overly concerned about the poor, but had been pilfering from the money bag and saw what could have been his going to waste.

So, with whom in the passage can I most identify: Mary, Jesus, or Judas?

Oh dear. I have to confess, although I don’t see myself pilfering from the moneybag, I do see Judas’ point. Why all the waste? Why all the extravagance? Let’s be practical, even in our devotion to God. After all, what good does perfume really do? And the money from that perfume could have purchased how many nights' lodging on their travels, how many meals for the Jesus and the disciples?

Even if you concede that putting perfume on feet is an acceptable activity, let’s at least be frugal about it! I mean, Mary didn’t know that Jesus was about to die. Why not use a little bit today, and then there will be plenty left over for future visits?

But Mary used the entire pound all at once. The fragrance of the perfume filled the entire house. In fact, I've heard it said that as Jesus hung on the cross a few days later, that fragrance would still have surrounded Him, reminding Him even in His agony of Mary's love.

How often am I “prudent” in my devotion to Christ? Careful not to expend all my resources in one place. A little devotion, a little service, a little Bible reading, a little prayer. So guarded, measured. How often am I practical on God’s behalf, rather than allowing my motivation to be pure, unfettered love for my Master?

Oh Lord, let me be extravagantly devoted to You, just like Mary was. Let me pour my all out for You, everyday. Tomorrow’s devotion will take care of itself.