
A dream that I had many years ago came to mind the other day. In it, a woman with a malicious grin rolled a cart in front of the bathroom stall I had just entered. As I watched through the crack of the door, I realized that the object atop her cart was a bomb and that her intent – with pleasure – was to destroy me. Adrenaline caused me to fling the door open and charge the cart, just as the bomb exploded… directly into my face, presumably blowing half of it off.
The dream flashed forward a good many years, maybe decades. Being so hideously disfigured made me feel exempt from participating in life; disqualified, if you will. So I was sitting it out on the sidelines, feeling sorry for myself and watching time go by, when a man walked up with a mirror and held it out for me to take. Unable to bear the shame of seeing myself, I refused. Because of his kind eyes and gentle persistence, I finally took the mirror and beheld my image. Shock pierced my mind as I found only a mild collection of bruises upon a face that was whole; complete.
The dream ended there, with the realization that bruises would heal, the understanding that I had been living under a false assumption of truth, and the sense that my future suddenly looked very different.
It’s become clear to me that, in the same way, the enemy has set out to destroy me. It is his pleasure to do harm in any way possible because I bear the image of God (we all do) and he can’t stand to see it. He nearly convinced me to self-destruct. And he used other people to cause some pretty severe damage too. Like I said, he doesn’t care how it happens; just that it does.
Though he (narrowly) failed to take my life, he has been far more successful at duping me into thinking that I have been sidelined – by disfigurements of personality, of ability, of appearance – striking at the way God formed me in a very particular way to reflect Him. Once again, I find a mirror being held up to me with gentle persistence to look into it and see as God sees: someone whole and complete, with bruises that will heal with His touch.
Maybe you are feeling disqualified – by something you’ve done, by something that has been done to you, or even by who you are. If so, you too have been duped by the enemy who hates the image of God he sees in you. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies (John 8:44)… so his narrative will never be true. But if he can convince you that it is, he has reason to rejoice.
The truth is that none of us have been, or ever could be, disqualified because Jesus gave his spotless life to qualify us once and for all. The wounds and deformities that have seemed deep and irreparable – be they of mind, body or spirit – are not more than a scratch or a bruise in the hands of Him who conquered death and says, “I am the Lord, your healer.” (Ex 15:26) So let us find assurance and courage in His kind eyes to take up the mirror of His Word and Spirit; to see ourselves as He does; that we would know the truth and be set free; that we would live again as we were created to live – as a brilliant reflection of the God who loves us.
A song worth hearing from an old friend, Todd Warren. Let these words from the heart of God wash over you.
“Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body… let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water.” Hebrews 10:19-20, 22
Photo credit: New York Post
That glimpse, accompanied by a whole lot of grace, enabled me to launch into the past several weeks of putting into my body what best serves it. While it hasn’t made me the Mother Theresa of my household or solved all my problems, there has been a beautiful quietness; a rest from the all-too-familiar spin cycle. The strangest thing to me has been the joy. Not for a moment have I felt deprived. Instead, I feel grateful for the all the good things I get to have and grateful for what they produce.



Chase and I bought some clay a few months back. As we kneaded the large lump and attempted to coax it into shapes that at least vaguely resembled ornaments, I couldn’t help thinking of this verse in Isaiah: “
At the end of the walking trail by our house are a few large rocks which provide a perfect place for Chase to snack and play before turning around for the second half of our trek. Last week he became particularly curious about the small hill and storm drain that lie just beyond his dusty playground. I offered to explore it with him but to my extremely cautious son it looked like a treacherous cliff that should not be explored – at least not by the likes of him. 
