I was focused on the exit when I saw her from the corner of my eye, and then only from her elbows down. Even this brief glimpse provoked strong emotions that swung unbidden between judgment and pity. “Oh, my! Who would leave the house looking like that?” My ungracious thought was quickly followed with the more charitable, and entirely Southern, “Bless her heart. What an unfortunate wardrobe choice.”
I peeked at her face. The woman wearing the walking wardrobe disaster bore an uncanny resemblance to me. She apparently saw me looking her direction and stared back. Shock and dismay registered on her familiar face. I realized then I was walking by the mirror department.
I made a sharp left turn, moving deeper into the rows of mirrors in a desperate attempt to hide until I could make a more accurate assessment. I nurtured the irrational hope a different mirror would produce a more favorable result. I had dressed so carefully that morning and left home with the pert confidence of one who thinks she looks exceptionally stylish.
Every mirror in the department (I’m pretty sure I checked every one.) confirmed my worst suspicion. My perky yellow top was not long enough for leggings. I had no business being in public wearing an outfit that would be adorable on a chubby-bottomed toddler or alluring on a nubile teen. Too late I realized I had taken for granted the value of the full-length mirrors attached to every closet door in the home from which I had recently moved.
At that point I did what any woman in my vulnerable position would have done—I picked up the closest full-length mirror, used it to shield myself from further view, added it to my other purchases, and escaped to my car.
I have not always appreciated the brutal appraisal a good mirror offers, wishing instead to see a face I only imagine staring back at me—the one devoid of blemishes and under-eye circles, the one with a less prominent jaw and a more prominent nose. Yet I cannot live without mirrors. Their forthright honesty serves me well. They keep me from thinking more highly of my appearance than I ought. Their accurate revelation gives me the opportunity to change what I can and to accept graciously what I cannot.
True friends are like good mirrors. They often see things about me that I cannot see myself. They tell me the truth when my actions and attitudes, my words or even my wardrobe, needs to change. They let me know when I am “too big for my britches”—both literally and figuratively. Their insight encourages me to change.
Faithful friends who have done more to clothe me in body and soul than they will ever know. Friends have suggested what styles and colors look best on me and which ones I should never wear again. Friends have given me clothes they decided would look better on me than on them. Jewelry-making friends have generously accessorized my outfits, adding color and sophistication to my often-black attire.
Although I can recognize obvious flaws in a mirror, only a talented and true friend will point out more than what a mirror reveals. One friend spent four hours helping me find the perfect dress to wear to my daughter’s wedding. My personal standards weren’t that high. As long as the dressing room mirror reflected an image that wasn’t too fat or too frumpy, I would have settled at the two-hour mark. It was my friend who looked beyond the most glaring problems and recognized the best color, the right fit, a style that was uniquely mine, and had the tenacity to keep me going. I learned two things that day: how to be a better dresser but more importantly, how to be a better friend.
Ultimately it isn’t the external image that matters most. Beauty fades. Styles change. Hours spent making the corrections the mirror suggests will not stop the steady march of lines across once-dewy skin. The mirror may remind a grumpy face to smile, but it cannot provide the joy. The mirror will know a worried life by its deeply furrowed brow, but it cannot lighten the load. A mirror may subtly reveal a ‘stinky attitude,’ but it cannot change the heart.
Faithful friends provide mirrors for my soul. They see my lines and wrinkles through my daily life. They show me the state of my heart and the adequacy of my thinking. They notice whether I am glowing and growing or frumpy and fading. They recognize when I am becoming ‘unbecoming.’ True friends tell me what they see with grace; with mercy they challenge me to change.
Not too long ago I unloaded a litany of woes on a friend. I was confident I was justified in my rambling lament. She listened empathetically, mirrored my pain, then offered a redemptive perspective. “I know it is hard,” she comforted, “but when I was in a similar situation, it helped me to thank God for the health and strength to carry the burden instead of simply complaining about the load.” Her gracious acceptance showed me my selfish heart; her merciful counsel gave me a pathway for change.
As I transition to new adventures, I must ensure the safeguards both mirrors and friends provide. A full-length mirror can be replaced with a few screws. Close friends will never be replaced. Their continued insights reach across the miles, arriving in texts and letters, FaceTime and phone calls, but their input is limited by what I choose to share and not what they can observe first hand. So now I am hoping for additional friends who can see my latest flaws up close and personal—people who will have the insight and have courage to look me in the eye and suggest that perhaps I shouldn’t be seen in public until I change my attire, my attitude or even my heart.
Trustworthy are the bruises of a friend…. Proverbs 27:6a (CEB)
No comments:
Post a Comment