“Why can’t it be darker in here?” I thought with hot tears running tiny rivers down my cheeks.
Any semblance of “togetherness” I had carefully crafted that morning through layers of mascara and a carefully chosen outfit were now rendered useless. I was undone, in the back row of the church sanctuary.
I just desperately wanted to have a good appearance, a good show that day, and the moment we began singing of grace and mercy all pretense shattered to the ground and all the camouflage I strategically placed over my frantic feelings of being overwhelmed and tired bled to the ground as I stood there crying through line after line of our singing.
And I just wanted the lights darker. I didn’t want anyone to see. I wanted them to all walk by and see a woman who could “do it all”, who was put together and strong and able and also shockingly young looking for her age. I thought if it was dark, no one would see. If it was dark, I wouldn’t have to explain. If it was dark, I could hide.
bad good thing about the light. There is no room for facade.
As I stood there- eyes red from tears (Sephora can’t help me now), piles of tissues on my seat, husband steadily rubbing my back- a still voice spoke.
“You are my daughter and I see you. Right now, I see you. Standing in the light with red-rimmed, tired eyes. Lay down the posing and the trying. Lay down the defenses and the “pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps” and come to me. I see it all. Right now. Undone. I see it anyways and I love you perfectly even so.”
Psalm 139 floods my mind:
O Lord, you have searched me and known me! …
Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in the depths, you are there! …
If I say “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.
Come as you are. But leave completely changed. The Light does that.