I’ve always liked to shop. The artfully arranged displays, colors folded into precise geometric shapes, and the assortment of curated merchandise make me feel hopeful. Hope that I could be more attractive. Hope that I would be enough. Hope that having something was the same as having it all together. Unlike the price tag, the promise of such things wasn’t explicit. It was in the garments hung in rainbow-colored order, the soft lighting, the scent of a lit candle, and melodic music that lulled me into thinking I wasn’t just purchasing a shirt but an assurance of a better life.
It’s as if my potential couldn’t be fulfilled until I owned the right things. Shopping was like being sent to wardrobe for a starring role in life – exciting, full of promise, and redemptive. It was an escape from whoever I was for a chance to discover who I could be. And, clearly, who I could be was better.
Intellectually, I know this falls somewhere between silly and sad. We come into the world with nakedness and nothing. Yet, still, our inherent value compels someone to pick us up and hold us close. As babies, we don’t care how we look or what we wear. We don’t question our worth. We know we matter. “I praise you, because I am wonderfully made; wonderful are your works! My very self you know,” (Psalms 139:14). We have this instinct that tells us we deserve nourishment, warmth, and love. We demand these things with cries, cooing smiles, and outstretched arms. For most of us, our needs were met. We were loved and we were enough.
I don’t know how we are born with such a knowing only for it to get all twisty and tangled. I just know for most of us, it gets twisty and tangled. What was once smooth becomes matted into muddled thinking of what constitutes value. The prettiest clothes, the right weight, the tidy house, the well-behaved children, the doting spouse, the big paycheck, the esteemed title, all become measures offering the same distorted reflection of value as a fun-house mirror.
If we aren’t careful, we confuse who we are with our intellect, possessions, or worldly recognition. We consider our constructs more than the constancy of our soul’s predetermined and unalterable value. I suppose in life’s messiness, in all that remains unmet, we seek out instead of seeking him. As challenging as it may be sometimes to find the perfect pair of jeans, that can still seem less ambitious than finding this elusive God of ours. Yet, happiness has never been in the having; knowing has never been in the intellect; God will never be in the material and love will never be owned.
All of the assurance we ever need comes from the love of God. Unlike the perfect outfit, it’s been there all along. All we have to do is put it on.
May you wear it well.
Hi all,
I always feel like there are so many things I want to tell you in this little section that it is often the hardest thing I write. Like, I want to ask you if you notice that I am not posting as much or being as active on social media — but then I think, hmm, maybe they don’t! Maybe I should just keep quiet about that.
Then, I think of telling you that I have been in a discerning mode for the last several months but that isn’t quite the best way to describe it. It’s more peaceful than discerning tends to be and I think I may actually be getting the hang of this letting God’s will be done thing. Life really is much simpler when we surrender to His will.
But then I think, oh dear, does that sound like I have everything figured out and I have left Christianity to simply be like Buddha and his big fat belly and just be? No, nothing is really that simple. (Except maybe growing big bellies!) Anyway, I just wanted to check in with you and be candid even if I’m momentarily incapable of being clear. In short, I am here less and with Him more. And, I am good. I remain as grateful as ever to share this faith journey with you. Love ~ Lara
The post that I am sharing with you this week is one that ran recently in the Florida Times-Union. I’m sure it was a proud moment for my mom to have an article in the newspaper where her daughter writes about running into a tree with her face. But, I like to keep her humble.
There is something about a new year with its ambitious resolutions, exuberant plans, and fresh start folly that leaves me feeling flat instead of fiery. It just feels exhausting to think about all the bettering that becomes gospel at the start of a new year. Self-improvement that encompasses everything from eating and exercise to ordering priorities and organizing closets. Am I the only one who feels like a hero just for taking a shower?
This is an excerpt from my book, Simple Mercies, that I wanted to share in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe’s Feast Day this past Sunday.
When I was in junior high, I had an advice column I shared with another girl. Our last names both began with the letter C so while the national newspapers ran syndicated columns of Dear Abby or Dear Ann Landers, my catholic grade school featured Dear C & C. Quite honestly, I think we were just as good as Abby and Ann too — even if we did make up most of the questions in order to fill the mimeographed page.
I’ve often thought about death. This puzzles my generally upbeat husband who sometimes wonders if he didn’t marry Morticia from The Addams Family, the television sitcom with the catchy theme song: “They’re creepy and they’re kooky; Mysterious and spooky; They’re altogether ooky; The Addams Family.”
I had a yucky experience during a medical procedure. “Yucky” seems less traumatic than hearing the head of the department at a renowned hospital say, “I am not really sure what is happening to you. This has never happened before.” So, I am going with yucky because it sounds a little less terrifying.
When I was growing up there weren’t as many medically-diagnosed acronyms to explain one’s differences as there are today. You might have been labeled “not the sharpest tool in the shed,” “the porch light is on but no one is home,” or if you are from the south, “their cornbread ain’t quite done in the middle,” might be an apt description for someone who’s a little bit different.