The crowning jewel of the quaint Pennsylvania town that watched me grow from a shy pig-tailed girl into an independent young woman is a historic gazebo situated in the center of Market Square.

Celebrations meriting significance are often held in that lovely white structure. In a tiny borough such events include Veteran’s Day ceremonies, annual coronations of the “Cherry Blossom Queen,” and visits from Santa Claus. I often thought that the gazebo was fitting of a wedding. I’m not sure if ceremonious vows have ever been exchanged on its platform, but I have seen many radiant brides pose on its century-old steps.

The gazebo in my hometown, is quite different from the small wooden gazebo I once encountered while walking my Dachshund. Being naturally drawn to such buildings, probably because of my small town upbringing, the first time I saw it nestled on the grounds of an apartment complex I walked toward it, hoping to step inside. As I made my approach, I noticed that the path seemingly leading to the gazebo ended before reaching the steps. The gazebo was intended only for decoration.

I continued on my walk and thought of God’s love. Whimsically, yet respectfully, I next imagined a glorious gazebo inside the gates of heaven. My human mind pictured an understated, but sparkling octagonal pavilion surrounded by wildflowers freshly painted by angels.

Unlike the small gazebo designed only for aesthetics, there was one path that led to the entrance; and in the center stood Christ, the bridegroom, waiting for his bride, the Church to exchange its filthy rags for pristine robes of splendor.

Then a voice came from the throne, saying: ”Praise our God, all you his servants, you who fear him, both small and great. Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting: “Hallelujah! For our Lord God Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready. Fine linen, bright and clean, was given her to wear.” (Fine linen stands for the righteous acts of the saints.) Then the angel said to me, “Write: ‘Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!’ “And he added, “These are the true words of God.” Revelation 19:5-10;(New International Version)

The first time my husband brought me to a theater to see a movie based on some legend from his childhood was to the premier of X-Men. As we stood in line behind a man wearing Wolverine claws, I rolled my eyes and thought that I would enjoy the next two hours as much as I enjoy an eyebrow was (last time I had my eyebrows waxed, I bled).

I was wrong. After spending just 180 minutes alternating holding my breath and crying as the Marvel Heroes fought the bad guys and their inner demons, I was hooked. Now when a movie about a costumed crusader against evil is released, I’m ready to book a babysitter and stand in line. I’m also more likely to get caught up in T.V. shows focusing on people with powers of the super variety.

Although the action scenes of the super hero genre are riveting, it’s the classic struggle between good and evil that keeps me glued. It is viewing seemingly ordinary people grapple with discovering that they are now different from others…different from whom they thought they once were. It’s watching characters evolve not into people with super powers, but into people who are willing to make mountainous sacrifices for humankind.

And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. Because of the privilege and authority God has given me, I give each of you this warning: Don’t think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves, measuring yourselves by the faith God has given us.” Romans 12:1-3 (New Living Translation)

I cannot leap giant buildings in a single bound, nor can I heal myself, or control minds…and I run slightly faster than a speeding turtle; but still I identify with the Clark Kent’s, Peter Parker’s, and Claire Bennett’s of the fantasy world. Because like them, I am different…set a apart. I don’t believe this because I think I am more special or better than anyone else. In fact, it’s not about me at all. It’s about Jesus and letting others know that I follow the Messiah.

As said by Peter Parker’s aunt in the movie Spiderman, “With great power comes great responsibility.” All Christians are given the responsibility of living up to the standards of a glorious and all-powerful God. That’s not small stuff… it is certainly too big for me to accomplish on my own strength. The good news is that I’m not meant to do it alone. And when I am tired, weary, frustrated, and broken from this world and from simply being me, I can rest in the One whose power is beyond anything in this universe.

My mom, being the one who had to listen to my whining protests, decided that my long hair had to go. This decision was made when I was in the fourth-grade, and it was one with which I agreed.

Oh, but there was a downside…I was in grade four during the year of the mullet. Not only is the mullet an eye sore, it is a lot of work. My hair still easily knotted in the back and a brush was no longer the sole implement required to style my baby fine tresses. Each morning my mom had to stand over me with a hot curling iron to make the top portion of my head look more feminine.

Fast-forward 25 years and you will still find me complaining about my hair. I have dyed it various shades of blond, including platinum. In my attempts for the perfect shade, my hair has been green, creamsicle orange, purple, gray, and pink…all unintended. I have also wore my hair in myriad styles: short and bobbed, long and spiral permed, short and spiral permed, pixie, etc.

“For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.”
Philippians 2:13-15 (New International Version)

Once, as I sat in the home of a former stylist eagerly waiting for her to transform me into a super model with just a few clips from her scissors, (I tend to have high expectations) she said the most peculiar thing to me.

“You are so lucky to have straight, fine hair.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…I wouldn’t wish this hair on anyone, plus what is with my crazy hair line in the back that grows upward…and that hideous cowlick?”

“It’s much better than having hair like mine…it’s so thick and coarse.”

I looked at her long, thick, perfectly coiffed blond hair and giggled.

“This is too funny,” I said. “You have my dream hair!”

“Well, I guess we all want what we don’t have,” she replied.

How true that is. For sheep, the grass is always greener on the other side…for women, the hair is always prettier on the other head!

Moreover, it does not stop with hairstyles. Why is it so much easier for me to want something I cannot have than to thank Jesus for the many gifts I possess? I take so much for granted.

Instead of griping about the hair I have, I should be thanking the Lord that I can brush my hair every morning without clumps of it falling to the floor, which is what many women suffering with cancer face daily.

Instead of feeling annoyed by my stained sofa, I should pour out my heart in thanksgiving that I have a family with whom to cuddle with on that sofa and watch movies.

So while the grass may appear greener, hair prettier, furniture grander, homes bigger, and figures thinner…I’m going to try really hard to not be so interested in the proverbial other side. I am going to focus on how to make my inside look more like Jesus and foster a spirit of thankfulness for all He has given me.

“But when full understanding comes, these partial things will become useless. When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.” — I Cor. 13: 10-12 (NLT)

Recently, I was reminded of the awkward girl who inhibited this body of mine more than 15 years ago. Yes, I’ll admit, her body was leaner and her stomach flat. Hardly, the body I see in the mirror today. But less recognizable to me is her personality. She barely spoke above a whisper or made eye contact with others. She walked stiffly, wore a veil of rejection, and held a basket of fears.

Perhaps that girl reminds you of someone whose reflection flashed in the mirror of your youth. I think those character traits are shared by many female teenagers. And even for those of us who tightly closed the doors of the past, there are still reminders. Not necessarily painful memories, because true healing is the best pain reliever, but more like souvenirs from a different lifetime that hint toward progress and validation. Knowing who I was then helps me better identify who I am now.

However, for as much as I have changed for the better (and I owe that change to the grace of God), a few ragged remnants remain. I long for the day when I finally throw those scraps away. What a contradiction of character that I still hold them, unable to assign them to the trash heap in which they belong. One tattered fragment that still yields power is perfectionism. Granted, that power is waning, but it’s still present.

Frankly, it’s almost silly that it hangs around. Perfectionism is nothing more than a form of pride, even though I often mistake it for “caring about others.” It’s perfectionism that causes me to put on the verbal boxing gloves and berate myself for a lapse in judgment.

Recently, I was reminded that I’m going to mess up. I’m going to fall short. Despite my best intentions, I’m going to mildly offend some people and tick off others. Some of the mistakes I make will be huge and marred with selfishness. Others will be small, unintentional blunders like forgetting someone’s name or speaking out of turn.

What I’m learning is that while it is absolutely necessary to accept responsibility for my mistakes…even the innocent ones, and especially the ones that hurt others…it also is absolutely necessary that I not dredge up those errors as a means of self-deprecation.

In other words, I’m forgiven. I’m forgiven even if the person I grieved chooses not to forgive me.

Here’s something else. I’m loved. I’m loved even if the world calls me a fool and my friends abandon me. I’m loved the same amount whether I’m volunteering in a nursing home or cussing because I stubbed my toe.

And, here’s one more…I am understood. I’m understood even if someone looks at me like I’ve parachuted in from another planet. No, God doesn’t always agree with my thoughts and actions. But, He understands my heart. He made it. He speaks to it. He pieces it back together after it’s been wounded. And He holds it…He owns it…and He has made it whole.

You were dead because of your sins and because your sinful nature was not yet cut away. Then God made you alive with Christ, for he forgave all our sins. He canceled the record of the charges against us and took it away by nailing it to the cross. In this way, he disarmed the spiritual rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross. Colossians 2:13-15

My grandparents once lived in the beautiful and historic Brandywine Valley. I enjoyed walking down Briton Bridge Road with my PapPap and marveling at the picturesque countryside complete with rolling green hills, sprawling estates, and inviting orchards. Even an old, dilapidated barn appeared lovely amidst the gorgeous landscape.

Once, after at least six months had passed since our last walk together, PapPap excitedly whispered, “Wait until you see what they did to that old barn.”

The revelation was jaw-dropping. The rundown, rustic, stone barn, had been converted into an elegant guest cottage. I still wish I could have had a peek at the splendor I’m sure existed on the other side its front door.

As Easter approaches, I reflect on the similarities between that once old, yet refurbished barn and the cross on which Christ died.

I consider how ugly and rough the old wood must have been, and how its image invoked feelings of terror, shame, and outrage. I tremble when I think that two bloodstained, repellent, accursed wooden beams, wore beauty on one dark Friday in Golgotha more than two thousand years ago. Yes, even though hatred swarmed rampant, teeth gnashed, voices growled, blood flowed, garments tattered, and anguished cries bellowed throughout Calvary, beauty was present. Beauty hung on that soiled cross in the form of the pure, sinless, lamb of God. The cross was hideous, but because of who it touched, it was lovely at the same time.

Even though the actual wooden cross on which Christ, and most likely other men died, is long gone, its meaning has been forever changed. What was once the harbinger of hate is now the symbol of love, hope, and peace. What once provoked shame, now promotes glory. And what was once a cruel agent of agony and death, is now the emblem of eternal life.

Oh, how beautiful Christ made the cross when He victoriously conquered death. How even more glorious is the transformation he can make in the lives of all trust and believe Him.

God also bound himself with an oath, so that those who received the promise could be perfectly sure that he would never change his mind. So God has given both his promise and his oath. These two things are unchangeable because it is impossible for God to lie. Therefore, we who have fled to him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary. Jesus has already gone in there for us. He has become our eternal High Priest in the order of Melchizedek. Hebrews 6:17-20 NLT

My teeth…they have issues. Actually, my entire mouth has problems. For starters, it is small. So small that my dental hygienist uses the child-sized equipment to clean and X-Ray my teeth, but even with the special tools, the process is cumbersome at best.

Another oddity is that several of my adult molars never properly formed. When my baby teeth gave out in my twenties, two gaping holes remained. My minuscule mouth will not enable a dentist the room needed to insert implants.

And, there is more. My two upper front teeth once overlapped one another, a bottom incisor is chipped, my roots are deemed abnormally long, I had an overbite, and I’m slightly tongue-tied.

Due to my myriad of mouth maladies, several dentists, orthodontists, periodontists, endodontists, and oral surgeons, issued advice on how they could fix my teeth and present me with a sparkling, healthy, and perfect smile.

I have had retainers, spacers, braces, root canals, crowns, fillings, and extractions. I turned down two recommendations to have my jaw broken and reshaped.

What struck me as strange while absorbing all the advice, was the conflicting opinions of the professionals. Each orthodontist I interviewed prior to braces offered me differing treatment plans. Some championed implants and root canals, others did not. Some told me that my wisdom teeth would never cause me problems, others disagreed and urged me to remove the potentially pesky third molars.

Each professional offered hope, and choosing between subtle shades proved challenging.

The world in which we live…it has issues, and varying opinions as to how to resolve or not resolve these issues.

There is war and downheartedness. There is hunger and loneliness. There are diseases that destroy bodies and deceptions that break apart families. There are sexual predators and there are victims. Drug abuse and alcoholism rages on. Murder and hate crimes claim mothers and fathers. Divorce and abortion are considered positive alternatives.

Modesty is frowned upon while promiscuity is hailed a right. Money is the modern day Baal. Power is sought after and fought for, while those weaker are devoured. Happiness is demanded, even though those seeking it have no idea what they are searching for.

Hearts are trampled. Dreams are buried. Truth is skewed. Peace is sacrificed. Spirits are crushed. Hope is rejected.

Does it seem strange that I wrote the words hope and rejected in the same sentence? After all, hope has been a popular buzz word. Everyone wants it.

The trouble rests in the fact that not everyone understands how to find it. Hope does not reside in the economy of a nation and it does not stand on the shoulders of leaders. Hope cannot be found in a political ideology, in the security of a job, or in a solid education.

Hope…pure, impassioned, life-altering, strength-sustaining, contagious hope… is found in Jesus and in His victory over death. While the world has lots of answers, He’s the only right one. He’s the true color of hope and all the other shades are just misleading.

This concept once seemed abstract to me. When traveling a tough road, I would often think something like, “I do believe in Jesus and have hope that everything will be good one day, and know that I will live life in Heaven when this one is over…but I still have to live now. I still have to pay bills that I have no money to pay. I still have to deal with difficult people who stir a sadness in me that aches my soul. I still make mistakes and as a result have so many messes to clean up.”

But Jesus quietly and gently hushes the “I stills” and replaces then with a resounding “Be still….Be still and know me.”

It is then when I can clearly see the vividness of hope and not just a muddied shade. When I take the time to reread His promises, and reflect on His word and His character, it is then that I am reminded that somehow it will all work out. And even with the “stills”, I will be better than OK.

Often, His solutions do not coincide with the values and methods of our culture..and that is scary. But the peace and the hope comes in knowing that His intervention…will work…that He is enough, more than enough. And if we open our hearts fully to Him and to that truth, we will see it. In full color. And it will bring joy.

And again, Isaiah says, “The Root of Jesse will spring up, one who will arise to rule over the nations; the Gentiles will hope in him.”May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:12-13 NIV)

All your words are true; all your righteous laws are eternal. Psalm 119:160 (NIV)

For the past month, I have been in a state of mind that I will refer to as writer’s funk. Unlike a case of writer’s block, I was able to come up with topics to write about, and even words to fill a page…but my interest to write waned. I kept telling myself that it was because I had nothing new to express. My style felt stale. My passion simmered to stagnant.

Friends consoled me with assurances that all writers felt this way at times. Perhaps that is true. But still something registered faulty in my soul. You see, for me, writing is just not a hobby…it is part of my quiet time with God. When I write, I pray. When I write, I search through scripture. When I write, I hunt through concordances. When I write, I worship. When I write, I talk to God, I ask for His insights, I ask that He will prevent me from typing words that would be contradictory to His truth, and I thank Him for that sweet fellowship.

The time I designate to write is precious, yet the first time I sat down to write in more than a month…seriously write…was when I began to work on this post. Yes, I still prayed and still worshiped God, but not as intentionally and with little enthusiasm. But through quiet reflection and prayer, I discovered that I couldn’t think of something fresh to write about, because I was spending too much time rummaging through my old baggage.

Issues that I thought I had worked through had once again resurfaced. Fear showed up for a visit and I granted him an open-ended invitation to live in a lavish guest suite in my heart. And wherever fear goes, anger and irritation follow. So I invited those two in as well. And, since I did not feel like sharing these struggles with trusted friends to keep me accountable…pride barged through the doors. Since I live in the South where inhospitableness is not tolerated, I left him stay too. And my final guest? Guilt..and not the healthy kind. In short, I kept God at a distance for a month, sulking because I wanted something new, but not willing to let go of old patterns.

But there is forgiveness with You, That You may be feared. I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, And in His word I do hope. My soul waits for the Lord. More than those who watch for the morning— Yes, more than those who watch for the morning. Psalm 130: 4-6 (NKJV)

I have found that the best way for me to combat old lies and habits is not by looking for something new, but by clinging to something ancient…truth. Focusing on God’s truth located in His word may not be new, but it certainly is renewing. And, much of what I discover is new to me.

As I typed the words above, I sighed…a joyful contented sigh. I am so grateful that He never leaves me to rot in my ruts.

(Author’s note: I feel it necessary to disclose that the funk I described above was not caused by clinical depression. There truly is a difference. Clinical depression is a serious medical condition that should be discussed with a health care provider. As someone who has struggled with two debilitating cases of postpartum mood disorder and felt deeply wounded by those who told me to “pray through it” or “just read your Bible more.” I would be remiss if I did not make that distinction.)