I'm famous! (and so are you)


I glance down to see Ella lost in a sea of miniature dolls scattered all around her.

 "Mommy!  Look at my Polly Pocket, she's famous!"  The adoration lifts her voice, and I ponder words.

"Why?"  I ask as I look down at the figure crowned with perfect blonde hair and eyes painted lavender.  A sparkle is placed just off center.  "What has made her famous?"

"Look at her Mommy.  She's pretty."  Ella smiles that toothless smile right at the object in her hand with her own blonde hair hanging loose over her sweet face.

Words catch in my throat.  I'm surprised that it has happened already.  That she has gone the way of the world in handing out the yes and no of who has what it takes to be famous.   I had hoped that I could help her see the root of what makes us all beautiful. 

I know so well how one must unlearn what is being taught in this culture.  That perfect is normal, and the way we must get there is through the wasting away of who we really are to attain a goal that was never meant to be ours.

And it all started in a God made garden with a snake and a half truth that the first man and the first woman believed.  They swallowed down that one thing forbidden, making hearts and eyes wide open to the beginning of sin.  That's when we all became blind.

I remember how I couldn't see when I squinted blue eyes in the first row of my kindergarten class.  I was five when I put on my first pair of glasses.  Every six months I traded the old for new in the need to improve my vision.  Through the years the lenses grew so thick that my eyes warped behind them, and all I ended up seeing was an awkward girl who wanted to disappear altogether.

It's the weakest eyes that can't see the good of what is right in front of them. Adam and Eve had the God of heaven walking by their side, and they looked for something more.  I wonder sometimes if I'll ever see strong, because it's so easy to lose sight of who I'm trying to please.

The laughter of the boys still haunts a mind and makes this mama's heart hope that her little girls never have to endure the pain.  I laid my head down on my desk that day in 7th grade, and hid hot tears from the ones who couldn't see me for who I really was.  Sadly, I couldn't see me either. 

Looking down at Ella, I remember something I read a few days ago.  A promise nestled right in the book of Isaiah, "I have called you by name, and you are mine.  (Isaiah 43:1)

I look at her and know how uniquely wonderful she is.  A list runs long with all the ways I delight in her.  "Ella?  Did you know that you are famous?"

I have her attention and she looks up with that same grin, "Huh?'

"That's right.  Our perfect God, who created you and knit you all together, knows your name!  The creator of this whole entire world knows just who you are, and thinks you're really special.  You can't get more famous than that."

I leave her with my words.  I hope they plant themselves deep into her soul and choke outright the weeds of what this imperfect world tries to grow into her.  I hope they give her the very best eyes to see that the only beauty that matters is the Jesus-light shining right through her.

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