You look lovely today

It is early.  The steam of coffee rises next to from a mug that my oldest daughter bought me.  She smiled when she gave it to me, a surprise for no reason at all.  The handle is a shiny gold.  It is large and the sides of it are purposefully dimpled.  That same gold paint on the smooth, uneven surface tells me what I want to hear, "you look lovely today."

 

I don't.

 

I don't look lovely.  I look like I rolled out of bed at 4:16 this morning.  My hair is some messed up version of what it was yesterday.  Lumpy in the back from a wonderful night with my pillow.  My makeup is mostly gone, save for the stubborn mascara that has slightly smeared into the puffiness of my eyes.  And the wrinkles!  I want to laugh at the age that is creeping up on me.  It seems forever ridiculous to see forty years in the mirror when the inside of me never moves past the age of twenty. 

 

I haven't looked in the mirror this morning, but I know.  I know what I look like in the morning, and it wouldn't be something I would consider lovely.  But I drink from the encouraging mug because it is a token of my daughter's loveliness.  Her hair is probably a mess too as it lays in tangles over her pillow.  Her makeup has worn off, no doubt, and the map of her freckles is displayed.  She doesn't like them so much.  But I do.

 

There are several things she doesn't like.  The roundness of face is one I hear often.  Her double chin.  She's a petite fourteen-year-old!  I try not to giggle.  I can't imagine what is wrong with any of it.  Because to me, she always looks lovely.  Hair a mess, makeup gone, freckles stretched over the bridge of her nose.  All of it lovely.

 

Somehow when I see her, I see less of what she looks like and more of who she is.  People comment on her beauty, but I just see Thia.  My daughter who loved her pacifier to the point of developing a rash around those sweet baby lips.  Who forever gave toys to a sibling to keep the peace.  Who created bookmarks to sell in second grade then gave the money to missions.  My daughter who moved to a developing country, and said she felt more at home than she ever had in her life.  Who is this girl who sees what's wrong in this world?  Whose eyes burn fire at injustice, and the blueness burns bright with her desire for change?  I pray that light never goes out.  What will that look like at the age of twenty or forty, on my daughter who wants to be a teacher?  How will time and wisdom, discernment and confidence look on the beautiful person that she already is?

 

That's what I see when I look at her.  It takes more than a second, more than a glance to measure her loveliness, her uniqueness, her personhood.  Are we not all created in the image of God?  And is he not unsearchable?  No one can be summed up in short measure.  It takes a lifetime of knowing, observing, listening, and understanding.  We see what’s on the outside, but what if we took the time to see the heart?  Man, if I could keep that thought front and center in every interaction I had, wouldn't the world spin so much lovelier?  Would we not see the kingdom of God come to earth?

 

I drain the last dregs of coffee and set the mug beside me.  "You look lovely today."  

 

Yes, I think, I suppose I do.  

 

I suppose we all do when we're given the chance.