As I run my hand across the front of the bathroom mirror my face begins to stare back at me. I lean forward so that my nose is merely an inch from the wet glass. It is so close that I can see the small mole on the left side of my forhead. There is also the wart that sits just below my hairline on my temple. Little pock marks start under my eyes and move toward my cheeks, scars from childhood measles. A fold of fat hangs underneath my chin and the stubble on it is flecked with gray. My hair is moving further back on my forhead and its cowlicks are forcing strands to shoot in the air like a geyser. One gross piece of hair shoots out from the edge of my ear and seems to grow back as soon as I pluck it. A zit has begun to form underneath my nostril and lets not start talking about nose hair.
I move back to get a full view. My pair shape body screams, “heart disease!” My posture slopes like a water slide and my shoulders droop in perminant resignation. My head is lowered like I am expecting some sort of divine hand to smack me on the back of the head.
Every failure, mistake, shortcoming and obsession competes for space in my mind.
I point to myself and say sheepishly, “You are God’s beloved child, in whom God is well pleased.”
Almost whispering I say to my reflection, “God loves you right now, just the way you are.”
I repeat it over and over each time trying to sound more confident. I say it until I no longer avert my eyes and I imagine my creator looking at me with adoration and infinite care. This can take seconds or minutes, but by the end I imagine the tender mercy of the divine. The Spirit is swirling in that steam filled bathroom. I know that I am practicing the golden rule and that I have enough faith for one more day.
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