For my dear friend Sheila who encourages me to have fun with my writing.
She knows my life right now. Thank you kind and sassy woman.
The day begins in the dark. Six or so. Steve making coffee and Zoey stretching her legs and easing out of her crate. (Zoey and I like to let the day happen slowly.) Two cups of coffee. CBS morning news. Steve and I discussing the day’s plans:
Him: What are you doing today?
Me: Hmmm. Laundry. Maybe going to the library. (A lady of leisure . . . eesh!)
He kisses me goodbye and I settle into my morning routine. A shower with music pouring out of my iMac promising that God will make me brave or that I don’t need man’s applause—just Jesus who loves me like I am (I think Bridget Jones’ Diary). After making the bed and throwing in some laundry, I shoot downstairs with my make-up baskets in hand to watch Gilmore Girls.
It’s right before I apply eye make-up that I start to question my sanity. Why am I even applying make-up? Who cares if I wear eyeliner or not? I’m in Colorado…land of the natural woman. BUT, my natural state kind of scares me. I am so vanilla; in fact, I’m the whipped cream on a vanilla milkshake. My eyelashes are white. My hair is turning white. My eyebrows are disappearing. AHHHHH! This whole aging thing could go a bit better. Back to the eyeliner and blackest black mascara…
All right…I’ll come clean: I’m a frou-frou woman. I am a woman who loves beauty products living in a state where women look awesome in their leggings, t-shirts, and fleece vests wearing little to no cosmetic enhancements. Maybe it’s because I’m from Tulsa, which is only six hours from Dallas (aka the capital of frou-frou) that make-up and hair products are so essential to my aesthetic comfort. Send me into Ulta and I’m liable to spend an hour examining every color of blush Smashbox makes, playing with different brands of lipstick in order to determine the creaminess level, or lately—studying a variety of concealers all promising to “perk up” tired eyes. I need an all-over percolating concealer.
After an hour scouring Ulta (or Sephora), I might end up with a $6 L’Oreal lip balm. (I’m not working right now so I don’t feel comfortable indulging too much.) Maybe when I find that job I’ve been looking for I’ll treat myself to a MAC lipstick in the
perfect brownish pink…
Today I’m going to work at my church. I’m doing some data entry and then printing and folding bulletins for Sunday’s service. God is using me to help in some way, and I’m so grateful. No irony in that statement at all. It is pure delight to work with these beautifully gracious and faithful young people who love Jesus with their words and deeds. They remind me of Christ’s words to women (via Holy Spirit via Peter) in 1 Peter 3:
“What matters is not your outer appearance—the styling of your hair (WHAT? But I love the smell of my Aveda Control Paste), the jewelry you wear, the cut of your clothes—but your inner disposition. Cultivate inner beauty, the gentle, gracious kind that God delights in. The holy women of old were beautiful before God that way…” (The Message Bible).
Inner beauty. We talk about it all the time, but my love for all things cosmetic may keep people from noticing my scary outward appearance! I think maybe…just possibly… my fairly neutral make-up may encourage folks to notice my inner beauty because they won’t be so distracted by my scary-vanilla-albino-rabbit appearance! (Mild justification for full baskets of eye shadow and lipstick?)
Regardless, as a tribute to Colorado and as recognition of my co-dependency on cosmetics, I think I’ll leave off the eyeliner today and flaunt my inner-beauty! Wait…I shouldn’t flaunt? It should be perceived as part of my Christ-like character? Shoot. This is hard.
Cue music: You make me brave…