This beautiful moth visited my garden one afternoon and I couldn’t help taking its picture. Not because it would be featured in a science journal, in a museum or on anyone’s wall as art (except my own wall) but, as you can see from the photograph, because the moth is missing the lower portion of a wing. I thought a lot about that moth as I watched it moving among my plants and flowers. Surely the moth was aware that it had been somewhat crippled by the damaged wing, but it still fluttered about easily. It did not hide in the shadows afraid of being seen, but opened its wings to the sun to refuel with solar energy. It flew gracefully from plant to plant and did all the things that it was designed to do. It didn’t seem to freak out at the realization that it was not whole or perfect.
As I was journeying from that place of sleep to awakeness this morning, I was reminded of this photo. I thought about that moth and was reminded yet again of how my body fails me. I will never grace the pages of Vogue, Ladies Home Journal, Redbook, Vanity Fair…I do not have that “perfect” skin or figure or anything else…I am a flawed person in so many ways. But more important than my graying hair, my crow’s feet, or any other external features I may possess or lack, is the condition of my inner being. Who is taking care of that? I started thinking about so many choices that have been made through the years, and how many choices still remain about how I am going to care for that inner part of me that only God can see.
That inner being is the real me. Not what people look at or touch. It is that part of me that makes me who I am today and who I will ultimately become. The way I take care of that part of me will make a huge impact on what kind of old woman I will become. I have the choice to age with grace or age as a grouch; to be characterized as a woman with inner beauty or be nearsightedly focused on the irrelevant (and given how poor my vision is, that isn’t a good idea); to allow that sweetness that comes with the acceptance of mellowing and tempering to pierce through what would otherwise be my terribly tough skin.
I want to be just like that moth–free to be what God intended, with the fruit of His Spirit flowing out of me. When people look at me, I want them to see His beauty. I want to be that woman that always smiles and doesn’t fear the future because she can trust God utterly, no matter what. After so many years of being molded like a piece of clay, I hope I am becoming more easily molded into something of worth. My prayer is that my Potter is finding me more responsive to His touch. May I truly represent HIM to the world around me in a way that draws in and doesn’t push away.