BitterSweetLife

The other day, as I distrustfully eyed myself in the mirror, I thought about the sizeable investments of time we make each day, fixing ourselves up to be presentable for everybody else.

Some people spend considerably more time on the task than is really necessary; others don’t invest half as much as they should. But whether the final outcome is glowing or disheveled, we all do it. As we should—the world deserves at least that much. My next thought, however, was slightly disconcerting.

What about time spent daily cleaning myself up to encounter God?

But God loves me just the way I am, says the spiritual slob—uh, I mean—sage. God is so merciful and accepting that I can just slouch—uh, that is—stroll into his presence anytime. He’s always ready to grant me apath—I mean—sympathy. Really. No need to dress up or ‘fess up for God. Just be real.

Problem is, “reality” slips so readily into shoddiness. It’s sad and disgusting, but apparently it’s part of human nature. My best work generally gets done when I have to do it, or when I desperately force myself to. My less scruffy side incarnates itself when I know I’ll be out on the town, not lying around at home. My most admirable efforts often materialize when other people are watching. If only my “authenticity” was more consistent—that is, if only my lackadaisical authenticity corresponded to the more attractive version I can summon up when I grit my teeth. But does an expenditure of energy preclude reality? Clearly not.

The fact that effort was expended, in other words, does not necessarily make the outcome any less legitimate. Is the Brooklyn Bridge less “real” than the piles of unmixed concrete and rubble that decorated the banks before its creation? Is lemonade more artificial than unsqueezed lemons? Are women wearing makeup less factual than women without? (Don’t answer that last question.) Hopefully my point is making itself despite my best efforts.

I’m not sure that I spend adequate time making my soul presentable. And to make things worse, I can’t evade the issue by making a perplexed face. I know what it’s like to wake up and turn to God. I know what it feels like to begin the day prayerfully, spiritually self-conscious of my child status. I know what it’s like to confess my dark tendencies and plead for help. I know what it’s like to ask God for help in beating down my pride. I know what it’s like to humbly open the Bible with the understanding that I might learn something life-changing.

I know all these things. And while the degree of my knowledge may be infantile, it is enough to act on. Pretending that it isn’t so is disingenuous. Prep time in the morning needs a more essential focus.

Gentlemen, put away the hair-glue. Ladies, shelve the curlers. If you’re like me, you need to spend more time getting your heart in shape for God.

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