The Oblong Bracelet

Philippians 1:6 - "For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus."

I love the smell of bookstores.  It's the smell of a million different worlds, each waiting eagerly for the next lucky traveler to journey into its story.  The pages call to me like old friends.  Come on over.  We're just getting to the good part!

It was my first time in a Christian bookstore, and I admit, I felt awkward.  Several of my most important relationships were falling apart, and it was like I was walking around with the word "Sinner" stamped on my forehead.  The Faithful Christian always scoffed at the religion section in Barnes & Noble,
(that's Bible-beater territory, can I get an amen?)
but here she was, stepping right into the lion's den.  I don't know exactly what I was afraid of.  I certainly wasn't going to meet Jesus Christ in the Life and Faith aisle.  Or was I?  I decided it wasn't worth the risk and made a beeline for the counter where the knick-knacks and trinkets were on display. 

It didn't take long to find what I was looking for.  The bracelet was made of black rubber and had a bunch of colored symbols on it.  I barely looked at it.  I just shoved my money at the cashier, refused a bag, and escaped his pious frown.  (He must've seen my forehead.)

I sat in my car for a moment staring at the small package.  This was BIG.  I was going to wear something on a daily basis that proclaimed my faith in Jesus Christ.  What if someone asked me about it?  What should I say?  What if I said the wrong thing?  Would people think I belonged on some compound in a Little House on the Prairie dress?  While the Faithful Christian never denied her Savior, public displays of faith belonged in the church, thank you very much.  And can I get an amen to that?

I took a deep breath and ripped open the cellophane.  The bracelet was wrapped around a folded piece of rectangular cardstock.  I put the bracelet on and opened the card to read about the symbols.  It didn't take long before I noticed that something was wrong.

The bracelet didn't sit on my wrist properly.  It looked awkward, like a shirt that's been buttoned incorrectly or a pair of crooked glasses.  I took it off and looked at it.  It wasn't round.  It had been wrapped around the rectangular card for so long that it was oblong. 

What to do?  I really liked it and I was sure that once I got around to reading that darn rectangular card, the symbols would be very meaningful.  It was just what I was looking for...if I were flat.  Should I exchange it for another?  I remembered the cashier's frown.  Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly pious; maybe he just thought I was acting a bit odd.  If not, returning a rubber bracelet because it wasn't round would probably do the trick.

I decided to keep it.  Surely, with time and a little effort, I could work out the kinks and make the oblong bracelet round like it was supposed to be.

For five days, I pushed and pressed and pulled and stretched the oblong bracelet.  And every time, it went right back to being oblong.  Clearly, I was going to have to be a little more creative with my stubborn little friend.  On the sixth night, I was reading my Bible, and noticed its weight in my hands.  Problem solved.  The Word of God vs. a stupid, wimpy little bracelet.  By morning, I'd surely have a perfectly round bracelet.  I pressed the oblong ends of the bracelet flat and laid my Bible on top of it. 

The next morning, I looked at my Bible and smiled.  "Thank you, God," I whispered, and reached for it.  The bracelet popped up from underneath it and landed in my lap. 

Yep, you guessed it.  Still oblong.

Well, well, well, my crafty friend.  You have proven to be a formidable foe.  Let's see how you handle Plan B.  

(Picture Plan B in slow motion with a cool victory soundtrack playing in the background.  I'm thinking Rocky.)

I walk to my laundry room, look at the iron, and smirk.  I pull it down off the shelf and plug it in.  I grab a towel and snap it open.  I set up the ironing board, laying the oblong bracelet on it with the bent edges pushed flat.  The towel goes over the bracelet, and then, slowly, I lower the blazing iron.  I wait.  And wait.  And wait. 

Shouldn't have been so naughty, silly bracelet. 

Cut soundtrack. 

And cut to me, sitting in my recliner, staring at my hot, somewhat melted, oblong bracelet. 

Then it hit me.
 
I do this with people!  I push and press and pull and stretch them, trying to make them into who I think they should be.  I pile expectations on top of them so that they will behave the way I think they should.  I try to iron out all their imperfections so that they will live up to what I believe is their potential. 

Dear God, who am I?  And why do I do this?

Deep down, I know the answer.

Because if I can fix you and you and you and you and you, then my life will be perfect.  Because really, when it comes down to it, it's your faults that make my life imperfect.   Because if I can change you, then I can go right on being me.  Because I don't want to change.  Because I, unlike you, am already perfect. 

Hey there, Big Guy.  I know you're doing the best you can, and many thanks for all your efforts, but you're not exactly cuttin' the mustard.  Move over.  I'll take it from here.

Guess what?  Like the bracelet, all those oblong people never changed.  Turns out, I'm not God!  My efforts to make people round only put a strain on my relationships.  And frankly, they made me a little crazy.  Okay, a LOT crazy.  And really, it was just a bunch of excuses to keep from looking at my own imperfections. 
 
People I love are oblong.  I had to accept that they are going to wear clothes that I don't like and spell words wrong and ride the brake and say hurtful things to me and make choices that I don't agree with.  I had to stop focusing on them, and take a long, difficult look at myself. 

Then, I had to accept that I am oblong.   My hair will never look exactly like I want.  I will get pimples.  I will never run a 7-minute mile. I will say things to my friends, family, children, and coworkers that I will regret.  My prayers will never sound as eloquent as my pastor's.  God booted me off His throne (pretty forcefully, I might add) and put me and my imperfections at foot of the Cross, right next to yours. 

Then He got down on one knee, put His arms around me, and told me to honor my journey.  He said it was stitched in the stars before time began and He designed it based on His infinite, extravagant, and unique love for me.  He told me to stop being so hard on myself and that He didn't send His only Son to die for me so that I could judge myself harsher than He ever could.  He told me to hand over my imperfections and let Him guide me in removing only the defects that draw me away from His loving embrace.  He said that we are all His beloved children, created by Him, and that in itself makes us perfect enough in His eyes.  Oh, and He told me that one day He will call us home and all our imperfections will just fade away.

Until that day, I'm okay with being oblong.