There is an ugly side to me… two really. One brought about through sin; one brought about through cancer. One remains more veiled—my heart. One exposed for the entire world to see—my flesh. And tonight I hold a candle to them both, and I don’t like what I see.
The ugly me.
Tonight I see anger, frustration, and confusion building up inside my mind, layer upon layer—an indistinguishable conglomeration of yuck not easily identified. I cannot connect the dots to all that I am feeling. There’s an unveiling of a something, and it’s not pretty. It’s hostile and visceral, filled with enough tension to keep everyone around me on edge.
In regards to the other ugly—my flesh—I see a misshapen form of what I used to be. A large scar runs across my chest wall, still inflamed with red and reminders of what was once there only five months ago. I’m bald and I’m fat… thirty pounds heavier from my five months ago. My nails are brittle and yellowed, ready to make their departure at any moment, and my clothes? Well, they’ve gone into hibernation; sweats, t-shirts and duster robes are common fare.
And I’m tired of it all; tired from the inside-out, and wondering if such honest confession of the soul is allowed in this public place. If I can be so real as to tell you that cancer has an ugly side to it. For all the ways it has given back to me, there are a few ways it has exacted its toll on me. And while I wouldn’t turn back the clock and have things live differently, tonight I simply wish it was over. That the ugly parts of me, both inside and out, were no longer, and that I could once again be the woman that I was… five months ago.
I know this won’t last… all my “thats”. In time, I’ll get a handle on my concerns. God will replace my frustrations with his peace, his truth, and his hope for my future. He can’t help himself. His character precludes his absence from my pain. He appropriately interrupts my issues with the beauty of his witness, reminding me that for all of the ugly I currently see, a cross was given as the remedy. That what is seen is not always what is true. That sometimes life’s accumulated layers need the benefit an amazing grace that not only salves a wounded heart but that correctly frames the broken fragments together to make a portrait worthy of the throne room of heaven.
Every now and again, I glimpse that beauty, and I am grateful for the reminder. But tonight, what I see in the mirror isn’t easily salved by a few words of well-spoken faith… my faith. Tonight requires something far greater—a faith that holds despite the human condition. The “sure and certain” of those mentioned in Hebrews 11. A settled confidence in the King and his promises.
Friends, faith is where I want to live… all the time. But faith, unchallenged by unsettling times, never anchors at its deepest level. Faith uncontested by adversity simply resides at the surface of the human heart. Mind you, it is enough to carry you home to Jesus; not all of us require a rigorous workout along these lines. And I suppose, on nights like tonight, I’d enjoy a float on the surface of my faith. But that’s not what I’ve been allowed.
Instead, I’ve been allowed a deeper dig into the coffers of what I profess to believe. I get the Refiner’s fire, and I don’t mind telling you it hurts; it burns. It purges and it cleanses. And all I can do is surrender to the heat, hoping that the ugly in me gets gone and that God’s beauty in me returns, from the inside-out.
Oh to be entrusted with the process. To live in the flesh, all the while being transformed by faith. It is a weighty condition, perhaps the reason so many forego the invitation to salvation. Living with ugly is sometimes an easier load to carry than lighting a match to one’s heart. But without the flames of Calvary’s love, we are left as we are… unfinished.
I don’t want to get home to Jesus unfinished. I want to get there complete. Accordingly, I look into the mirror this night. I shed some tears for the undoing of my heart and my flesh, and I confess to my Father (and to you), the ugly side of me. And I pray for healing, for understanding, and for faith enough that will carry me through to the other side.
Cancer is ugly, friends. In its wake, it can leave a soul ugly. But God, in his wake, can take the ugly and transform it into holy understanding, which breathes a beauty all its own. A beauty that moves a soul from despair to celebration. From unbelief to strong conviction. From being tired of it all to being transformed because of it all. And that is what I’m praying for tonight… my ugly made into God’s beauty.
Even so, come Lord Jesus, and interrupt my ugly with the witness and truth of your beloved cross. I long to move past the seen and visible in order to embrace the unseen depths of a living, anchored, and vital faith. You, alone, are the restorer of my flesh and heart. Come and liberally apply your grace to every fragmented layer of my life, and give me the settled confidence regarding who you ARE and in your love for me. Amen.
