Once, as a pair of friends were paging through our wedding album, I overheard one of them to the other: “Doesn’t she look beautiful?” I had to see the picture, and it was breathtaking. It was one of the rare candids, where I was looking at someone off-camera, my smile full and my face aglow.
I don’t think of myself as beautiful, but I know that there must be moments like that. Moments where God’s light shines through, moments where I’m not burdened by my stress or guilt or sin. But I don’t see them. What I see, usually, is my humanness. My imperfections. The “truth” as translated through my eyes. I’m apt to deem myself heavier, shorter, flabbier, or dowdier than I really am. I find myself wishing I could see myself through other eyes, to see the reality I’m sure must be there. To see fully.
Only then I thought: perhaps that’s the point, that we can never truly see ourselves. Maybe there’s a purpose to that. After all, God could have made mirrors a whole lot more accurate.
Instead, we have this promise: “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). This frustration with seeing fully is meant to direct me to God, to remind me that I don’t know everything in this world, nor will I ever. Not with a thousand mirrors. Not with a thousand “other” eyes. Seeing everything isn’t my job, now when there is One who knows fully, One who is asking me to stop looking for the way myself, when it’s so very hard to see clearly, and look for Him. He made me beautiful, flaws and all. It’s something I might just have to believe to see.