Seeming Imperfections

I've got to give credit to the guy driving the Ford Aerostar van next to me on my way to work, this morning. He probably thought I was fixated with his disheveled mop of pitch black hair that nearly covered his entire face, but really I couldn't take my eyes of his car. I have never been particularly fond of Aerostar vans, but this one had character. Like the kind you want to sit down and have a chat with over coffee.

The front and rear bumpers were completely mangled, but only on the driver's side. My imagination went into overdrive as I considered the possible wreck, or multiple wrecks that could swipe off metal like a dead layer of skin, revealing wires, ancient rust, and an upside down taillight. Was it a three car pile up? A rear-collision with a front collision into a barrier or a tree? Was it a tailspin into some other unknown object on a dark icy night? I was fixated, mostly because it was like looking into a mirror and into a mystery all at once.

I'm looking at this van thinking it's probably been cruising the highways of America since about the time I was born. And here it is, with these proud as a peacock damages that the owner was either too lazy or too cheap to fix. Isn't it funny that my first assumption is that something was wrong with him, the driver. I mean, why else would someone drive around a damaged Aerostar, of all vehicles?

Strangely though, I couldn't help but wish that we were all like that Ford van; mangled and broken and yet apparently whole enough to continue moving and brave enough to bare it all to the world.

Imperfections are always hidden at a cost that leaves us struggling to find value in anything. We place worth on the evidence of perfection, instead, and we so often go to unimaginable lengths to cover-up the damage that life plays on one's body, one's soul, or one's mind. And yet, in broad daylight, there are brave, unassuming hearts that lay bare the physical and emotional battle scars of life. Some we're born with, some that are passed down, and some that happen to us along the way.

Our seeming imperfections are actually stories - stories about who we are, where we are from, and where we have been. They add character to what could be an otherwise "perfect" life. Whether you have a crooked nose, big hips, or a scar from that twig that stuck out of your leg after a fight in fourth grade. Whether you are having a bad day, a bad week, or just a plain bad year after losing a child. Whether life has been unkind and you have lost pieces of your self along the way, all that's left to bare is what is left, and maybe it doesn't feel like enough when everyone else seems to have so much to offer. All of that makes you, you.

Why do we hide? Why do we cover-up? Why do we alter the very things that make us our own unique beings with stories to tell that the world is dying to hear? It's because of a misperception of value, one not easily thrown away but certainly worth reevaluating.

In a world full of shiny black BMWs, I can't imagine seeing too many more Ford Aerostar vans around, at least like the one I drove by this morning. A revolution of cultural values would need to take place. But maybe, I can remember that what I may believe are imperfections are actually pieces of my life that add character to what sometimes feels like a meaningless presence in the world. And I believe that's because Jesus said, in 2 Corinthians 2:19, that His grace is sufficient for us and that His power is perfected in weakness.

My hope then, in living this way, is that someone would notice my scars that give life to stories within which we all find meaning, belonging, and hope. We are mysteries, but without clues or evidence of what lies beneath, no one is likely to uncover the mirror that our lives can be for each other. We're trying so blatantly hard to be perfect that we're missing out on the opportunity to actually touch and change lives with our seeming imperfections.

And it's funny, that one of the most valuable and most challenging of all lessons I could learn, I was taught by an old, beat up Ford Aerostar van. Thank you, Lord.