I am about to confess something that may astound the average reader. Gentlemen, hang on to your hats. Cover the ears of small children, and watch for women to faint. Here it comes, and it ain't pretty.
I am not cool.
Not only am I not cool, but I am not with it, hip, hep, stylin', fashionable or anything else vaguely resembling any of the above. I am woefully inadequate when it comes to moving in the correct circles of vogue. I live by the phrase "been there, done that" when it comes to low-cut jeans and bare midriffs. Trust me, that's a sight best left unseen these days anyway. My feet will no longer tolerate the spikey heels I wore in days of yore, and it's no wonder I still can't get over the thought of women wearing underwear on their feet....because after all, that's where thongs belong.
Having said all that, I must tell you about a recent foray I made into the world of fashion. Now bear in mind I have become one of those staid and true individuals I used to hate. One of those people who never want to try anything new. One who would be perfectly happy with seven sets of the same outfit in different colors so I could mix and match at will, never having to actually make a decision or choice on anything that might be wrong in any way. Kind of like having the old Garanimals wardrobe that little kids used to have. Just so long as you pick all tigers, you can be sure everything will match. But hey, you mix your tiger with your llama, and whoa! Fashion police come out of the woodwork!
But I digress...
Last week I made the trip to the jungle of the local mall to purchase new glasses. I'd been putting this trip off since last February when I had my eyes examined. Now, knowing I couldn't see the ink on the page unless one of the kids was standing across the room holding it for me was bad enough, but knowing I'd actually have to make a decision on a new pair of frames was worse.
So I waited for five months hoping against hope my eyes would improve.
In my book this was no worse than holding on to the size 6 jeans I bought at a garage sale in hopes that I would some day be able to fit into them. You know, the ones I bought when I went on that diet. The one in grade school. I finally got rid of those jeans. It took me until I reached the ripe old age of....well, I continue to digress.
Back to the mall. I knew I had to do something to break out of the rut I was in. I had to be adventurous. I had to step out of the box. I had to buy FASHIONABLE frames. Not just the regular old ovalish plain jane variety I'd had for years, but something my kids would be proud to see me wear. Something new, different, exciting.
Something that wasn't me.
And so, around an hour later, I walked out of the mall. I had enlisted the help of no less than five consultants, all but one of whom had given up on me. However, I had at last chosen the new frames. The hip, with it, stylin', fashionable frames that my kids could be proud of and that I could possibly despise for the next few years. The Jane Jetson frames.
During the last few days I've been wavering back and forth between love and hate with this latest change in my life. I have no doubt this is just another of the many adjustments yet to come in the ever-altering landscape of my days. Of course, I don't have to necessarily LIKE every change that comes about, but I realize they are a necessary part of life.
As a parallel, learning and growing to be more Christ-like demands commitment to change. I guess the question is, how committed am I? Do I change to please Him, or do I stay the same to please me? Do I take a chance and really pursue growth, or am I content to simply sit back in the LazyBoy of life and watch religious programming on television? Am I committed enough to let God mold me into the person He wants me to be, regardless of how much I have to change, or do I fall back into the same shape I was in before the touch of His hand? Do I say yes to forever being bent to His will, or only yes for now?
Yes, Lord. Forever. For now and forever.
Just call me Jane Jetson.
And yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand. (NLT)