Come As You Are
My husband brought me coffee in bed as I leisurely contemplated my day. (Yes, he’s the best!)
After my last sip of coffee, I vowed to be productive. I picked a fierce yoga class from my online subscription program to start my day. It was invigorating (I have a girl crush on that instructor).
Afterwards, I flowed right into a grocery shopping date with my husband.
The shopping date took longer than expected because we had not been shopping in three weeks and were running out of staples. The cart was full and our wallets were emptied.
We rolled up our driveway in time for me to drop off the groceries before heading out again. I had plans to meet up with a friend. I also had plans to put on real pants and apply some make-up, but the extended shopping excursion left no time.
I met up with my new friend still in yoga pants, hair swept up (not in a sexy way) and no make-up. It was awkward because I didn’t know her well. It was more like a first date and I was five minutes late and had not put my best face forward. She, in contrast, had put on adult pants and looked radiant. I apologized for looking sketchy and we went on to converse for hours.
As you might expect, our appearances were ultimately inconsequential.
When we finally broke up the two-woman party, I arrived home in time to herd my family to church. Still sporting my lax Saturday attire, I embraced the reality of my appearance. I didn’t have time to change or make much more of an effort. I silently apologized to God and convinced myself that despite my best intentions this was what I had to offer this day.
I still felt lame.
I’m the girl who knows the value of putting an effort into appearances if only because it’s socially appropriate and it gives the old ego a boost.
Settling into a pew near the middle of the church, an usher approached us and asked if we would bring up the gifts. That requires being in front of the congregation. My son was in a tee shirt and shorts (it was snowing) and I was in my Saturday worst. Luckily, my husband
looked presentable and happily agreed to participate.
I confronted my feelings silently. I was embarrassed. People knew me. Many had put on real pants. Several of the women dress for mass every week and do not choose to schlep into worship as an afterthought.
I couldn’t help but think back to my morning. For reasons unknown, I felt like the choice I was making about my appearance would be significant. Not because I was making a point, but because this was a choice I would have to live with all day.
I did have to live with it all day, despite my continued intentions to improve.
My choice seemed very relevant in that sacred moment.
That woman in the relaxed ensemble was me. Nothing about me was offensive, just a little plain for my taste. It was me without the distraction of dressed up clothes or make-up. I was the poster child for my natural self.
People may have judged me.
People may have appreciated my natural qualities.
Others may not have given my appearance a thought.
In the pew awaiting mass to begin, I uncomfortably anticipated standing up in front of the congregation as I sang along with the opening hymn.
Come, now is the time to worship.
Come, now is the time to give your heart.
Come, just as you are, to worship.
Come, just as you are, before your God.
Peace & Light,
The Busy Buddha
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We all judge on appearance. Where to you draw the line?