So there I was trying to settle into a serious spiritual
conversation with God as we prepared for communion this morning. Moments of
contemplation between the sermon and the sacraments.
I was asking God to help me clean up my act, and to show me
specifics of what was on his mind about the state of my life this morning. For
no apparent reason I started thinking about putting nail polish on my toe
nails. This is something I do a couple of times a year, if I’m travelling
somewhere warm. Then I leave it on until it’s chipped and scraped and my feet
are always in wool socks anyway.
I thought about how the bright colours can cover over the
imperfections – perhaps a purple/black splodge where I banged my toe on a door,
or a white spot which may or may not be a bit of some weird kind of fungus.
Once the colour’s on, imperfections are gone and the game is on. I can pretend
that I am – or at least my toenails are –perfect. I can deny that I am hiding
anything from God or the world. Red toenails signal that I am good with things,
that things are good with me.
When of course I’m not. When of course there are always
hurts and fears and sins which, if covered over and not healed from within,
will fester and spread into other areas of my life. Message received, Lord,
even if a little weird in the metaphor.
So here I am; my toenails currently being unadorned, I’m
open for that healing touch, Lord, when you’re ready.
(And then how about a little sunshine and another round of
polish?)
