Shiny People Affect My Thoughts

Sitting in the overstuffed chair at Barnes and Nobel I feel undersized. My feet don’t quite touch the floor with my back against the cushion. So I pull my legs up and fold them beneath me, making a bird’s nest of my lap. I pour my attention onto the pages of my selected book. People walk past me – surely, it’s a busy Sunday afternoon – but I don’t notice. I’m enamored with the words before me. I’m following in the footsteps of the author, from my perch in the enormous chair.

Twenty some minutes go by before I look up and stretch. The bookstore café sits in my sight line, just two dozen feet before me. People are milling about. None of them in particular stand out. Until I spot the woman, coiffed like a porcelain doll. Ready to be someone’s bright-eyed treasure. She’s attractive, put together, and carries herself with that certain air long time southern residents with a good bit of money seem to possess.

I stop scanning the café and watch only her. That is until a dark-haired man in a suit enters a few minutes later and heads to the tail of the coffee line. His suit is out of place for this time and space. But I suspect he could still stand out in a pair of kaki Dockers.

I watch him awhile, inching his way towards the counter, waiting his turn to order an espresso. Then I return my gaze to the woman, now seated at her table with her trendy bag, cell phone, coffee cup and papers, likely doing something important. Or at least doing something well. I notice my pulse has slightly increased. And when I inventory my thoughts, I find them discussing how to be as attractive and commanding as these two.

That's ironic, given that a few paragraphs back in the book, I’d paused at the author’s line, “When did looking good become your god?”

The question in the middle of the paragraph had begged me to pull the journal from my purse and write it down for future consideration. After dragging my attention away from the shiny café people, I decide now should be that future time. Placing my pen to the journal page, the ink forms this note to God and self:

“When I see someone, male or female, who looks good in my opinion – or in the world’s opinion, as the two are entirely too synonymous at times—my attention fixates. I find my pulse even quickens. This happens whenever I like what I see - be it a person, a painting, or a ripe plum. I admire and desire it. And, honestly, I find myself longing today to elicit that kind of response in others. Why??

Probably because it seems powerful. Probably because a mind that is not set on Christ derives too much pleasure from being admired. But here I sit today, a bit disheveled, in need of a haircut, with my feet in my lap like a child. And what’s equally honest is I want to enjoy sitting here like this without regret. Without worry that I’m not a shiny, suit person right now. I wish I looked my best at all times, and at the same time, I don’t want to be driven by that wish. I see that for what it would truly be: an obession with self and slavery to image. I want to look nice when it’s fun for me to, or necessary for me to look professional. But I don’t want looking good to become my god. Thank you Lord, that You look at my heart and not my appearance.”

And with that, having taken my thoughts captive, I return to my chosen book. Contented. With my feet in my lap like a child.

Thankful for the wisdom of God's priorities.