Let me tell you about my Mr. Wonderful: incredible, intelligent, indwelled, and interested in me! His ministry as a Christian counselor honed his feminine understanding skills so much that I envied him myself. And it didn’t hurt that he flashed a big, Pepperdent-white grin and raced around in a red sports car.
Mutual friends introduced us after he saw my picture at their house and asked about me. We got acquainted by phone five months before he drove from the Southeast to the Midwest to join me for a weekend singles’ retreat.
Mr. Wonderful and I hit it off at the retreat, and soon afterwards, a plane ticket arrived in the mail, along with an invite to spend Thanksgiving with MW and his family. I packed twelve outfits for four days and got my hair freeze-curled so tightly that my Sharpie got stuck in it when I tapped the side of my head. I had to sleep upside down with my head hanging off the bed to keep my coif from losing its “natural” symmetry—the perfect formula for optimal cuteness.
MW’s family, the southern Huxtables, were a dream, but something happened during Thanksgiving dinner. While I rejoiced that no one plopped a chitlin’ on my plate, MW became increasingly quiet and withdrawn. Each time I asked what was wrong he interrupted with, “Uh, well, um…guess I’ll explain later.”
The strange behavior continued through the weekend until my Sunday afternoon flight. We agreed to go two weeks without contacting each other so MW could grow enough courage to speak his mind.
The two weeks ended on my birthday and MW called. Thirty seconds into the “Um, well. . .” routine he confessed, “I really like you, but I’ve always seen myself going out with someone . . . pretty.”
I sat there, a live volcano ready to spew out its lava. I rumbled and shook before a single word came forth. Then I erupted and burned MW with molten words so fiery no amount of water would ever quench them.
I hung up.
And when I looked in the mirror, I saw ugly. When I looked past the glare in a store window, I saw ugly. Why? Because MW had declared me to be so.
I took all the mirrors out of my apartment, removed all the bright lights, and lived in darkness for three whole years.
Then the real Mr. Wonderful went to battle for my heart—not the MW who shattered me, but the One who pursued me, piece by piece, to make me whole again. Since I refused to look in the mirror, He caused me to see my true reflection in His word.
Psalm 139:14,“…I am fearfully and wonderfully made…” was on the radio whenever I listened. It was preached from the pulpit on more Sundays than seemed reasonable, and it was part of virtually every testimony I heard at that time.
Little by little, the lights came on again. I replaced the mirrors and scotch-taped that verse to every one of them. I did the same for the walls, the doors, the dashboard of my car, and my desk at work. …I am fearfully and wonderfully made…I am fearfully and wonderfully made…I am fearfully and wonderfully made!
Even on days I had no desire to do so, I forced myself to look in the mirror and recite that verse over and over again, until the Lord eventually renewed my soul with it, just like silver polish dissolves tarnish and a little scrubbing wipes it away.
I was beautiful because the real Mr. Wonderful, who had eyes to see what no man could see, had declared me to be so.
(Ocean photo courtesy of ChristianPhotos.net)
Bio: Sherry Boykin is a Christian women’s conference speaker and writer who lives in Northeast Pennsylvania with her husband and six-year-old daughter. She enjoys a good movie, a good book, a good laugh, and the dimple on her little girl’s right cheek. Follow her at www.sherryboykin.com.