take off the wig.

I watch her shake her long brown wig from side to side as she approaches the table. She is Belle today. She had just opened her new princess outfit from grammy and, despite the fact that we were going to a crowded restaurant, had insisted upon changing quickly and attending the dinner in plastic heels and a tiara. She skips back to the table after the bathroom run, and her wig has shifted and is looking slightly crazytown.  So I motion her over and help her straighten it out.

"Alyssa, are you SURE all my blonde hair is hiding?!"

I nod yes.

"And it doesn't look all funny?"

I nod no.

I smile real big because of the way her words sound with two front teeth missing. I love watching her little tongue trying to find it's place because it isn't used to the big old space being there. It's the best.

"Then I'm going to dance." We were tucked back in the corner with plenty of room to spare, so she did her little jig without hesitation. I watch her eyes catch a glimpse of a table of boys, probably around ten. For the next two minutes, her eyes are on them the.whole.time. Six years old, and already trying to impress the boys :)

I nudge her to come back and sit next to me. I start the usual rant. The "it-isn't-important-to-impress-boys-right-now" talk... and encourage her to enjoy talking with the family and keep eating.

"But, Alyssa, I look so different. I just want them to see."

I make a small humming noise, my waiting noise. My thoughts went something like "God, please drop some perfect wisdom into my mouth before I go and scar her life forever." I finish chewing and swallowing, feeling unequipped.

"Yes, love. You do look different. You look like Belle! But you're YOU. and I think you is even more beautiful."

She isn't listening. She's trying to slurp the spaghetti without getting it on her new dress. It's moderately successful until the meatball falls, which leads to a ten minute conversation about how I advised her not to put on the dress in the first place because there was the possibility of it getting dirty.

ahem.

I mean, seriously. We know what's going to happen here. The wig will get tangled, the dress will be stained, and then there's the attempt to impress middle school boys who don't even know she exists.

How ridiculous.

I mean, I would never do that.

Of course not.

"I really just want to dance a little farther away, Jesus."

Then you may, my Daughter. But my desire is for you to stay near me.

"But I look more beautiful this way, Father."

Oh, I disagree. I love you just the way I created you. It's exquisite to me. Every bit of it. 

I see what the world wants, and I move toward it. I disguise my hair. I disguise my heart, my intention, my desire... and anything that reveals truth or vulnerability.

How many years did I hide in my bedroom, or under the table, trying to morph myself into beauty. Trying to sneak away into the place where I felt worthy. felt like I mattered somehow. Only to find myself with a broken heart and a stained dress.

Daughter, you put that on yourself. Those things are not of me. 

I chose you. Before the beginning of time.

I see the pieces you have so carefully hidden.

She hops in my lap and asks me to help her take off her wig, so she can shake out "the tickles" it's giving her.

I chuckle. Because I know and understand exactly what she's feeling.

I know what it's like to feel bound by something I've created. that's not really me. that's not really God.

But I also know what it's like to be unbound. Free. Walking in who God is calling me to be.

And my prayer tonight is that she will come to know the difference.

That you will come to know the difference.

The wig comes off. She smiles that crooked little smile. No teeth. Just her.

Beautiful.

Just the way she was made to be.

Love,

Lyss