On the 17th day of Christmas my true love gave to me a face to change my reality (Isaiah 52:14).

Sometimes Sundays make me sad. When I should be continually rejoicing because I get to go to church, worship with the saints and potentially hear a great word (depending on how my 1 year old is acting) I get sad and sometimes feel I just want to stay home. I don’t want to get washed and dressed, get three children washed and dressed, prepare food and feed us, pack diaper bags with diapers, wipes, drinks and snacks, get bibles, coats, gloves and hats, drive to church, unpack the children, take off our coats, take the oldest two to their classes and wait with bated breath until I have to go to the Cry Room to listen to a word from the babies. And all of this, most times, without a made-up face. That’s right, no makeup to cover up eyes that earlier cut across rooms to remind the boys to hurry up and a mouth mentioning that we will be late. I think I would just be better, feel better, if I had a made-up face, but I go plain, often, because taking care of my boys doesn’t allow time for a made-up face.

Just as there were many who were appalled at him—his appearance was so disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness—(Isaiah 52:14).

Then this comes to mind, a description of what the greatest parent ever, Jesus Christ, would endure: heavy hands from hollowed hearts, cruelty unimaginable that made Him unimaginable (Philippians 2:7-11). Jesus willingly received a face He didn’t want or choose but accepted so we could have a chance at life, a beauty beyond makeup basics with everlasting implications. His face was made up in a different way, beaten and bruised beyond recognition, suffering cruelty and being ugly for you and for me.

For now on Sundays may make me sad but I hope more with the sullen reality of my selfish desire for a face that will never be life-changing.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith