It's like we're celebrities.
An array of saris in every imaginable color scheme is strewn across the counter. Five different salespeople stand at our beck and call. They pull outfits off of the shelf, lay them out for inspection, put them back when we shake our heads. We're kids in a candy shop, with willing enablers on the other side of the counter.
As my teammates point at different outfits, I stand awkwardly off to the side. One of our contacts approaches me.
“do you want one?”
hesitant, I nod. “do they have any in a larger size?”
the saleswoman reaches down and pulls what seems to be the only plus size outfit available off of the shelf. I become painfully aware of the fact that whatever weight I've lost over the past five months has not been enough to make me normal-sized.
“it's really…pretty.” I manage. “how much?”
the price tag grabs me by my jaw and attempts to pull it to the floor.
“that's…a little bit more than I have. I'll come back in a week or so…” maybe, I think.
suddenly feeling totally insecure, I look for a place to stand. Two of the pastor's nieces(who happen to look like little Indian angels) grab my hands and lead me to the scarves. They are absolutely precious, and I am thankful for the diversion. We walk around for a bit before our contact meets me back at the counter.
“you can get the fabric for a sari, and they will stretch it for you.”
stretch? Sounds good to me. I nod.
The saleswoman asks, “What color?”
I look down the counter at all of the outfits that are already heaped on top of it.
“uhm…purple?”
immediately, she pulls three different dresses off of the shelf. Three different shades of purple. None of them appealing to me.
I look at the pricetag on one and shake my head. “I can't. I'm sorry.”
my contact looks confused. “it is good price…”
mortified, I grimace. “no, no, I'm sure they are perfectly reasonable prices. It's just…I only have this much.”
I tell him the amount, and the woman behind the counter promptly reaches for a gray-purple/olive green three piece-outfit. This time, the price tag reads about a third of what the rest of them have been. Thank you, Jesus. “I'll take it.”
I walk over to the other side of the store where my teammates are looking through more saris, even more colorful and ornate than the others. My heart aches with envy. While they compare – “what do you guys think? I really like the design on this one, but I LOVE this color!” – I sit in the chair with my bag, ready to go.
About half an hour later, we leave the store. Everyone has picked out saris to their liking, and one of the girls even got jewelry to match. We get on the bus and head back to our contact's house. I sit in the back, contemplating how to ask people back home for money to buy a decent sari, one in a bright color that sparkles the way the others do. One of the girls giggles. “I feel like a princess!” another responds, “we have to do a team photo shoot with our new saris!” I look out the window.
What I see derails my train of thought immediately, sending it careening off the side of a cliff.
I see a little boy with no pants and a raggedy shirt. I see his mother in a flannel sweater and shorts, picking him up and kissing him. I see people sleeping on the concrete with only a thin blanket covering them. I see squalor just down the street from where we live. And I am ashamed.
God, forgive me. Forgive me for believing the lie that the plenty you have given me is somehow less than enough. Forgive me for feeling like I deserve any of it and getting angry when I don't get it. Forgive me for forgetting so easily what I promised you last month. Help me to be content. You are a generous, abundant Father, and all of your gifts are good. Forgive me for doubting you.
How many times have I had to repent for this wayward heart? She reaches out for the sparkly trinkets of the world, the colorful and shiny things that promise happiness, when God Himself offers me His heart on a silver platter and wooden cross. He offers Himself to me, knowing that the trinkets will lose their sparkle and the colors will fade and the shine will rust away, and that what He gives freely in an ugly wooden cross is more precious than all the world could ever try to sell me.
God, help me to choose You.
“The cross before me, the world behind me…no turning back, no turning back.”
