What He Sees

When I was 18 my dad wrote me a letter.

He said he loved me.

I’m “blossoming as a rose”.

He thinks I’m talented? 

He said I had a lovely voice. 

That one’s funny. 

I’m not perfect, but I’m so much closer to it from his view.

Just once, I wish I could see what he sees.

When I was 21 Cory told me he loved me.

He didn’t know it, but we were about to break up.

There was a song with a line that said, “She don’t know she’s beautiful.”

He would sing this extra loud in my general direction.

“Though time and time I told her so.”

He took me back after the breakup.

He knows I’m not perfect, but he treats me as if I were.

I have highs.  I have lows.

I have more lows.

I blame him for stuff he doesn’t do.

He smiles and hugs me.

How does he stand it?

“Because you’re awesome,” he says.

What?

Just once, I wish I could see what he sees.

A couple of months ago God told me he loved me.

Like, really, really loved me.

Why am I surprised?

It’s God, after all.

I just don’t see it.

I’ve done some stuff for that guy. 

Crazy stuff.

Hard stuff.

Funny stuff.

Faith-challenging stuff.

Faith-promoting stuff.

But what HE has done for ME?

Me.

The crazy chick in the cul-de-sac who drinks too much Dr. Pepper and thinks too many critical thoughts and doesn’t know how to do anything the world values as relevant and can’t do a cartwheel and spends too much at Target and has never had a career and once followed Pierce Brosnan down the street and wore overalls in a TV commercial and set off a secret mall alarm and lied to my parents about not playing with a Ouija board and had a childhood friend who went by the nickname “The Golden Unicorn” and kissed Mark Marean behind our garage in the second grade.

He thinks I’m amazing.

What?

I don’t get it.

I’m glad he told me.  That was something. 

But I wish I could see it.

Just once, I’d love to see what he sees.