Pearls

I recently had my strand of (fake) pearls break. I can't remember where I got the pearls, or when I began to wear them more often than not, but it seems to me as if I've always had them. The day I went to put them on and the strand simply broke out of its own weakness and age, my heart sank.

I loved those pearls. I wore them a lot. They made my already vintage-esque look complete. Those pearls were a staple of my outward fashion identity and my inward love of all things feminine and beautiful.

My beautiful and lovely friend, Janeann, bought me a tri-strand of pearls from a thrift store. They are beautiful, and rather the statement piece. I love those pearls, but don't wear them as often as my simple strand.

A strand of real, authentic, classic pearls is a bucket list item. I have wanted real pearls for a very long time. I want them more than I want an engagement ring or diamonds. If you want to know the direct way to my heart, it is pearls and some African roses (while you wear a bow tie and a cardigan and ride a motorcycle...but that is neither here nor there...).

I thought my story was like this one:

Daddy asked his daughter: "Do you love me?"

"Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you."

"Then give me your pearls."

"Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. You can have anything else but my pearls. You gave me these pearls and I love them."

"That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.

About a week later, he asked again, "Do you love me?"

"Daddy, you know I love you."

"Then give me your pearls."

"Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my favorite book! I love this book, and you can have it. But not my pearls. I love these pearls." 

"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

A few nights later, she sat on the floor of her bedroom, with a tear down her cheek. Her daddy came in to say goodnight and asked her what was wrong. She didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver,she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."

With tears gathering in his own eyes, her kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to his daughter.

Our heavenly daddy wants us to want him more than we want the precious things He can give to us. That is so hard for me to grasp sometimes, because those desires are things He has placed inside of our hearts. I have hard pressed desires that are Holy that are only there because He healed places in my soul that I thought were permanently damaged. So of course, I want those things and I expect those things and I cling to those things. And they are even things like "loving others and a successful ministry". For Him to ask me to give them back seems downright mean and nearly impossible. Every time I think I do it, I realize that it wasn't full. I still have a part of me that is resentful that I don't have the "thing".

This is a constant roundabout in my daily life. Every day, I have to hand over the things that I want and love, even if I don't fully believe that I am doing it. "Fake it till you make it" is the name of the game some days. 

And what I realize is that God isn't going to someday just hand me over everything I desire. There isn't going to be one great day where it all comes together and I have all the things including that real strand of pearls. He is already granting me daily pearls that are in the shapes of hope, faith, kindness, revelation, friendship, divine appointments, blessings....He gives me things on a daily basis that are sweet and special and lovely and are being collected into this strand of heavenly pearls that will not break or get lost. 

Yes, I still want my dapper gentleman in a bow tie holding a bouquet of African roses, with a box of pearls, getting down on one knee. I want him to find the ring that was my great grandmother's and put it on my left ring finger. I want to get married while wearing blue peep-toe heels and red lips. I want to be a mother and have a daughter and teach her that she is mighty and loved and perfect. I want to grow old with my darling gentleman and continue to dance to Frank Sinatra love songs.

I want those. And believe it or not, those are desires that were given to me when the Lord healed my ransacked heart. But I have to take them off of their shelf, put them in a box tied with a bow and a DO NOT OPEN sticker, and hand them right back to my daddy for safe keeping and the great exchange. I want my daddy more than those things. I trust Him with those things. And I know that those future pearls I have yet to receive are being refined and polished by His tender hand. And the pearls I have already, I need to take out and wear them on a daily basis, because they are heavenly and they never fade.