Starbucks. Wobbly table. I have on red lipstick. Which, question -- how does one appropriately wear red lipstick and drink starbucks at the same time? I look at my cup. The plastic white lid stained with my lip marks. It makes me feel exposed - my red mark. It is one thing on my lips, but to see it separate from me...
From my own eyes, without reflection, I can't see my lips. I push them out. Purse them. Glancing down feeling strain of eyes I only see the skin that covers the space between my nose and upper lip. Although I know I put it on, just moments ago, I can pretend it isn't there. I'm not shocked by it. The brightness. The boldness. I'm marked by it, but without seeing it, I don't have to own it.
But there, on the cup. I see it. A smudge. A stain. In the shape of me.
It's like sin isn't it?
We have these little sins we put on like lipstick. Bright and bold. We partake in the temptations. We fall. We make sure that no matter how hard we push or purse we can't see them. We might not be hiding them from others, but we can at least hide it from ourselves. In our own eyes, we only see the untainted. Until we see that like lipstick, we leave smudges on whatever we touch. Our sin affects. It infects.
My sins. I see them on the people I love. On my community. In my work. In my children. My sins seep deep in and transfer their color all at once. I can't pretend not to notice. The grande cup with the Revlon True Red. The stubborn out lash of entitlement from my two-year-old. It's visible. My stain. My sin.
I am not darkness. I am not my sin. My lip color does not define me. Nor does my sin.
It's like Jesus isn't it? To cover my sins? To remove the stain?
I have immunity in my inheritance. The curse is broken by the one who became the curse. Where I see the smudges and stains his grace is imputed.
Bold and Bright. Crimson. The blood of Christ.
He leaves his mark.