My Comment Box is Full . . . So You Can Keep Yours to Yourself


Today, while teaching an aerobics class for seniors, my favorite 91-year-old approached me with an inquisitive look. 

“Are those pants new,” she asked.

“No,”  I replied.

“Have you worn them before,”  she prodded unsatisfied.

“Yes,”  I answered.

“Well,”  she announced with confidence, “your butt looks fantastic in them . . . and I’m observant, so I should know!

She then suggested I wear them more often . . .

I don’t often solicit opinions, but I don’t really have to.  They come to me.  All the time.

Like the day a gentleman noticed I gained weight.  “Wow,” he told me,
“you better be careful . . . a few pounds and your rear end gets huge!”

Or the time I tried to relax in the hot tub and a complete stranger began to discuss the “unfortunate acne on my face.”  He suggested a spa treatment involving Neosporin because I “obviously had a bacteria problem.”

In a dance class two weeks ago, a fellow participant tapped me on the shoulder and announced that “she was so happy to see that I looked as horrible as she did.”  She later told me that I should probably stick to running and cycling.

People often show no inhibition when commenting on my life, judging my decisions, advising according to the small glimpses they have into my day.  I believe they mean well, but  sometimes people see my circumstances without really seeing me.  Sometimes people say all the wrong things.  It leaves me spinning.  Dizzy with conflicting desires; wanting to defend myself and crawl into a hole at the same time.

So there was this guy named Job in the Bible.  He was righteous and good. He lost his wealth, his children, his health.  His wife told him to curse God and die, and His friends were no better.  He sat on the side of the road, picking the scabs from his diseased skin, yet received no sympathy from his former companions.  They offered him a brutal commentary of  condemning opinions, and ill-suited advice.

Job tried first to defend himself, to plead his case in hopes that they would see him and not his circumstances.  His cries fell on deaf ears, as his friends became his accusers.  Job finally surrenders and says:  “If only there were a Mediator between God and me.”

In all that Job lost, some of his greatest suffering passed through the lips of his dearest friends.  In the midst of it all, he realized that he could not bear the weight of their words.  He cared only to be seen and understood by God.  He knew the only opinion that mattered was that which belonged to His maker.  He conceded to seek only the approval of Jehovah which led him to desire a Mediator.

Christ lived and died to sit at the right hand of God and plead our cause.

It is hard to deflect the negative words that pierce my life,but there is no power in what others may call me.  For the One whose opinion matters most,  has seen all there is to see and He calls me beloved.

My comment box overfloweth.