Linda Caddick's Blog

Olga was ugly. It was difficult to think of another adjective to describe her. Her two front teeth protruded to display an unbecoming twist when she smiled, which she seldom did. Her pale, freckled skin exposed every blemish, her hair resembled buttered spaghetti, and as if that wasn’t enough, she inhabited a bulky, amorphous body. At sixteen, when most of the girls at school acquired admirers, she skulked, lumpen and alone in her misery, hating them all and hating herself. Her scathing sarcasm earned her the title, which had she been kinder she might have avoided, of Ugly Olga.

Solitary weekends were spent tramping in the woods next to her home, avoiding her two brothers, who surpassed her meanness but got away with it by being better looking. One fine Saturday morning found her aimlessly following an unused path, recounting to herself her grievous misfortunes. Her steps grew more leaden with the weight of her dismal meditation until eventually she stopped to flick away the sadness leaking down her cheeks. A great longing took hold of her – longing for a single taste of happiness. It had belonged to her once for a short while, but that was before her brothers had forced her in front of a mirror and made sport of her, before she grew spikes in place of her feminine sweetness.

A tiny fleck of colour in the tangled vegetation caught her eye. Drawing aside the creeping mass to see what it was, she discovered a hardly visible, old sign post displaying a remarkably clear red arrow. Intrigued she walked on, wondering what this could mean. Coming to a fork in the track, she scouted half-heartedly
in the bush for a second sign, and sure enough hidden in the leaves of a rambling shrub she found another one, as aged and cracked as the first. Her heart leapt with nervous excitement as she hurried in the direction of the arrow, hardly daring to hope there might be more. A third one followed and then a fourth, and by now a fearful sense of dread wrestled with her compulsive curiosity, pulling her in two opposite directions. But as it was not often life offered such adventure, Olga summoned her courage and panted her way along the overgrown path, sweating in the summer heat.

Finally on the seventh sign, the sound of water could be heard beyond a jungle of foliage. The unusual exertion had brought about a violent thirst, so Ugly Olga clambered through the ferns to discover a clear stream flowing from the base of a waterfall which spilled over the edge of a high rock wall. The water was shallow, and discarding her shoes she waded in, grateful for the delicious coolness on her bare legs. She inched closer to the foaming turbulence upstream, feeling the pebbles with her toes, heedless of the spray drenching her shorts and t-shirt. Olga was not much one for appreciating nature, but she could not help noticing the beauty of her surroundings - diamond spangled water running over mottled rocks, the riot of greenery along the banks as though the plants were trying to outdo each other in shape and hue, the blue unblemished sky above. 

Abreast with the falling water, she was astonished to catch a glimpse of something shining beyond the transparent cascade jabbing at the river in a sprightly dance. A split in the rock, just behind the watery curtain, revealed an extraordinary sight – a strange secret world, lit up with a surreal glow, which drew her irresistibly towards itself. 

Impulsively, Olga held her breath and ducked into the tumbling flow, frightened for a moment by the pressure which immersed her in the pulsing liquid. With a desperate heave she forced her body through and was propelled, gasping, into an overwhelmingly silent space, a silence so profound that she strained her ears to listen. At first her vision blurred as though seeing through myopic eyes, but gradually the brightness increased until it was almost dazzling. She found herself in a rocky cave surrounded by a garden of matchless splendour.

With a shock Olga realized that she was not alone. And yet when she dared to look around, there was no one but herself in the confines of the cave, with its only entrance shielded by the waterfall. She sat down on a log, feeling suddenly weak at the knees. It was then that she noticed a sheet of sheer silver gleaming on the surface of a tall, smooth rock. She stood up to investigate, shaking from head to toe.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes. A thousand tremors of electricity coursed through her body as though struck by lightning. What was this unfamiliar emotion - shock, fear, amazement? Yet overlaid with a sweet delight such as she had never before experienced. For there in front of her stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. 

Olga had always discarded the notion of perfection with a disgusted snort, but the vision before her eyes could only be described as such. Light shone from her translucent skin, her eyes transmitted oceans of kindness and love, and her smile expressed such joy and peace that it radiated out from her to saturate whoever was in her presence. 

Olga stood motionless, gaping. She moved her hand up to her face to rub the illusion from her eyes, and witnessed an echoing movement in the figure before her. There was something familiar about the face, something Olga did not recognize at first, but with growing awe she began to see that this woman looked a little like herself – that is without the fat that cushioned and protected her, without the unhealthy pallor of her pimpled skin, without the scowl she wore habitually to ward off the risk of disappointing anyone with false expectations of her. Even her hair was similar, but shone with a lustrous cleanness. As the woman smiled, Olga saw between her parted lips two slightly twisted teeth, just like her own except . . . except the irregularity only served to enhance the loveliness of this face, even to define her unique brand of perfection. She was everything Olga had always longed to be.

Silently, without words and without sound, a voice that was not a voice told her that this wonderful being was herself, reflected as in a mirror. It was the blueprint of who she was, the ‘her’ she was created to be.

She stood there for a long time staring, etching indelibly on her mind every detail of the picture illuminated in the silvery gloss. Then she noticed something else. Behind - or was it in front? – of the reflected image was another figure, superimposed, merged, indefinable. It was that of a man. Light bounded from him in a billion refracted particles too brilliant to behold, too alluring to turn away from. Olga stood transfixed, time swallowed up into an eternity of single ceaseless moments. Love like liquid gold saturated her being, joy like galaxies of stars rushed out of the confinement of her heart in a magnificent explosion. She could surely fly, be everywhere at once, be everything she had ever dreamed of. 

A dawning consciousness seeped into her, without words or explanation, and she knew she stood in the presence of God. Yet not in his presence, but in him himself, in the same way that raindrops entering into a pool become inseparable from it. He knew her every ugly thought, her mean, malicious deeds, her lumpy, unattractive body, her dreadful sadness, and every part of her was absorbed into himself and transformed until they could no longer be told apart. 

“Take it with you,” he whispered, and she knew he meant the mirror. Not this translucent sheet of molten silver shimmering against the rock face, which would slip through her fingers like morning mist. No, the treasure he gave her was more invisible and more priceless, for it resided in the secret place of her own heart.

Arriving back home, wrapped in an aura of peace, Olga was accosted by the Brutes, as she called them, and a friend with them. Equipped with an arsenal of taunts and jeers, they set about provoking her for their own entertainment. She smiled, remembering how attractive she really was.

“Leave her alone, she’s cute,” remarked the friend, and the look on her brothers’ faces was enough to avenge many a year of insult.

There was something different after that in those around her. No longer did they laugh at her, for she laughed too, or fail to hear her when she spoke. No longer did she see the disgust or sympathy in their eyes when she entered a room. It seemed the whole world had changed, grown kinder, friendlier, funnier. For Ugly Olga was buried forever in the watery grave from which Olga the Beloved had arisen.

She was tempted at times to look upon the surface of things, to see only the skin that covered the soft curves of her chubby body, to see her reflection in a sheet of glass as though it had the last word, or listen to the clamour of her accusing thoughts as though they spoke the final verdict. But then she would slip away, run swiftly down the now familiar path, plunge into the waterfall and let the water wash away her shadows, enter the secret place to drink deeply of its peace, and look again at her reflection, so exquisite in the Perfect One.

Linda Caddick
http://amzn.to/XVBxgO

 LIFE APPLICATION

By one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. Hebrews 10:14

Modern psychology puts forward a basic principle of human behaviour – we become who we think we are, or as the Old Testament puts it, 'as a man thinks in his heart, so is he'. Who we believe we are will influence how we act. 

The Bible teaches that not behaving in accordance with God’s instruction is like looking at our faces in a mirror and then going off and forgetting what we look like. The image in the mirror we are to study and remember is ‘the perfect law that gives freedom’ (James 1:23), described in Romans 8:1 as the ’law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus’, which incorporates the royal law of loving your neighbour as yourself. It’s the image of ourselves as we are in Christ, no longer imprisoned in the downward spiral of our sin, but truly forgiven and released from the tyranny of condemnation, able to reflect the Lord's glory. Since we have been baptised into Christ and our lives are now hidden with Christ in God, we have a glorious new identity. In Him we are a new creation, already blameless, already made perfect forever, even while we are progressively being made holy. 

The mind-blowing truth is that Almighty God, our Father, who is not bound by time, already sees us as who we will become! 

Guided and instructed by the Word of God, this wonderful transformation takes place in the secret place of our own hearts and minds; in the place of fellowship with the Lord who gives us life by His Spirit and reveals to us who He created us to be. If we know that in Him we are unimaginably beautiful, without stain, wrinkle or any other blemish, overflowing with love and kindness, it will be incongruous for us to act unlovingly. As we gaze daily into the mirror of the Word, God writes His law on our hearts and we are changed.

The key, as always, is simply faith - believing what God says about us, practicing living it out, and rejoicing. Since we are predestined to be conformed to his likeness, we are not to judge ourselves by external appearances and allow our mistakes to identify us. Rather, seeing through the eyes of creative faith in the same way God does, we can view ourselves as we are in Christ. And in so doing we somehow share in the mysterious process of bringing into being who He designed us to be. 

SUPPORTING SCRIPTURES (New International Bible): Proverbs 23:7; Isaiah 45:3; Romans 6:3-7, 8:29, 13:9; 1 Corinthians 6:11, 2 Corinthians 3:18, 5:16-17; Galatians 2:6; Ephesians 1:4, 5:26; Colossians 1:22, 2:12, 3:3; Titus 3:5; Hebrews 10:10, 10:19; James 1:23; 1 Peter 3:21; 1 John 3:2.

A SHORT STORY
Olga was ugly. It was difficult to think of another adjective to describe her. Her two front teeth protruded to display an unbecoming twist when she smiled, which she seldom did. Her pale, freckled skin exposed every blemish, her hair resembled buttered spaghetti, and as if that wasn’t enough, she inhabited a bulky, amorphous body. At sixteen, when most of the girls at school acquired admirers, she skulked, lumpen and alone in her misery, hating them all and hating herself. Her scathing sarcasm earned her the title, which had she been kinder she might have avoided, of Ugly Olga.

Solitary weekends were spent tramping in the woods next to her home, avoiding her two brothers who surpassed her meanness, but got away with it by being better looking. One fine Saturday morning found her aimlessly following an unused path, recounting to herself her grievous misfortunes. Her steps grew more leaden with the weight of her dismal meditation until eventually she stopped to flick away the sadness leaking down her cheeks. A great longing took hold of her – longing for a single taste of happiness. It had belonged to her once for a short while, but that was before her brothers had forced her in front of a mirror and made sport of her, before she grew spikes in place of her feminine sweetness.

A tiny fleck of colour in the tangled vegetation caught her eye. Drawing aside the creeping mass to see what it was, she discovered a hardly visible, old sign post displaying a remarkably clear red arrow. Intrigued she walked on, wondering what this could mean. Coming to a fork in the track, she scouted half-heartedly
in the bush for a second sign, and sure enough hidden in the leaves of a rambling shrub she found another one, as aged and cracked as the first. Her heart leapt with nervous excitement as she hurried in the direction of the arrow, hardly daring to hope there might be more. A third one followed and then a fourth, and by now a fearful sense of dread wrestled with her compulsive curiosity, pulling her in two opposite directions. But as it was not often life offered such adventure, Olga summoned her courage and panted her way along the overgrown path, sweating in the summer heat.

Finally on the seventh sign, the sound of water could be heard beyond a jungle of foliage. The unusual exertion had brought about a violent thirst, so Ugly Olga clambered through the ferns to discover a clear stream flowing from the base of a waterfall which spilled over the edge of a high rock wall. The water was shallow, and discarding her shoes she waded in, grateful for the delicious coolness on her bare legs. She inched closer to the foaming turbulence upstream, feeling the pebbles with her toes, heedless of the spray drenching her shorts and t-shirt. Olga was not much one for appreciating nature, but she could not help noticing the beauty of her surroundings - diamond spangled water running over mottled rocks, the riot of greenery along the banks as though the plants were trying to outdo each other in shape and hue, the blue unblemished sky above. 

Abreast with the falling water, she was astonished to catch a glimpse of something shining beyond the transparent cascade jabbing at the river in a sprightly dance. A split in the rock, just behind the watery curtain, revealed an extraordinary sight – a strange secret world, lit up with a surreal glow, which drew her irresistibly towards itself. 

Impulsively, Olga held her breath and ducked into the tumbling flow, frightened for a moment by the pressure which immersed her in the pulsing liquid. With a desperate heave she forced her body through and was propelled, gasping, into an overwhelmingly silent space, a silence so profound that she strained her ears to listen. At first her vision blurred as though seeing through myopic eyes, but gradually the brightness increased until it was almost dazzling. She found herself in a rocky cave surrounded by a garden of matchless splendour.

With a shock Olga realized that she was not alone. And yet when she dared to look around, there was no one but herself in the confines of the cave, with its only entrance shielded by the waterfall. She sat down on a log, feeling suddenly weak at the knees. It was then that she noticed a sheet of sheer silver gleaming on the surface of a tall, smooth rock. She stood up to investigate, shaking from head to toe.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes. A thousand tremors of electricity coursed through her body as though struck by lightning. What was this unfamiliar emotion - shock, fear, amazement? Yet overlaid with a sweet delight such as she had never before experienced. For there in front of her stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. 

Olga had always discarded the notion of perfection with a disgusted snort, but the vision before her eyes could only be described as such. Light shone from her translucent skin, her eyes transmitted oceans of kindness and love, and her smile expressed such joy and peace that it radiated out from her to saturate whoever was in her presence. 

Olga stood motionless, gaping. She moved her hand up to her face to rub the illusion from her eyes, and witnessed an echoing movement in the figure before her. There was something familiar about the face, something Olga did not recognize at first, but with growing awe she began to see that this woman looked a little like her – that is without the fat that cushioned and protected her, without the unhealthy pallor of her pimpled skin, without the scowl she wore habitually to ward off the risk of disappointing anyone with false expectations of her. Even her hair was similar, but shone with a lustrous cleanness. As the woman smiled, Olga saw between her parted lips two slightly twisted teeth, just like her own except . . . except the irregularity only served to enhance the loveliness of this face, even to define her unique brand of perfection. She was everything Olga had always longed to be.

Silently, without words and without sound, a voice that was not a voice told her that this wonderful being was herself, reflected as in a mirror. It was the blueprint of who she was, the ‘her’ she was created to be.

She stood there for a long time staring, etching indelibly on her mind every detail of the picture illuminated in the silvery gloss. Then she noticed something else. Behind - or was it in front? – of the reflected image was another figure, superimposed, merged, indefinable. It was that of a man. Light bounded from him in a billion refracted particles too brilliant to behold, too alluring to turn away from. Olga stood transfixed, time swallowed up into an eternity of single ceaseless moments. Love like liquid gold saturated her being, joy like galaxies of stars rushed out of the confinement of her heart in a magnificent explosion. She could surely fly, be everywhere at once, be everything she had ever dreamed of. 

A dawning consciousness seeped into her, without words or explanation, and she knew she stood in the presence of God. Yet not in his presence, but in him himself, in the same way that raindrops entering into a clear pool become inseparable from it. He knew her every ugly thought, her mean, malicious deeds, her lumpy, unattractive body, her dreadful sadness, and every part of her was absorbed into himself and transformed until they could no longer be told apart. 

“Take it with you,” he whispered, and she knew he meant the mirror. Not this translucent sheet of molten silver shimmering against the rock face, which would slip through her fingers like morning mist. No, the treasure he gave her was more invisible and more priceless, for it resided in the secret place of her own heart.

Arriving back home, wrapped in a mantle of peace, Olga was accosted by the Brutes, as she called them, and a friend with them. Equipped with an arsenal of taunts and jeers, they set about provoking her for their own entertainment. She smiled, remembering how attractive she really was.

“Leave her alone, she’s cute,” remarked the friend, and the look on her brothers’ faces was enough to avenge many a year of insult.

There was something different after that in those around her. No longer did they laugh at her, for she laughed too, or fail to hear her when she spoke. No longer did she see the disgust or sympathy in their eyes when she entered a room. It seemed the whole world had changed, grown kinder, friendlier, funnier. For Ugly Olga was buried forever in the watery grave from which Olga the Beloved had arisen.

She was tempted at times to look upon the surface of things, to see only the skin that covered the soft curves of her chubby body, to see her reflection in a sheet of glass as though it had the last word, or listen to the clamour of her accusing thoughts as though they spoke the final verdict. But then she would slip away, run swiftly down the now familiar path, plunge into the waterfall and let the water wash away her shadows, enter the secret place to drink deeply of its peace, and look again at her reflection, so exquisite in the Perfect One.

Linda Caddick
http://amzn.to/XVBxgO

 LIFE APPLICATION

By one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. Hebrews 10:14

Modern psychology puts forward a basic principle of human behaviour – we become who we think we are, or as stated in the Old Testament, as a man thinks in his heart, so is he. Who we believe we are will influence how we act. 

The Bible teaches that not behaving in accordance with God’s instruction is like looking at our faces in a mirror and then going off and forgetting what we look like. The image in the mirror we are to study and remember is ‘the perfect law that gives freedom’ (James 1:23-25), which Romans 8:1-4 describes as the ’law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus’. It’s the image of ourselves as we are in Christ, no longer imprisoned in the downward spiral of our sin, but truly forgiven, and released from the tyranny of condemnation. Since we have been baptised into Christ and our lives are now hidden with Christ in God, we have a glorious new identity. In Him we are a new creation, already holy and blameless, already made perfect forever, even while we are progressively being made holy. 

The mind-blowing truth is that Almighty God, our Father, who is not bound by time, sees us as who we will become! 

Guided and instructed by the Word of God, this wonderful transformation takes place in the secret place of our own hearts, our own minds; in the place of fellowship with the Lord who gives us life by His Spirit and reveals to us who he created us to be.

And so, if we know that in Him we are unimaginably beautiful, without stain, wrinkle or any other blemish, overflowing with love and kindness, it will be foreign for us to behave unlovingly. 

The key, as always, is simply faith - believing what God says about us and rejoicing. Since we are predestined to be conformed to his likeness, we are not to judge ourselves by external appearances. Rather, seeing through the eyes of creative faith in the same way God does, we can view ourselves as we are in Christ. And in so doing we somehow share in the mysterious process of bringing into being who he designed us to be. 

SUPPORTING SCRIPTURES (New International Bible): Proverbs 23:7; Isaiah 45:3; Romans 6:3-7, 8:29; 1 Corinthians 6:11, 2 Corinthians 3:18, 5:16-17; Galatians 2:6; Ephesians 1:4, 5:26; Colossians 1:22, 2:12, 3:3; Titus 3:5; Hebrews 10:10, 10:19; James 1:23; 1 Peter 3:21; 1 John 3:2.

I am Mary at heart. In the evening, I ramble across the fields with my friend, Jesus, knowing how privileged I am to be sharing the joy of creation with the Creator Himself, and I sense His delight in my appreciation of His artwork.

Sometimes I sit on an anthill and ask Him things, or just listen to the tiny sounds around me and perceive His unfathomable greatness, reaching beyond the galaxies and yet revealed in every tiny detail. Wisdom, Perfection, Awesome Power, and yet fully focused on my every thought, spending moments with me that stretch on to eternity. His words are a gentle whisper - I cannot catch them all, so I hold them lightly against my heart and wait.

I am Martha in the flesh - too busy to wander about on hills. 100 things to be done, and fast! People get in my way, keep interrupting me. They're everywhere - in the traffic, on ends of phones, on the streets asking for my money, in the bathroom when I want it, even staying in my house! And the worst thing about them is they all keep needing to be fed. All those hours buying food, preparing food, cleaning up after food . . . and really, Lord, don't you think my sister (or husband) could help me. Yes, of COURSE I love them, but you see, I'm just far too busy at the moment.

Up the hill I go again, dragging my feet, weighed down, not really in the mood. This time His voice thunders through His word. "Do not fret, it leads only to evil; my yoke is easy, my burden is light; no branch can bear fruit by itself, it must remain in the vine; I equip you with everything good for doing my will, AND work in you what is pleasing to me. You are my workmanship, created for a life of good deeds, and by the way, those things you were moaning about, those were the very things I had prepared for you to do. Do everything without complaining or arguing. Love is patient and kind. You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen the better way . . ."

He replaces my rags with a robe of righteousness, my heavy spirit with a garment of praise. I am crowned with love and compassion, and His divine power has given me everything I need for life and godliness so my youth is renewed like the eagle.

Back in the kitchen, I feel light and free. It must be the law of the spirit of life, liberating me from the law of sin and death. Thanks be to God, it IS through Jesus Christ my Lord, who does not condemn or reject me for my inadequacies and failures, but gave His life to save mine, and draws me back again and again to that place at His feet.

(Scripture references in order of appearing: Luke 10:39-42, Romans 7:24-25, Psalm 37:8, Matthew 11:28, John 15:4, Hebrews 13:21, Ephesians 2:10, Philippians 2:14-15, 1 Corinthians 13:4, Luke 10:42, Isaiah 61:10, Psalm 103:3-5, 2 Peter 1:3, Isaiah 40:31, Romans 8:2)

Consider for a moment the pleasure of spending time with someone you really love and enjoy being with - you appreciate their sense of humour, their particular style of expression, and find their conversation stimulating and entertaining. A great part of being with them is that you know they feel the same about you, and you just seem to come alive in their presence because they affirm everything positive in you. Time spent in such company always runs out too fast.

Now imagine countlesss numbers of exquisite personalities with whom you have this same joyous relationship, and with each one a slightly different facet of your own character is experienced. The excitement of seeing each other, of getting to know one another, and of sharing each other's lives is beyond measure. And then imagine the glorious reality that there is no limit to the time . . . and I believe you have a picture of one aspect of heaven. And in those endlessly delightful relationships and connectedness, the infinite love of Jesus is fully experienced and shared forever.