The House of Mirrors
I’d been lurking around that place for as long as I could remember. It was cold and dark, and everywhere I turned, I saw my reflection in a huge, dark mirror. And with every glance, I grew to hate what I saw more and more.
At first I could just laugh. In the very first mirror, my face was a little lopsided. In the next one my nose was too big. I thought that was funny, too, until I heard other voices joining in with my laughter—taunting, mocking. I quickly turned away, only to find that in the next mirror I had put on a few extra pounds.
The mirrors started showing me more than just myself. And that’s where it started to get scary.
These mirrors were deeper than normal. They took on a life of their own and reflected so much more than reality. They echoed back everything about me—everything I didn’t want to see. My worst grades, my failures in sports, all the people who didn’t like me or simply didn’t care that I existed. They also showed me everything I was not. Huge screens broadcasted scenes of people who looked better than me and were happier and more popular than me. And they were certainly having more fun than me, even if they were going about it the wrong way.
But was the wrong way really that wrong if it worked?
So I started studying the messages in the mirrors. I started listening to their voices, “improving” one bit of me at a time. If I could just lose one more pound, I’d look more like that movie star, and if I could just get one more point on my History test, I’d be better than the kid to my left. Maybe I could get a part-time job, and then I could have a better phone than the guy down the street who always seemed to have it all.
But with every victory came a thousand new defeats. Success was rare. I set many goals. I made countless New Year’s resolutions. I promised myself far more than I could ever hope to keep. And so I failed over and over, pushing through each disappointment, trying desperately to find a shred of light. A shred of hope. Every time I managed to reach one tiny little goal, the happiness was whisked away, sucked into the raging vortex of the mirror beside me, even as it showed me a thousand people who were happier. Faster. Better. A thousand reasons I was still not good enough. It sucked my life away. Drop by drop. Every look in the mirror took another bit of my strength. Another piece of me. It was making me into something I was not. But I kept listening to every whisper to try the newest game, the latest fashion, the greatest high. Somewhere in that horrible hurricane, there had to be peace.
And that’s how I got to where I am now—a tiny fraction of who I once was, roaming the mirror-lined halls like an angry bull, crashing my full weight into mirrors, trying to topple them over in the hope of finding an exit. But every attempt hurls me to the cold, hard ground, where I once again have to face the “me” I find at every corner. Not tall enough. Not smart enough. Not fast enough. Not good enough.
Then, one day, in the darkness, as I stood staring into a gaping, hungry mirror, grasping at happiness and finding only pain, I heard a voice behind me.
“Do you want to be free?” It wasn’t like the slimy whispers of the house of mirrors. I looked around, but my eyes had been so injured from straining to look into the mirrors day and night that I couldn’t see anything.
“Do you want to be free?” There it was again, a man’s voice, clear and warm. It had been so long since I’d felt warmth. I wanted more than anything to hear the voice again. So I answered.
“I think so?” I hated the sound of my voice. Every ounce of hope had been erased from it, and it sounded shallow and empty.
“Look at me.” The voice was so beautiful, commanding, I couldn’t help but obey, and I slowly turned my eyes in the direction of the sound . . . but it was no use. I couldn’t see anything except the flashing, taunting mirrors in every direction.
“I can’t!” I cried. My hands flew to my eyes and I felt with horror that they were covered with thin, flaky scales. I dug furiously, hoping they would tear away and I could see this person who spoke with such gentleness and authority. But once again, I failed. I turned back to my only friend—the only thing I could see—the very house of mirrors that enslaved and blinded me.
“Your eyes are not the problem.” I jumped with surprise. He was still here? I thought he would have given up and left me like everyone else had. He continued, and for a moment I forgot everything that was wrong with me as I listened to his voice. “These mirrors you see, they have control of your mind. Do you want to be free?”
“Yes!” I screamed. “But I can’t!”
“Do you trust me?” I didn’t know who this person was, but I trusted him more than I trusted all of the lies that surrounded me.
Again I said, “Yes.” My voice sounded very small this time.
A sliver of light broke through, and I could see shadows and lights, like watching a movie through a piece of cloth. The owner of the voice was huge and bright, and he held a blazing, sharp piece of metal in his hand. He wound up as if going in for a kill, and he sprang forward with a shout that shook the ground beneath me and sent me careening back. I ducked and hid my face as the metal in his hand pierced the mirror closest to me and sent shattered glass flying in all directions. The whole world seemed to explode.
Still curled up in a ball, afraid of what might happen next, I caught an incredible scent—something new. It was a fresh, sweet smell, like a tropical breeze. I unclenched my fists and felt around with my hands. I was sitting in . . . grass. Lush, green grass. I dared to open my eyes just a bit, and when I did, light flooded in for what seemed like the first time.
I saw what looked like a battlefield of slain mirrors, broken and shattered on a grassy plain. The biggest one of all stood in the center with a huge nail driven through its center. Most of the glass had fallen away to reveal tattered cardboard and wood.
But where was my liberator? I turned around and there, standing taller than anyone I’d seen, was the man with the incredible voice who had set me free. I didn’t know what to call him. I didn’t need to. He glowed with a brilliance that should have blinded me. But instead, it made me see even more clearly. An image shimmered in his eyes. I could see a person, radiant and beautiful like he was. Someone who looked so familiar. I asked him who.
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that wrapped around me like a soft breeze. Unlike the others, he wasn’t laughing at me. He laughed for joy itself.
“It’s you, child.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You, as you always have been, preciously crafted and wonderfully made. All the other mirrors showed you a warped, distorted version, conformed to images of what that world wanted you to be. Now you’re free.”
I dared to look, and to keep looking, into the only mirror I’d ever seen that radiated light and life instead of sucking it from me. No longer did an imperfect me reflect back from the mirror; now I had become the mirror, reflecting His light to my surroundings.
Since that time, I’ve been different. When I see myself, I see this incredible image of the light that shines in me and through me and all around me. My mind is completely new—changed from the inside out. I once lived in a place where everything around me dragged me down, but now I’m walking in wonderful, beautiful light. I have a purpose and a calling that no one can take away, and although there are still dark mirrors around, beckoning me to look at them and live their way again, I choose every day, every moment, to fix my eyes on the One who rescued me from all of my shame.
Because when I do, I’m instantly renewed.
Made whole.
Transformed.
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.
Romans 12:2a