The Unvarnished Woman

Beneath the Veneer

Tell me who you love, and I’ll tell you who you are. Creole Proverb

The counselor’s parting words jolted me. “Why not leave Jenny home next week and come by yourself.”

What? Obviously, she didn’t get it. My thirteen-year old daughter needed help. She just spent three days in juvenile hall for shoplifting. She’s ripping faster than I can plug all the holes, I argued. And me too, I whispered under my breath.

My scowl silently pleaded: Can’t you just fix her? At my wit’s end as a newly single mother, I’d made the appointment hoping Jenny would respond to a neutral party, a professional who might have the magic words. Never mind the cost—just do your counselor thing quick. I’m frantic about my daughter. Fix her!

But God had something else in mind. He wanted to fix me first.

Curious but guarded, I arrived the following Thursday with a cramp in my heart. Being in downtown Placerville again was hard enough. Her office, tucked in a quaint old brick building on Main Street, sat directly across from the county courthouse, where the official demise of my marriage took place.

After twenty minutes of chatting, she shot straight from her shoulder pads. “Jan, you have no idea who you really are,” Karen said.

Oh really? My childhood sweetheart left for somebody else. (I’m a failure) My daughters are flunking school and hanging out with druggies. (double failure, desperate mother) I’m putting on a good front, going to work every day, reading my Bible, claiming God’s promises in public but keeping my doubts very private. (I’m a faithful phony)

But I’m a survivor. I’ll make it. Living well is the best revenge, so they tell me. But how does one live well in the worst of times?

Okay, so I’m not sure who Jan is anymore, maybe I never did.

“Would you like to find out?” A loaded question that made me squirm. “Isn’t there just a test I can take?”

A test of your courage.

Most people reach out for help at the desperation stage, she explained. They want something; the marriage relationship back on track, a child to quit acting out, circumstances to make an about face. A counseling visit is the trump card, the ace in the hole. The spiritual element to bring God into their difficulties, but secretly they’d rather rub the ring of the Divine wish-fulfiller to do his magic.

Because when they grasp the whole picture, see how much inner work it will take—the soul surgery where God sheers off the layers of deception and pain— many say, “No thanks” and go AWOL.

The square plastic clock on the paneled wall showed forty minutes of the session left to go. Right now, the disappearing act sounded like a good option.

Karen cut to the quick. “You’ve varnished over your pain and disappointment. Covered every wound with a layer of protective coating.”

Ouch.

And secrets, did she mention those? Mine were so well hidden, I’d forgotten where they were. Shortly after my first marriage end, a stranger arrived at my door—a fan of my newspaper column—with a casserole in one hand and a Bible in the other. She encouraged me to trust in God’s promise to restore. In desperation, I turned to the Lord and invited him into my heart. Brimming with hope as a new believer, God began to reveal the wonder of his ways and fill the vacancy in my soul.

Then practical matters dragged me down. An hour commute to work in downtown Sacramento, adjusting to a professional environment after saying “adios” to my dream job as ace reporter, humor columnist for the Georgetown Gazette. Then the fights with the girls’ father over property and support issues, keeping tabs on Jenny who was on self-destruct and her younger sister Amy who was on mimic mode. Holding it together, I wore my well practiced “It’s just fine. “God is in control” face.

No wonder I sought a man to restore my shattered self image. Convinced that singleness was not for me, I prayed for remarriage. When the relationship died, hope vanished of bypassing this unwelcome season of life.

Not until I repair you.

When Jenny and I showed up at the counselor’s office, Karen saw through my disguises, that I was barely myself holding together.

She dangled new hope before me that afternoon; join her in a counseling partnership, face and destroy my enemies and find my true self. So what’s the requirement? Strength of will, strong determination and steady purpose.

Months of probing and peeling, maybe more.

“God will cleanse your wounds,” Karen said. “He’ll strip the stain and gently remove the false front you’ve worn for so long. Layer by layer. But know this—he’ll make you stop and look at each one. Examine it closely. You’ll see things you won’t like; the memories you’ve seared, the reality of who you have become in your quest to protect—and it will hurt. You’ll want to bail out—trust me—but if you don’t, if you find the courage, you’ll emerge truly strong. You’ll see yourself as God sees you.”

I would stare into his loving eyes and see that I am desired, valued, cherished. Know that I am designed for a purpose. And all I’ve been through is not wasted.

I could go for that.

“You’ll say goodbye to who you think you want to be, and grow into who you are, the woman God designed.”

I reached for the tissue box to blow my nose. Say uncle, I give in. “I’ll be back next week.”

So it began, my journey to be an unvarnished woman.