>Apples to Apples (OR Jennifer in the Sky With Diamonds)

>All my single ladies…


:::::::::::::::::Girls::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::are like apples::::::::::::::::
::::::on trees. The best ones::::::::::
:::::are at the top of the tree.::::::::
:::The boys don’t want to reach:::::::
::for the good ones because they::::
:are afraid of falling and getting hurt.
:Instead, they get the rotten apples:
from the ground that aren’t as good,
but easy. So the apples up top think:
something’s wrong w/ them when in::
:reality they’re amazing. They just:::
:::have to wait for the right boy to::
:::: come along, the one who’s:::::::
::::::::::: brave enough to::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::climb all::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::the way:::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::to the top::::::::::::::::::

So this little burble has been around since I was in high school and I always thought this was just a lame attempt by unpopular girls (like, oh I don’t know, me) to feel better about their dateless selves. I realized today though that I never believed I was truly a good apple. Deep down I saw myself as a rotten, easy-to-reach apple and couldn’t understand why there still wasn’t anyone reaching for me. Frustrating, yes? This quarter I need Jesus to help me see that I am the apple of his eye.

Psalm 17:8 – Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.

Sarah put it this way (and I’m paraphrasing): You’re a diamond, but some guys can only handle cubic zirconium because diamond is too costly. Almost instantly the phrase, “Like a diamond in the sky,” popped into my head, which is funny because it’s related to the proposal scenario I dreamed up this week in Atlanta while looking at this piece of art:

We go out to the country, or at least away from the city, during the summer meteor shower to stargaze. We take turns naming constellations, then he points to a specific star. “Do you know what that one is called?” “No, I don’t.” “I named it for you.” “Really??” “Yup. That’s Jennifer. Jennifer [insert his last name here].” (At this point there will probably be a great deal of squealing. And some sort of diamond involved.)

So as Twinkle Twinkle is playing through my head, I realized that I need to be my own diamond in the sky before I can expect someone else to name a star after me! Diamonds are forged in the extreme heat and pressure of the earth (or lab, which I kind of prefer just to make sure no child was harmed in the extraction of my engagement ring), and are the hardest mineral known to man. Real diamonds are rarely flawless, but that’s one of the ways you can tell a real diamond from cubic zirconia or other imitations. (It’s kind of like Adam was talking about at church today: the point of Christianity is not to make everyone into a bunch of spiritual Stepford wives, but to allow us to live life to the fullest both here and after we die physically. The flaws and kinks and imperfections and ROYAL SCREW-UPS OF DOOM at the very least allow us to relate to other people; they also press us closer to God if we get on the right side of it.) And to borrow a passage from Les Miserables that I read today, “Diamonds are found only in the dark bowels of the earth; truths are found only in the depths of thought. It seemed to him [Jean Valjean] that after descending into those depths after long groping in the blackest of this darkness, he had at last found one of these diamonds, one of these truths and that he held it in his hand; and it blinded him to look at it.” Pray for me as Jesus grinds and polishes me…

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