I Like the Pretty Parts
I start every summer with great optimism. My house has a nice veranda-style front porch, and I
have dreams of beautiful flowering plants and patio furniture worthy of a spread in a decorating
magazine. My favorite flower is zinnias, and I imagine a cutting garden with big, bold, colorful
blooms filling spaces around my porch, to which I take a basket and kitchen shears to gather my
zinnias for tables and counters inside and out. It's a "gather ye rosebuds" kind of fantasy that is
entirely possible in my little corner of the country. I really like the pretty parts.
My fantasy is always shattered, however, when the heat of the summer invades, and I would
prefer the air conditioning of my house. And then there are the dry parts, when flowers need
buckets of water poured in the containers. And the weeding, and the pruning, and all the things.
I like the pretty parts. The pretty bouquets. The bounty of color. The day-to-day maintenance?
The work required to fulfill the fantasy? Not so much. Like the meme of the ignorant city
slicker who can't understand the farmer: "Why doesn't he just buy his meat at the store, like we
do!?"
My mother loved flowers. She was a terrific green thumb, and part of her physical and mental
therapy was to take care of her vegetable garden and maintain her flowers. She had sweet
Williams, and morning glories, and petunias, moss roses, a large, rare Seven Sisters rose bush-
seven sisters have several little roses bunched together in each flowering frond, like a mini-
bridal bouquet-and what she called "old-fashioned" roses which sprang up in individual stems
with lovely traditional rose blooms and the richest rose smell of any rose I've ever encountered.
She washed her laundry every week in an old ringer-type washing machine. When one she had
wore out after 30 years, rather than purchase a modern automatic washer-she said they didn't
agitate long enough to get the clothes clean-she specialty-ordered another ringer washer to
replace the first one. She double-rinsed each load in twin wash tubs on stands, and hung the
laundry outside. One of Dad's sisters was what we called then a "beautician." Every summer
she would visit and give us haircuts, and every year she bitterly complained about those "old
scratchy towels" that had line-dried as opposed to the fluffiness of tumble-dried towels dried in
a dryer. The extra work my mother did was worth it to her; the clothes were cleaner, smelled
like sunshine, and my aunt would just have to get over it.
Mom, ever efficient, would drain the washer and the rinse tubs into buckets that she used to
water her flowers. The task was not burdensome to her; it was a necessary means to the end she
wanted... a few steps with a heavy load each week which would yield the color and beauty she
could take pride in. Her flowers were beautiful.
Me... I desire the bounty of beautiful blooms, but carrying water? Checking on the plants
regularly? Enduring the heat to weed, prune, nurture...not so much. I like the pretty parts. The
not-so-pretty parts, not so much.
I look at the flower pots on my porch... The flowers look rather bedraggled. I had a large part of
zinnias on the back porch; I sowed the seeds, got super excited when the first green sprouts
popped up, anticipated the blooms, impatiently. There were so many! Too many. I didn't wanna
thin them, though, and as they outgrew the pot, they wilted and looked messy. I lost interest,
and they died. My husband asked if I was gonna empty the other pots on the porch, and I
snarked at him, "I'm over it!"
"I like the pretty parts," I thought to myself. And it hit me. We ALL like the pretty parts. Is
there any part of life-home, family, finances, health, work, faith-that ONLY has pretty parts?
I like the pretty parts of fitting in my clothes, liking what I see in the mirror, energy and stamina
to finish task, and my body looking proportioned instead of thick in the middle, an apple or
potato on toothpick legs. I don't like the ugly parts of sweating, exercise, portion control, and
saying no to sugar.
I like the pretty parts of a squared away house, clean counters, nice-smelling bathrooms,
dustless furniture, and shiny hardwood floors. Doing the work to keep my house looking that
way? Not so much.
I like the pretty parts of being an entrepreneur: flexibility, making money, having a product I'm
proud of, and being sought out for my expertise. But the doing the little things daily that
maintain my business, build my client list, and market my products? Feels a little like a grind.
Do I really need to work that hard?
I like the pretty parts of knowing Jesus. I'm going to heaven when I die, I get all warm and
fuzzy thinking about knowing the God of the Universe, me and Jesus, we got our own thing
going, as the old Tom T. Hall/Brad Paisley song says.
Actual surrender? Discipleship? Apprenticeship to Christ as a Master, Commander, King of
Kings? Well, when it's convenient, not too strenuous, demanding little of me. I like the pretty
parts. The word discipleship shares its root with discipline... Ugh. In the words of a former
pastor of mine, "Has it come to that?"
John C. Maxwell, leadership guru, wrote in The 15 Invaluable Laws of Growth, "I got to the top
the hard way-fighting my own laziness and ignorance every step of the way." Another quote
attributed to him which applies to this idea of liking only the pretty parts is this: "Most people
want to avoid pain, and discipline is usually painful."
The writer of Hebrews, after sharing the great Hall of Faith and the difficulties the saint of old
endured, wrote this: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let
us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with
perseverance the race marked out for us, 2 fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of
faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the
right hand of the throne of God. 3 Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so
that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
4 In your struggle against sin, you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your
blood. 5 And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a
father addresses his son? It says,
"My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline,
and do not lose heart when he rebukes you,
6 because the Lord disciplines the one he loves,
and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son."
7 Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not
disciplined by their father? 8 If you are not disciplined-and everyone undergoes discipline-
then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. 9 Moreover, we have all had
human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we
submit to the Father of spirits and live! 10 They disciplined us for a little while as they thought
best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. 11 No
discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of
righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
12 Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. 13 "Make level paths for your
feet," so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed." (Hebrews 12:1-13)
We tend to interpret discipline in this passage as punitive. Like God the Father has a switch
ready to stripe our little legs when we get out of line. (Anyone else get their legs striped by a
tree limb/switch when you were a kid? No? just me?) But that isn't the spirit of the passage.
It's about doing, enduring hard things. Going beyond the pretty parts and understanding the
hard parts are necessary for our growth and our good.
It's the process of making your kids do chores because it builds character. Of teaching them
responsibility so they'll be, you know, responsible. Of requiring they tell the truth when it's
difficult to do so, so they'll have integrity! It's the hard stuff, not the pretty parts, that grow
gardens we can enjoy.
I don't know about you, but I'd like to enjoy that "harvest of peace" the writer of Hebrews
mentions, in all those areas of my life: health, finances, business, and relationships.
For me, that boils down to three basic steps:
1) Define the desire. Do I want what I say I want? Do I want that bathing suit body? Really?
Do I desire a close relationship with my spouse? Does meeting with Jesus and
experiencing His presence daily matter to me? Until I answer the desire question
honestly, I'm wasting my efforts and my guilt. If I truly want something, I'll make a
way. If it's not high on my Wants list, I'll make excuses. Do you want it? Really? Define
the desire.
2) Determine the deeds. What will it take to accomplish what I desire? A couple of years
ago, a health scare motivated me to change the way I eat and get off my seat and exercise.
My pathway would include more vegetables, very little processed anything, limited
eating out, and no cheat meals, but I could enjoy a dessert once a month, usually
coinciding with birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. This plan of action is proven to
work. Simple. Not easy.
Similarly, I want a deep, dependent relationship with Jesus. That means T-I-M-E. Time
to meditate, to read His words, to talk and to listen to His voice. To serve as He served.
Auto-pilot won't cut it. Occasional visits or encounters on Sundays will not produce the
kind of closeness I want. The deeds required are simple. Not easy. Simple.
And play on words... Determine, as in choose, and Determine as in "that's just the way it
is now." Determined. Established. Decision made, mind set. Until you determine that
you're determined, the ugly parts will stay out of reach.
3) Discipline the doing. Discipline doesn't come easy to me. I'm inclined, as John Maxwell,
mentioned, toward laziness and pain-avoidance. So disciplining the doing means setting
myself up for success. I try to get up before Jeff, so I have quiet and stillness for my
meditation and prayer time. I stock the refrigerator with fresh produce to make salads for
my healthy eating. I use an app called StepBet to track my walking 4 and 5 miles a day,
six days a week. Not pretty. Not fun.
Another quote from John Maxwell:
"Everyone enjoys being inspired. But here's the truth when it comes to personal growth:
Motivation gets you going, but discipline keeps you growing. That's the Law of Consistency. It
doesn't matter how talented you are. It doesn't matter how many opportunities you receive. If
you want to grow, consistency is key."
It's not the pretty parts. It's the ugly parts. The little actions we take daily, over and over...
watering the flowers, pulling the weeks, working when it's too hot, and when it's too cold,
when I feel like, and when I don't, that produces the pretty parts. That makes the ugly parts
worth it! If I want to experience success-in life, business, relationships, faith-I have to lean
into the not-so-fun, so that the fun stuff opens up for me. Not easy. But simple.
And aren't the pretty parts worth it? Yes. Yes, they are.
Father,
I praise You for Your love and your long-suffering toward us. Help us to "consider it pure joy,
when we face trials of many kinds, because we know that the testing of our faith produces
perseverance and when perseverance finishes its work, we will be mature and complete, lacking
nothing." (James 1:2-4) The work parts, the hard parts, the difficult things we either choose or
come to us outside our choices, are part of Your disciplining will. Help me see the beauty of the
hard parts and reap the harvest of discipline.
Refine and define my desires so that they align with Your will. Show me the way, the lamp for
my feet, and the light for my path, and empower me to walk it, to do what is required. Self-
control is a fruit of the Holy Spirit. Work in me to will and to act to fulfill Your good purpose
(Philippians 2:13).
Thank you for both the pretty parts and the ugly parts. For the beauty of Your world and Your
truths. And for the most beautiful truth of all, Jesus, the Word made flesh and dwelling, even
now, among us.
In His sweet name I pray, Amen.
