Thin-Skinned

Some things are hard to come by… like 57 Chevys, mink coats, and parking spots at Wal-Mart. They are things you rarely see, things not everyone obtains, things to be envied.

This weekend, I’ve been scrounging for an item such as this. I’ve seen people who have it, and I’m jealous… but I have yet to discover where they got it from.

Thicker skin doesn’t seem to be something you can purchase. I checked today on e-bay, and nobody’s selling it. Not a single listing. I guess if you’ve got it, you don’t want to give it away.

So I’m still lacking, still thin-skinned, still super-sensitive.

More than once over the weekend, I felt the fragility of this paper-thin covering. Small words, unintended for harm, cut deep and lingered long. Tingles shot through my arms, tears formed in my eyes, and I fought the floodgates of weakness. Had I been the owner of thicker skin, the words would have bounced right off of me with no harm done. I may have even offered back a clever remark.

Instead, I must learn to sift through the aftermath, seeking to understand intentions, lay aside assumptions, and let the little things go. I must acknowledge my thin skin as a weakness, discover it also as a strength, and offer the blending of both unto God.

Do you think His skin was thick?

Maybe it too was a blending – thin enough to be pierced, thick enough to remain determined; vulnerable enough to ache for love, strong enough to die for it. Thick and thin. Strong and tender. God and man.

I think He really must understand me, then.

So until I get search results on e-bay, I’ll find rest in that. Who knows, maybe along the way I’ll notice more bouncing and less sticking.