…who’s that guy looking back at me? I know it doesn’t have the rhyming beauty of the classic but to be honest some days I look in the mirror and think the Evil Queen in Snow White has a leg up on me in the looks department. Each morning, I try to peak through one eye to get some sense of what fresh horror I will see after not getting my beauty sleep for the fourteenth month in a row. Sometimes I can guess because I have already passed the same bathroom mirror in the night more than a few times. Based on this, I hear a voice inside say, “don’t look David, don’t look; this ain’t going to be pretty.” 

Mirror, mirror on the windows of the building… 

…who’s that guy looking back at me? The face is familiar, but the body just doesn’t seem to match. He looks a little drunk when he walks, a little shaky as he holds his cane. His hair is in place, and it looks like some thought went into the clothes he’s wearing but his gait is odd, and he sort of wobbles. I look away thinking to myself maybe it will go away, the cane and the wobble, the feeble look, all of it. Maybe the next time I look I will see me, the me that once was. 

Mirror, mirror on the restroom wall… 

…who is that guy looking back at me? Sure, there are a few less hairs than twenty years ago and, thankfully a few less pounds, although I wish it was a choice to lose the weight. The face that looks back doesn’t look old enough to be fifty-eight but the walker that holds me up says seventy-eight at least.  Walkers are for old men so why do I have one? I’m not old! It is very clear as I dry my hands and exit the restroom, tripping over my own feet; I may not be old, but I am a fall risk. 

Mirror, Mirror on the elevator wall… 

…who is that guy looking back at me?  I have to admit, the tinted glass mirror makes me look much better than the other mirrors, but still, it can’t hide the wheelchair that helps me get around. I smile weakly at my reflection thinking it could be worse, I could be bedridden. The doors open and someone tries to get on, but my chair is in the way. They are a little uncomfortable when I say, “just squeeze in, there’s room” they smile and say, “I’ll wait for the next one.” The doors close and I look again at my reflection thinking, there’s one good thing, that guy in the mirror gets the elevator all to himself.  

Mirror, mirror in the Bible… 

…who is that guy looking back at me? I wish I could say I saw the reflection of Jesus but I only see someone that ain’t pretty, that isn’t enough better than I once was, that is at risk because of the fall, that might be happy to be by himself but should want to spend more time with Jesus.  

I can’t change the image in the mirror, but I can change whose image others see when they meet me. I can be a reflection of Jesus. I can be salt and light. My weak tremoring hands and wobbly feet can be the hands and feet of Jesus to a world that does not know Jesus, that is at risk because of the fall, that can be transformed into someone so much better than before, that, when they look in the mirror can say, “I am beautiful because I am created in the image of God and I am being changed to be more and more like Jesus.” 

And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. 2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV) 

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I know Jesus is the fairest of all.