One morning, the Savage woke early after a night of raucous snoring. He scuffled his way downstairs, rearranging the Witch’s throw rugs in unkempt piles with his big ugly feet. He wants to eat breakfast but the slothful Witch is still sleeping. He makes himself toast using the stove cook top as counter space (knowing the Witch hates this) because it is most convenient. His primal instincts are focused on bread and butter and he can’t slap it together hastily enough. Fill my belly, fill my belly, he chants in his head.
Unrefreshed from broken sleep, the grouchy Witch is enticed nonetheless by the smell of brewing coffee. She trips over a bunched up scatter rug and mutters something awful to herself. But the Savage heard and he cowers in his corner.
“Good morning”, the chipper Savage offers. Chipper morning people bother the Witch.
The Savage hopes the coffee he made will subdue the Witch and overrule the criminal crumbs. The Witch just looks at him, then her eyes dart to the evidence on the cook top.
“Shut that light,” mumbles the Witch as she proceeds to clean the cook top. Fluorescent lights give her migraines. And we certainly don’t want her more irritable than she already is. The Savage dutifully obeys.
The Savage trudges off to the bathroom to trim his unruly beard. He looks into the mirror and admires himself. Though past his prime, he sees a fine young specimen that the Witch does not appreciate. If she only knew how many fair maidens would be drooling over me if I were free, he thinks.
“Don’t leave beard hairs on that sink!” bellows the Witch.
The Savage mutters something awful to himself and continues shaving.
After the Witch is soothed with quiet time and coffee, she makes a fluffy omelet and beckons the Savage to join her. How could he refuse? Fill my belly, fill my belly. The Savage makes several attempts to turn on his laptop but each one is killed by the Witch’s evil glance. (The Savage feels uncomfortable without background noise. The Witch wants meals to be relational, social events.) They eat and have a somewhat civil conversation.
The Witch gets dressed and looking in the mirror, she sees a beautiful Queen who does everything perfectly; so much so, that she doesn’t want the Savage to do anything but sit there and listen to her. She saunters off to do some dreadful exercises, shoving the Savage’s weights out of her way. Then she loads her laundry basket with an avalanche of Savage laundry. She ventures down the basement stairs, nearly tripping over an assortment of big-foot Savage shoes, sneakers and slippers.
Meanwhile, the Savage sits in the breakfast nook, burping and watching YouTube videos, which of course, the Witch totally resents.
Suddenly, a gust of wind forces the side door of the Savage-Witch cottage open.
“You must have left that door ajar!” the Witch shouts from the basement, breaking her own rule of never talking to one another through walls.
The Savage shut the door and bolted it to the best of his ability. Oddly and seemingly on its own, his laptop came on and started playing a sermon. (please listen)
Mesmerized, the Savage and the Witch perched themselves in their breakfast nook and listened. The washer droned. The clock struck noon. The wind rattled the doors and windows of their old house. They listened intently while the wind continued its raging clamorous clatter. Their spell was broken when they heard breaking glass. They gasped together.
“The mirror!” squawked the Witch. The Savage went to check. The mirror was shattered into several pieces.
He looked at himself in the mirror. This time, he did not see a fine young specimen. He saw a Savage Beast. He was ugly from head to toe.
“Come and see this, Witch,” said he. “Our mirror is broken.”
The Witch looked at herself in the mirror. She did not see a perfect Queen. She was an ugly Witch, stirring up false accusations and brewing contention in her cauldron.
Stunned and repulsed at the sight of themselves, the couple went back to the breakfast nook and listened to the rest of the sermon.
“What shall we do about the mirror?” asked the Witch.
“Absolutely nothing,” replied her Savage husband.
For it was better for them to keep their mirror this way, so they could see their true brokenness.
And they lived, sometimes happily ever after, walking in the Spirit, and as best as they could, not in their own flesh. Slowly but surely, the Savage became a knight in Shining Armor who used the Sword of the Spirit. Slowly but surely, the Witch became his Meek and Faithful Queen. They returned to the shattered mirror often, to remind themselves of that fateful day, when the wind taught them that it is better to be broken than delusional.
23 For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass:
24 For he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.
25 But whoso looketh into the perfect law of liberty, and continueth therein, he being not a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the work, this man shall be blessed in his deed.
— James 1:23-25
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