My two-way mirror.
The campfire crackled, warming the chill air. Our group circled around the intimate blaze, seated on logs that had yet to be processed into firewood. The flames danced and swayed with the elegance of a prima ballerina, such a beautiful sight. Fire is an alluring creature that can offer a priceless gift or, in its deception, bring total destruction. It’s the land’s siren call, but the reward makes the risk worthwhile, as there’s no better way to conclude a family gathering.
At this point in our festivities, typical plans included live music and/or a friendly competition, but that night we were short on musicians. Our games ranged from mainstream commercial versions to homemade variations that were never played again, mainly because we often forgot the rules afterward. I don’t know who made the decision that night, but their choice might be one of the riskiest games ever conceived. The imitation game.
As the name suggests, we would mimic others in the group, and the rest would have to identify the family member being portrayed. Please don’t try this at home unless you can tolerate seeing yourself the way others do. Some participants would cop out and take the safe road with a generic performance, probably a smart play given the game’s proclivity to send at least one person away in a fit of rage. Yet, there is always that one contestant who goes all in. His aim wasn’t to upset the others; he just played by the rules as they were laid out before him. Pick someone in the group and do your best version. You can’t win if no one guesses who you are. The impression of his mom was flawless, down to the panic-stricken voice and the frantic gestures as he searched for a misplaced child who wasn’t actually lost. His mother glared at him, but she held her tongue. Odds are he heard about it later. It was an easy answer, but that shows good acting. One full rotation and we were back to our alpha player. I expect everyone was nervous about his next victim. He furrowed his brows and began with a loud, scornful tone, followed by a wagging finger. As the sentence took shape, the answer became obvious. Me.
Earlier that day, during chow time, I called out one of the kids for cutting in line. Our star contestant happened to be an eyewitness, and his recall was detective-grade. Being a spectator to my own lecture was enlightening. In the heat of the moment, my response felt justified, but watching an instant replay of my irritated self was a bit unsettling. I could try to downplay his account of the scene, but earlier I had been bragging about his Oscar-worthy rendition of his mother. How could I claim that he was overplaying my behavior?
This story showcases my two-way mirror (aka one-way glass) philosophy. During the round when the spotlight was on someone else, it was nothing more than good ole country fun, but when it panned toward me, the experience changed. Nobody puts me in the hot seat. This principle extends far beyond my family’s ‘harmless’ pastime. It’s my approach to life. From my perch, I have an unobstructed view of everyone else, watching their comings and goings in the raw. It gives me the freedom to think or say whatever comes to mind when I look out, but when the perspective is reversed, I deny others the same access to me. Before any glances or retorts come my way, they’d best take a long look in the mirror. Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to provide one.
If I list some infuriating traits I see in others and honestly compare them to my own habits, a pattern emerges. It aggravates the dickens out of me when people don’t listen, yet I feel justified in ignoring commands. I get riled up when people do only half their jobs; good thing I operate at roughly 65 percent. I’m fit to be tied when people talk big but don’t follow through. I pride myself on walking the walk uphill both ways. I expect perfection from others; if I have any flaws, it’s someone else’s fault.
As you can see, the left and right columns have distinct attributes. Other people put me in an emotionally heightened state with their transgressions, but when it comes to my similar infractions, I let myself off with a warning at most. That’s the beauty of not having the mirror on my side. Out of sight, out of mind.
The Bible speaks to this in Matthew 7:3-5. However, the passage discourages my preference and instead encourages a reflective approach. First, I should acknowledge my own darkened heart before I so kindly point out how black as coal my brother’s is. With my two-way mirror, I neglect to evaluate myself before I begin a critical examination of those around me. I peer through the glass at my leisure and, at the same time, offer my neighbors a mirror to do the very thing I avoid. Why do I resist seeing my own image?
Proverbs 27:19 (NKJV) states, “As in water face reflects face, so a man’s heart reveals the man.” Am I afraid of what’s down there? Would I identify areas of disrepair that urgently need renovation? No wonder I refuse to look.
While Jesus was on the cross, he was accompanied by two criminals (Luke 23:39-43). The first felon’s statement is very suggestive of him being the two-way mirror type. I know my kind. The second lawbreaker used a standard mirror to inspect himself before any words left his mouth. That sincere self-check gave him clarity and forever changed his life. Maybe it’s time I turn my glass around.
Which mirror do you carry?
