On being a realist

From time to time I think of a story in a book I read long ago: There was a pretty young woman, who said she only wanted to loved for herself, but deep down she liked being thought of as pretty. The devil came and tempted her (I think by telling her her true thoughts), she protested that she wasn’t vain, and in the end he called her bluff by making her ugly after all.

Many years later, the devil went back to see how she was doing. (Of course, he expected to take great satisfaction in her misery.) He found her house, peeked through the window, and saw: the now ugly young woman, her equally ugly husband, and a predictably ugly little baby, eating a meal in the firelight. But they were all very happy. What? Didn’t she know she was ugly?

Though some people my family knew wouldn’t let their kids read this book because it had the word “devil” in the title, I think there’s something Christian about the story. I am often afraid of letting something go that I say I can do without, on the grounds that letting go might not be realistic. I really don’t think I’m being realistic unless I’m like a Peter who’s looking at every wave around just to make sure I know what I’m up against, instead of at Jesus. Like that young woman, I secretly think I need a little beauty of my own to get along in the world.

At any rate, somehow the pretty young woman got over being turned ugly, and she found she was happier for it. She’s the realist. I think that’s very hard for the devil to understand.