In order for me to write this post at all, I’ve got to start with a confession.
So, here goes…
I like Anthropologie.
I know that this, in and of itself, is not inherently either good or evil. However, I’m well aware that my pocketbook (such a lovely, old-fashioned word, isn’t it?) makes shopping at Anthropologie an event as common as a Yeti-sighting. Which means that every time I open the Anthropologie catalogue, I’m wilfully, consciously choosing to participate in two sins that the ancients liked to call deadly: greed and envy.
In these past few weeks, I’ve made a concerted effort to cut down on the inputs in my life that tempt me toward those passions in my own life and heart. In order to simplify my daily routine, I’ve unsubscribed to nearly 10 different sets of correspondences that I used to receive in my email—daily, weekly or monthly. Even if the topic was ostensibly “spiritual”, if I haven’t read it or benefited from it in some way in the past two weeks, I’ve triggered that tragic little screen on my browser that seems to have the same little message each time: We’re sad to see you go. If, at any time, you should wish to return to SUBSCRIBER LIST WHATEVER, please feel free to change your preferences in your account settings.
Honestly, I doubt anyone has felt a pang of sadness that I’ve left their subscriber list. Even if there was a pang of something, some emotion that smacked of regret, I’m willing to bet that it was due to a decline in overall subscriber numbers, rather than a feeling that a relational connection has been lost.
Somehow, in my ruthless whittling of my list, I seem to have ended up on Anthropologie’s email newsletter. I’m not sure how that happened, and it will go the way of the rest of them after today, but I was actually grateful to receive the image that popped up in today’s correspondence. 
When I opened the pane, there stood a woman in a flowing, romantic skirt and blouse set. Dappled in sunlight, seemingly at rest, her eyes were closed in—what? contemplation? delight? desire? And beside her were the words, Shaped With Grace.
I’m not entirely sure that Anthropologie meant to make a theological statement in their email campaign, but at that moment, God stepped in with His characteristic kindness and humor.
What does it look like to be shaped with My grace, beloved
What a thrilling question. What does it look like to be a man or woman shaped with grace, living day to day enfolded not in sillk or chiffon or dappled sunlight, but by the grace of a God who loves you beyond reason, beyond rationality, beyond your failings and your sins, beyond everything you have ever done or ever will do?
I don’t think I need to shop at Anthopologie to get that look. I think I need more of Jesus. More of His love, His laughter, His playfulness and His character. I need more moments when I am enraptured by the Love of the King, the One who chose me, and who chooses me again, anew, each morning.
And that’s something worth subscribing to.