Growing up, I was always taller than all of my classmates, and therefore, weighed more. I began to believe that I was fat LONG before extra pounds found their way onto my frame. Regardless of my weight, however, I don't remember ever feeling pretty.
My favorite colors as a little girl were anything BUT pink and purple. (still true) I'm told green and orange were my favorites as a little girl. Dresses? BLECH! NO WAY! Orange and green are finding their way back into my heart lately. Blues and yellows have been favorites for as long as I can remember.
I didn't know many other girls who hated dresses like me, or who thought pink stuff was kind of gross. So, I began to believe that I didn't fit in. I believed the lie that being unique was bad.
So, who am I? I am 40 something. I have bifocals and am sprouting new grey hairs daily. I'm a good bit overweight, though a lot thinner than I used to be. My knees and ankles...okay, my whole body aches as I try out my first moves each morning. It's possible I even have bunions or hammer toes or some other foot thing only old people get.
I'm not putting myself down when I say this. Just stating measurable facts. It doesn't define who I am; nor does my job, my marital status, my income - or lack thereof... These things can't (shouldn't) define me. They are just facts.
When I live my life out of the darkness of shame, I can't clearly see who I am - it's dark and hidden. My husband told me a lie that I believed for far too many years. He said I was ugly, grotesque even. Out of my woundedness, I agreed with him. I lived in such a dark place back then. I often walked with my shoulders slumped and my head down. My existence was filled with activities designed to gain approval from people who don't matter, just so I could pretend to feel good about myself.
For me to walk (ok...lately, limp) as a daughter of the King (aka princess) in the light of truth, is to learn to see me from my Abba's point of view. He doesn't look on my outsides. But He created them, and the first thing he said after creating us was to comment on how good his opinion of us is.
He adores me, desires me, and delights in me. I am beloved. I am chosen.
To be fair, He also sees my scars, the wounds that haven't yet healed, and the black marks I sometimes cut into my heart with sinful choices. Light does that...makes things more visible. None of this changes His love for me or my identity. I am imago dei - made in the image of the I AM.
A couple weeks ago, I saw my reflection in a shop window. My usual reaction feels like the emotional equivalent to a sucker punch in the gut. Shop windows don't lie. Mirrors only tell half truths, because I present my best to them so I can avoid rejection. So, there I was, April 2nd, wearing a shirt I had purchased a few years ago but had never worn because it had always been too small. I was downtown, on my way to my favorite gluten free sandwich shop when I caught a glimpse of my profile, and I took a 2nd (and maybe a 3rd) look before smiling with amazement. For the first time ever, I liked what I saw:
- I looked confident. I stood straight, not broken down by harsh lies.
- I looked happy. There was joy and freedom in my heart that day.
- I looked free. Giving up all the things that weigh me down: foods that I find comforting but that my body is allergic to, extraneous commitments, and other unnecessary burdens (idols) is an ongoing practice, but the fruits of that labor are SO sweet.
- I looked soft. Letting my hair down is a big part of letting go of trying to control everything.
I'm so grateful for that incredibly powerful moment. It is forever ingrained upon my heart as a restore point. I can talk a good talk when it comes to beauty, but, truthfully, I don't always believe it. I hope I have more sightings. But more importantly, I hope I can stop putting my heart's stock into all those lies.
Because, lies only have power if they are believed.
