Day 19: Rescued.

Day 18: I hate my 7 clothes. Hate them.

(I decided not to post that solo. Didn't want to waste your time by making you click on the link, leave your screen, try to figure out how to get back, etc. So, it's piggy-backed.)


Day 19: I feel better today. Permit my explanation:

     There was a time when my self-concept wasn't so pretty. I shopped at consignment stores before Plato's Closet was cool. My hairstyles were about two styles too late. I'm pretty sure I even remember a matching sweatshirt and sweatpants set in my regular rotation. Let's all just cringe together....... When I was a kid, I couldn't have cared less. I was comfortable in my skin. I felt fun and lovely. Spiky ponytail sticking straight out of my head and a little off center? Whatev. I was so...unique. And, that was a good thing.

     And, then, hold your breath...middle school. My family moved across town when I started 7th grade. I changed schools, friends, worlds, really. In a new school, I felt this poison creeping into my heart. Whispers of "People are watching you" and "You don't look like the other girls". It was small, at first. But, as I have been meditating on my craving for beautiful clothes this month, I can pinpoint this moment as the moment where the lies starting sneaking in. I was so imperfect. And, girls were so...unforgiving? It just snow-balled into high school. Soon enough, I'm trading in my sweet and innocent for tight and sexy. (Then, my mom started doing the arm-raise test, the bend-over test, and the fingertip test before I walked out the door. That ended quickly.) I was stuck in this tug-of-war between maintaining the beauty of my character and looking desirable to the world. How many ladies do we lose to this battle? My heart aches to consider it.

     Even as I write this, I kind of feel a little bit of what I felt then. I was a slave, really. To advertising. To the pretty girls. To myself. I hear it said often, I wish I knew then what I know now. How differently I would have done things. Instead, I bought more clothes, flaunted my sexuality, and let people determine my worth. And, in the end, they largely found me as worthless as they saw themselves. What a sick cycle we allow ourselves to be trapped inside.

     And, then came my Rescuer. (I sort of wish blogs had a soundtrack, so that you could hear the crazy loud instrumental breakdown that I just heard in my head. Imagine it and I'll say it again.) And, then came my Rescuer! He reached down into my worthlessness and stripped away all of the mess on His stunning canvas. He started whispering, "I made you, daughter. And, you are good." It was more than I ever dared to hope for. Over the past few years, He has begun the long process of piecing me back together, of re-designing my understanding of worth. And, while before I was trapped inside of my own suffering, He turned my eyes outward onto the same suffering of others.

     Sweet readers, this is for you. You are good. You are wonderfully crafted, a masterpiece uniquely designed by the same God who made sunsets and willow trees and fireflies. It does not matter what people think of your wardrobe, your hair, your chubby, little cheeks. (Oh wait, that's just me!) When I get to the end of my life, I can't imagine that I will ever say, "Gosh, I wish I had bought that emerald green tank at The Gap." What I hope I will say is that I loved the broken-hearted. I fed the hungry. I took care of the orphans. God made me so much more beautifully than any re-design I could give myself. He did you, too. Don't try to re-design something that is already perfect. <3