Maybe Buddha did get something right…maybe there is some truth to what he’s said. At least half of a truth. I was on Pinterest the other day pinning things to my “Operation : Get Skinny” board…mindlessly thinking about all the ways I could be better. Imagining myself with a toned, tanned stomach, showing off the cute white shorts and swimsuit top with some cute sneakers…picturing myself walking along the boardwalk at Grand Haven hand-in-hand with my boyfriend without a single care because I was finally where I wanted to be. And where society demanded I be in order to be beautiful. I got up from my bed in my hotel room and moved over to the full-length mirror just outside of the bathroom (something World Racers seldom get…a mirror). My eyes moved from my roots-are-showing-from-my-dyed-hair with horrible split ends…to my dry skin (because of the lotion I don’t have anymore)…to my less than groomed eyebrows…to the dark circles under my bright red eyes…to the little make-up I have left…my mismatched, incredibly small ears…and moved ever downward…picking apart the things I hated about my body…including the scars I now wear on my leg from almost dying in Guatemala and hate. A little while later…I found myself looking through pictures of myself in 2009…when I was 19…when I was thinner. When I could fit into those jeans I couldn’t even look at anymore…but that are waiting at home for me in a box juuuust in case someday I can get there again…I noticed that my hair lighter and shorter was prettier than how it is now. How my thighs weren’t as big. How my face looked so much younger…and full of life. How my eyes still had innocence in them…how they sparkled with hope and without the loss I’ve experienced because of poor choices. My skin was brighter. My smiler, whiter. And stomach, smaller.
But even back in 2009…
Since being in Asia…I’ve heard that “I’m Big” at least two or three times a week. While I’m to the point where I can just smile and love these people despite the stab of pain I felt in my gut, I’ve realized how it still affects me.
I bought jeans the other day from the night market here in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Per usual, I spent a solid 10 minutes negotiating the price of my fake/knock-off True Religion Jeans, trying to get down to my price…which was below half of what the original price was. I was sticking to my guns…I wasn’t going to cave like I usually do. When I finally got my number and the vendor got her sale, she looked at me and said : “I get out these big jeans for you. Big size. Not normal size. I no happy for you.”
While I felt like I was going to throw up…I smiled and simply said : “Jesus loves you, thank you so much and happy new year.”
I didn’t tell anyone that she hurt me.
I didn’t want to let her comment hurt me.
I’ve been consumed with thoughts of
“well, maybe I should just not eat for a while…maybe a smoothie a day. That should take away some weight…”
“If I lost 30lbs…then I would be beautiful.”
“My family, friends, and boyfriend will be disappointed if I’m not skinny when I get back.”
I didn’t want to listen to the lies that satan was whispering in my ear.
I didn’t want to be self-conscious.
But I was.
I’ve heard countless squad members, alumni, and even leaders talk about weight lost and gained on the race…I’ve seen drastic transformations and seen the joy that has come with it. But I’ve also seen that it seems to be never enough. People who look like a brand new person, who worked hard to lose weight, and who wanted to be exactly where they are have new goals. And won’t be happy with themselves until they get there. Which begs the question…will they be happy then?
What is happy?
I’ve really pushed through the muck and mirk that is this topic…and using Pinterest for good. Above that though, I’ve turned to the person who took the time to sculpt me and form me into…this. The G*d who mixed the perfect color for my eyes. Who has counted the number of hairs on my head more times than it’s possible to count. Who formed me in my mothers womb.
My beauty doesn’t come from the 100’s of outfits, shoes, and nail polish designs that I’ve pinned on my “My Style” board on Pinterest.
My beauty doesn’t come from a flat stomach, perfect skin, hair, and nails. It doesn’t come from the size 4 I wish I could be. It doesn’t come from a scale or a tape measure.
What makes me beautiful is what I am
Which is everything.
Which is nothing.
Because I’m
I’m bought. Paid for. Ransomed.
I’m free.
I am stunning.
I am beautiful. Because Jesus doesn’t make mistakes.
Every gold highlight in my hair. Every freckle on my nose. Every fleck of green in my eyes. The dimple that digs into the left side of my face when I smile.
There is no other “me”. I’m it. And it’s like I’ve taken this beautiful painting the Creator has made and am comparing it to a photoshopped image…telling him it’s not good enough! That this fake person on this magazine is better!
Buddha was right. When your mind is pure…when your mind is focused on the Creator…when nothing else fits in your brain because you are so consumed by the perfection that is G*d…joy follows. Like a shadow that never leaves.
Because He doesn’t.
He’s the weight you can’t lose.
This is for you. Reading this right now.
You are beautiful.
Side part, middle part, bob cut, long curly locks, buzz cut, Bieber hair, mullet, uni-brow, no-brows.
Bags under your eyes, dry skin, oily skin, acne, scars, stretch or birth marks, and all.
Your self worth is not your weight.
It is not your height.
It's not the letter printed on the tag of your shirt.
It is not what you wear or don’t wear.
Your self worth is simply this : You’re priceless.
You’re worth dying for.
The Creator has already done that for you.
It’s not something you have to earn.
Walk over to the mirror. Think of Je*us looking at you. And smile.
Because that’s exactly what He’s doing back at you.
