I wrote this blog a couple days ago and as I read it again, I hesitate to share it, but it was so heavy on my heart when I wrote it, that I feel like I should go ahead and post it.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” You don’t need a mirror to ask that question. This morning I put on a dress that I had purchased here in Puerto Viejo to replace some of the heavier, warmer items that I had brought with me and did not need. It is golden yellow with a brown coral design printed on it. The dress is light cotton, flows and “falls beautifully” as my Mimi would say. I put it on and felt lovely. Feeling it swish around my knees and the short sleeves brush my arms made me giggle with girlish happiness, remembering Sunday mornings spent spinning to the point of dizziness in the yard of my church just to feel my dress twirl around me like a princess. I don’t have mirrors in these memories.
The sweet moment was shattered when a little prick of ugly doubt tugged at the back of my brain.
“You haven’t checked the mirror to make sure you look ok. What if you look ridiculous?”
Side note: This voice is called pride. Pride’s children are judgement, self-hatred, fear and shame. If you happen to know of any other offspring she may have, let me know, because starting as of a few days ago, I learned that she and her family have been camping out in the neighborhood of my heart and mind causing all sorts of trouble. It turns out that I had invited them in under the guise of righteousness and no friends could help me because it was under the cover of the night of my personal space, false “boundaries” and embarrassment.
So, just as I was thinking, “wouldn’t it be great to fast from mirrors?” I punched in the passcode to my iphone, clicked the camera, flipped it around to face me and propped it up on the table as a mirror.
“My teammate looks better in her dress.”
“Don’t compare yourself. It’s wrong! How can you do that as a Christian? You should know better.”
“Maybe if I tie the dress differently, I won’t look so big.”
“You shouldn’t think that. You should be content with what you look like. That is how Godly women think. You must not be a Godly woman.”
Click.
I turn the camera off. I have been on this battlefront a million times. I am wasting time and want to facetime my parents before church. I wonder when mirrors entered the memories of my twirling dresses. This is a battle and this morning I felt defeated, tired of thinking about it, frustrated with it filling my mind and knowing of so many women who have been fighting the battle of mirrors as well. I see it in the eyes of women in floor length dresses and string bikinis and I feel it in me. The enemy want me to think it is a losing battle, something we as women are stuck with forever, but his jealousy and hatred mask his fear. He fights a battle he has already lost, hitting his head against an impenetrable wall of redemption and love that he and his cohorts will never break. The battle belongs to the Lord. I am not a victim to the lies of the world, the enemy or even the lies that I speak to myself.
I love how God leads us to dig up the right roots of sin at the right time and then brings sweet healing in the process. This is just a little chunk of what God is doing personally in my heart as I physically and spiritually minister to the people around me.God is ministering to me on such a deep level as well. It is hard, but freeing and I am learning more and more that God disciplines the one’s He loves.
Life Updates:
I am reading: Anne Voskamp’s blog posts (look them up!)
I am listening to: All the country music on my ipod. I miss two stepping!
I have been playing: Lots of Gospel music! I was able to play/sing a couple songs at one of the local bars/restaraunts for a woman who loves Jesus to dance on the aerial silks to. In the process I was able to hear her testimony and how God has used dancing in her life. It was beautiful!
I laughed when: we played slap jack at a local restaraunt and even though we tried to be quiet, we were just too competitive to slap the cards softly. Our poop stories are also pretty funny as well. Scratch that, they’re hilarious:)
The sweetest moment of this past week happened when: One of the homeless men living in the shed next to our house came and set on our front porch while I was practicing guitar for a Gospel concert. He didn’t speak English, but we managed to communicate a little and he just set, listened and enjoyed. He has been my favorite audience by far and it was great because I was able to communicate that I thought he was worth time and love just by playing a couple songs.
