When I was a little girl, I always thought everyone else had it better. I grew up in a nice house, with a great parents, a loving sister, a ton of pets, great opportunities and great friends. Yet I was always longing for what my friends had in their possession, and what they did and/or had in their lives. I wanted to be them. Up through the end of high school, I could catch myself thinking, “Man, I wish I was her”. The reasons would vary, anything from a certain boy liking them, the style they had, or the crowd they hung out with. Along with this came the “normal” (I hope) wants of what I didn’t have. If I had straight hair, I wanted curly. I was really tall as a kid, so I wanted to be short. I was also fit and strong, so I wanted to be extremely petite and skinny. I was not happy with my very fulfilled life. But… I was a kid.. so.. that’s changed… right?
Not entirely.
I no longer wish to “be” someone else. I have realized that I am me for a reason, and that reason is probably something pretty great. However, I’m not so far removed from the other desires as I had hoped.
Last week, I was lucky enough to talk to a World Race alum. She answered quite a few questions, one being that she gained 20 lbs. on the race. TWENTY POUNDS. I just about died. I’m not obsessive about my weight, but it is my job, as a model, to watch the way I look and make sure I can fit certain criteria. I was hoping to come back and model again. But after gaining 20 pounds? No shot.
I casually mentioned this to my newly found girlfriends also crazy enough to go on the Race, and they immediately sensed something I didn’t. I say I mentioned it casually, because I didn’t see the issue. I was horrified that I would gain 20 lbs., but why was that bad? They instead shifted my attention from the number on a scale, to why I was worried about it, and then asked me a pivotal question. We’re going around the world, to the poorest places, to offer our love and Christ’s- will you be any less helpful if you gain 10-20 pounds?
The answer is of course not. As much as I tell myself it is, my outer appearance isn’t important. Heck, my job and all of society tells me it is, so its an easy lie to believe. But God sees our heart. He sees our actions when no one else is around. He hears our desires. And if God is calling me to do great works, why am I so worried about weight?
This all took place, of all days, on International Women’s Day. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded that I’m a woman, and that’s awesome. I’m strong and confident, and I don’t need a number or society or anyone else to tell me that. My Father in Heaven made me beautiful in His image.
The great thing about this realization is that I get to go tell the women of the world the same thing. That they ARE beautiful, right then and there. Not they “will be if” they meet certain criteria. I get to tell the orphans that they’re loved. I get to tell the prostitutes that they’re beyond beautiful and worth more. I get to tell the widow that she is more beautiful than she can imagine.
And I. Can’t. Wait.
P.s.- here’s a make-up free, guilt free, shame-free selfie, because God made me beautiful just the way I am.
