It was one rough morning. I stumbled out of bed trying to shake off my Nyquil induced coma from the night before. I was grateful for the 10 hours of sleep but now I only had 30mins to begin to function, wash up and get my butt out the door. There went my hopes of showering or even just straightening my hair, I just prayed that it would be at least manageable, maybe a little disheveled but in a cute way? Just one glance in the bathroom mirror told me that I wasn’t so lucky. My hair looked as if I had stuck my finger in an outlet and then slept on it. Let’s just say that the rest of my morning was a jumble of clothes, hair ties and bobby pins. I left the house feeling like a complete mess, as if all my flaws were on display and once I stepped into the office everyone would see.
That’s kind of ridiculous and self focused isn’t it? I mean honestly people don’t pay that close attention to me, or to anyone for that matter. So often I’ve heard a friend complain about some flaw that they were overly self-conscious of, but that I was completely oblivious to. We’re the ones that are the most critical of ourselves, more so than anyone else could ever be, and yet we tend to forget that. I thought that I had laid a lot of this down last year (you know that one time that I shaved my head) and to an extent I did. But it’s a lot easier to not worry so much about how you look when you’re half way around the world, and you don’t have a mirror.
This last year has been a transformative one, and in so many ways I’ve been able to separate my identity from my outward appearance. I’ve learned that it’s ok to not wear makeup, to wear what I want to, to stop trying to put on a façade of what I think I should look like and just be me. But then there are days like yesterday, days where my wayward hair can send me into a tail spin. Days when my hair starts to resemble a mullet and all I can focus on is how much I hate it. Days that I change 5 times before I head out the door. Days where I can’t but help to compare myself to my beautiful housemates and wish I had their shapes, hair, style, etc. Days where the truth of who I am is drowned out by the lies that I’m choosing to listen to.
And in those moments my Papa reminds about who He says I am. He reminds me that I was created to be ME and no one else. That I am beautiful and even when I look in the mirror and don’t see it, HE does, He always does. He tells me through a perfectly timed text from a friend reminding me I’m beautiful. He tells me through the random positive feedback on my beautiful spirit. He tells me through the prophetic note that reminds me of my uniqueness and that my smile lights up heaven. He whispers it to me every time I start to doubt myself, every time I start to be overly critical of myself, every time I call flawed what He calls perfect.
– Jess
