Thoughts on not being beautiful.

Beautiful child...:

I remember my first crush. His name was Kirby. What a name. Such a name for such a stud. We would ride our tricycles together, and I distinctly remember him offering me water when I was thirsty from, obviously, a pretty intense ride. This act of generosity sparked something inside of me, and I proceeded to draw about 50 pictures of us getting married. I’m obviously extremely easy to impress.

I remember my 5th grade crush. His name was Alex. He had a dimple in the middle of his chin. And, on “out of uniform” days, he always wore a Green Bay packers uniform. We competed against each other on who could get the highest grades (um me, of course). We did that weird thing of pretending to hate each other when we were clearly madly in like. I would ask my older brother facts about sports teams and players in order to impress him. And, I remember using my first incredible (?) witty (?) comeback when he and the other boys were making fun of the girls. I whipped my pigtails around and gave that boy a piece of my mind. All the while thinking he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen.

I know it’s pretty shocking, but I wasn’t the most popular kid in high school. I didn’t mind. I had the greatest friends a girl could ask for. I was the theatre kid whose first kiss was with a gay guy during a rehearsal for Kiss Me, Kate. I was Kate. It was in front of about 50 people. And, to make it even better, the guy who was supposed to interrupt the kiss was partially deaf and didn’t hear his cue. So, yes, we stood on stage kissing for quite some time. You’re welcome for making your first kiss story seem less awful. Anyway, my senior crush was named Jason. He was the coolest guy in school. He played drums for the chapel band, had swooshy blonde surfer hair, and could have modeled for toothpaste commercials. Wonder of wonders, Jason asked me to senior prom, and I couldn’t believe it. Of all the girls, he had picked me. I had just gotten my wisdom teeth pulled so my response was, “yeshhh”. Classy. Anyway, on the way to prom, Jason told me that he and his friends had decided to ask girls to prom who no one would ever expect them to ask. Hence–me.

Welcome to my gloriously romantic life.

I am 26 years old and I have never had a boyfriend. I guess this is weird, but, it’s really become my normal. My friend and I are writing a book called The Gift of Singleness: When God Calls You but Guys Don’t. Look for it in a bookstore near you. I could write a myriad of blogs on singleness. I have and continue to learn a lot. A lot about God and a lot about me. But, for this one I’m going to take a risk and be cliche. Because I think there’s beauty in the cliche.

Guys have never really been that interested in me. I’m not saying this for pity. I’m just saying that is how it has largely been throughout my life. And, somewhere along the way I looked in the mirror and I [thought] knew the reason why. I wasn’t beautiful.

Guys wanted beautiful girls. And, guys didn’t want me. So, therefore, I wasn’t beautiful. I didn’t (and don’t) have whatever it is that makes men want you. I wasn’t “want-able”. I wasn’t enough. Whatever “enough” was. I had error. I was flawed. There was something wrong with me.

To all the singles who have felt the weight of this lie. To all whose every ___ is too ____ blank based on a cultural definition of beauty. And, to all who have believed, for whatever reason, at whatever time, that you are ugly. I write to you a love note.

 Embrace the “cliche” of timeless truth.

You are beautiful. His works are wonderful. You are one of them. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.

Sin has hopelessly distorted the image we often see in our eyes when we look in the mirror.  We live in a fallen world and our idea and perception of beauty is fallen. You are beautiful. Embrace your beauty. Know your beauty. You are an image bearer of God. You are incredible. You have unmistakable intrinsic value. There is nothing wrong with you.

I could talk to you for a long time about how my believing that I am not beautiful has deeply affected my thinking, my actions, my decisions, even my major back in college—it has literally infiltrated every aspect of my life. Satan really likes for us to believe lies. We believe lies and begin to measure ourselves up to the world’s standards, when, in Christ, we are declared righteous. Whole. New. Alive.

We must detect the lies, reject the lies, and replace them with the truth. What lies are you believing today—lies about so much more than just physical beauty? Detect them. Reject them. Replace them. Let us not be ruled by lies.

This blog is not meant to encourage anyone to place their hope in beauty—physical beauty, the hope for, the chasing after—will fail you. As will all other idols that cannot save. I’m writing this to encourage you to reject the lie that you are anything less than beautiful. And your value is not the sum of what others say about you, or found in your “likes” on Instagram, or in whether or not you are single or married. Your beauty, like your worth, does not go up and down or change throughout the day, months, or years. It is not determined by your skin regimen or your diet. Your beauty is intrinsic. Your beauty is in the eye of your Creator.

I pray that you and I will know that we have been loved with an everlasting love. We serve a sovereign God who has, at great cost, given us Himself—the ultimate Good and source of real and lasting joy. He has made you beautiful. There is nothing wrong with you.

You and I are pretty freakin gorgeous.

This is truth.
Believe truth today.

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