I thought wrong...
Saturday was the first Texas Tech home football game. The day when the student body is on full display. And by that, I mean when the Texas Tech female student bodies are on full display. When I was in college people wore t-shirts and jeans to the games. The only people showing skin were the ones cheering on the field. Never would I have imagined wearing a dress and boots to stand for four hours and sweat buckets. So I certainly give the girls props for enduring through an entire football game choosing style over comfort. I cannot compete with those girls, many of who are now at least a decade younger than me, so I don't try. I have accepted the fact that my college body is long gone, and this Saturday, as I wore maternity pants pulled up past my belly button and a plain black t-shirt, I felt more dowdy than usual.
I thought that insecurity melted away with age. That the older I got, the less I would worry about my image. I thought I could be confident and completely comfortable in my own skin. I figured all traces of self-consciousness would disappear at some point in adulthood.
But I thought wrong.
My face used to break out all the time. I suppose if we're going to measure the severity of breakouts on a scale from 1 to 10, I would fall around a 5 on a good day and a 7 most of the time. It was, like most things in my life, annoyingly consistent and would never completely go away. And I tried everything. Every cream, every wash, every face mask and medicine and none of it worked. I hated my skin, and what's worse was that it seemed I was the only pimple-ridden teenager at the time. Does anyone else know of a teenager who doesn't breakout? Yea, me either, but I was certain I was the only one. I begged my parents to let me take the miracle skin drug that was Accutane. The kind of drug that was so harsh, not only did you have to sign a waiver before obtaining a prescription, but most dermatologists required their female patients to take birth control "just in case," Because this drug could cause serious birth defects. You might get good skin, but you would certainly be jeopardizing your baby's health. I was willing to take my chances. I knew children weren't in my near future, and if my skin kept up this little charade, a husband may not be, either. I was probably being a bit dramatic, right? Little did I know that this magical pill would not only dry up my oily face, it would suck any trace of moisture from the rest of my body and I would swim in lotion and chapstick for a year. But it worked. In fact, it worked well. And not long after my prescription ended, it was pulled from the shelves because the FDA determined the side effects of the drug were too dangerous.
I remember getting a zit after having snakeskin for a year, and I panicked. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to have amazing, unblemished skin for the rest of my life. These pesky body image issues were supposed to be going away. I should be growing out of them. I didn't realize they would follow me well into adulthood and grow with me, just like an old, loyal friend. I never knew the same things I dealt with as a teenager would be the exact same things I would deal with as an adult. And I remember wondering how I would ever be able to get married because I sure didn't want anyone to see or know the bare me. If I didn't like it, how would anyone else?
And then I got pregnant.
The moment I found we were expecting, I purchased a tub of belly butter. I had no idea if stretch marks were in my future, but if they showed up, it wouldn't be for a lack of effort on my part. I began lathering my stomach every morning as if people are really ever going to see my stomach in the future anyway. But what would it hurt. Why not try? And 8 months into growing a baby, I have begun wondering how, and if, I'll ever look the way I did on my wedding day again.
There are moments in life when we feel beautiful. In fact, I really can't think of a day where I felt more beautiful than the day I got married. Aaron almost dropped his teeth the first time he saw me that day, and that's what I was going for. He didn't have to tell me what he thought about my appearance. His facial expression did all the talking. Never mind that it took HOURS and a few professionals to get me to that point. If I could wave a wand and look like that every day of my life, I would. I remember how confident I felt about my body as we walked on the beach during our honeymoon. I was tan, I was slim, and everything was firm... for the most part. Now, I look in the mirror and see a neck that is slowly gaining on my chin, a belly button that once sported a cute ring (I know, surprise!) and is now threatening to turn itself inside out at any moment, and thighs that have become inseparable BFFs. I put on my shoes this morning and was a little saddened that my finger-like toes are dangerously close to the end.
But the Lord reminds me that He gave us these bodies to serve Him. Not ourselves. Not another. To carry out His purposes and mission on this earth. These bodies are ours to use while we're here doing God's work. He didn't give us bodies to bring glory to ourselves. He gave us these bodies to care for, to use well, and to honor Him with. And right now, for me, that means growing a baby. That means bringing more light into darkness. That means giving up what will probably not be again. At least, not exactly as it was before. But it also means bringing more salt into a world that has gone unfortunately bland. And so we have to see more than what's on the outside. More than the decay of flesh, the effects of gravity, or the demise of elasticity. That we look at our bodies in a different light and say, "God, I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, so show me what you've made me for. What you want me to do with this body and how I can use it to bring glory to your name. And remind me that, while outwardly, we might be wasting away, inwardly, you're doing a new work every day. A work that will outlast this mortal body and, one day, dwell in eternity with you."
"Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day... so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:16 & 18
I thought that insecurity melted away with age. That the older I got, the less I would worry about my image. I thought I could be confident and completely comfortable in my own skin. I figured all traces of self-consciousness would disappear at some point in adulthood.
But I thought wrong.
My face used to break out all the time. I suppose if we're going to measure the severity of breakouts on a scale from 1 to 10, I would fall around a 5 on a good day and a 7 most of the time. It was, like most things in my life, annoyingly consistent and would never completely go away. And I tried everything. Every cream, every wash, every face mask and medicine and none of it worked. I hated my skin, and what's worse was that it seemed I was the only pimple-ridden teenager at the time. Does anyone else know of a teenager who doesn't breakout? Yea, me either, but I was certain I was the only one. I begged my parents to let me take the miracle skin drug that was Accutane. The kind of drug that was so harsh, not only did you have to sign a waiver before obtaining a prescription, but most dermatologists required their female patients to take birth control "just in case," Because this drug could cause serious birth defects. You might get good skin, but you would certainly be jeopardizing your baby's health. I was willing to take my chances. I knew children weren't in my near future, and if my skin kept up this little charade, a husband may not be, either. I was probably being a bit dramatic, right? Little did I know that this magical pill would not only dry up my oily face, it would suck any trace of moisture from the rest of my body and I would swim in lotion and chapstick for a year. But it worked. In fact, it worked well. And not long after my prescription ended, it was pulled from the shelves because the FDA determined the side effects of the drug were too dangerous.
I remember getting a zit after having snakeskin for a year, and I panicked. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to have amazing, unblemished skin for the rest of my life. These pesky body image issues were supposed to be going away. I should be growing out of them. I didn't realize they would follow me well into adulthood and grow with me, just like an old, loyal friend. I never knew the same things I dealt with as a teenager would be the exact same things I would deal with as an adult. And I remember wondering how I would ever be able to get married because I sure didn't want anyone to see or know the bare me. If I didn't like it, how would anyone else?
And then I got pregnant.
The moment I found we were expecting, I purchased a tub of belly butter. I had no idea if stretch marks were in my future, but if they showed up, it wouldn't be for a lack of effort on my part. I began lathering my stomach every morning as if people are really ever going to see my stomach in the future anyway. But what would it hurt. Why not try? And 8 months into growing a baby, I have begun wondering how, and if, I'll ever look the way I did on my wedding day again.
There are moments in life when we feel beautiful. In fact, I really can't think of a day where I felt more beautiful than the day I got married. Aaron almost dropped his teeth the first time he saw me that day, and that's what I was going for. He didn't have to tell me what he thought about my appearance. His facial expression did all the talking. Never mind that it took HOURS and a few professionals to get me to that point. If I could wave a wand and look like that every day of my life, I would. I remember how confident I felt about my body as we walked on the beach during our honeymoon. I was tan, I was slim, and everything was firm... for the most part. Now, I look in the mirror and see a neck that is slowly gaining on my chin, a belly button that once sported a cute ring (I know, surprise!) and is now threatening to turn itself inside out at any moment, and thighs that have become inseparable BFFs. I put on my shoes this morning and was a little saddened that my finger-like toes are dangerously close to the end.
But the Lord reminds me that He gave us these bodies to serve Him. Not ourselves. Not another. To carry out His purposes and mission on this earth. These bodies are ours to use while we're here doing God's work. He didn't give us bodies to bring glory to ourselves. He gave us these bodies to care for, to use well, and to honor Him with. And right now, for me, that means growing a baby. That means bringing more light into darkness. That means giving up what will probably not be again. At least, not exactly as it was before. But it also means bringing more salt into a world that has gone unfortunately bland. And so we have to see more than what's on the outside. More than the decay of flesh, the effects of gravity, or the demise of elasticity. That we look at our bodies in a different light and say, "God, I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, so show me what you've made me for. What you want me to do with this body and how I can use it to bring glory to your name. And remind me that, while outwardly, we might be wasting away, inwardly, you're doing a new work every day. A work that will outlast this mortal body and, one day, dwell in eternity with you."
"Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day... so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:16 & 18
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