Chopped

Over the last few weeks, God has torn up much of my life. I have been in a bad mood for longer than I can remember ever being before. Why? Because he has dug up every lie I have ever believed about who I am and what I am worth. Sound fun? Well, it's not.

It has been really wonderful too though. Because as God has brought me face to face with those lies, as he has brought me into them and made me sit in them and truly feel, know, and name them, he has shown me more of himself. And that is worth more than anything in the world.

One of the biggest lies that I hear is that I am not beautiful. There is a deep-seated, constant fear that I am not beautiful. That I am too this or not enough that to be seen as lovely or captivating by anyone. It is the lie that causes me to make myself the brunt of most of my own jokes. If not me, than to tear someone else down to make myself feel better. It is the lie that has often caused me to grasp at every reflection I pass, willing myself to be lovely. It is a lie that continues to control me subtly and undeniably.

But in the midst of facing the truth about what I often believe, God is teaching me about true beauty. That he is a beautiful God and thus has created everything as beautiful. And that it is not within human capability to make beauty any less than it is. These are not new concepts to me. But they are vital in learning to not only ignore the lies of the enemy, but annihilate them completely.

So, I have taken a step back from beauty. I have recognized my good, Godly longing for it. And my sin in trying to grasp at what has already been given to me. He is teaching me much about the freedom of beauty. The freedom that comes from knowing that it is not something that can be hidden inside long, beautiful curls, a perfect face, or a size 2. That it was not meant to be something to bind us. It was something freely given so that we may have peace in it, in our perfect likeness to the most beautiful God. So that we can bless others and teach them to see their own beauty. We were never meant to spend our lives striving for beauty.

So I did the only logical thing:

I cut off all my hair.

Sorry for the terrible photo. 

And the thing is, I don't care if you think it looks great or terrible or stupid or fantastic. I didn't do it because I was looking for beautiful. I did it because I already found it, and I'm tired of being deceived into striving for it. And God met me there just as he promised he would. 

Because I am learning that the truth in the beauty of the flowers in the field, the sunset, the mountains... All those things that you look at and can't help but wonder at the glory of God? They apply to me too. I am learning to see God's glory in my reflection, and not my own. I don't see all the ways I don't measure up to everyone else... I see the beloved daughter of God that I am. Beautiful because the God of the universe, the Creator of beauty itself, lives and breathes in me. It's true of you, too.

Do you believe it? 

Or, more importantly: Do you live your life like you believe it?

If not, I want to challenge you to take a look at where your definition of beauty comes from. And maybe do something crazy. Step out on a limb. Take a risk. I promise you two things: God will meet you there if you let him, and you'll be just as beautiful as ever. 

You Don't Have to Stay Here

I am often plagued by nightmares. Less so than before, but they happen at least once a week or so. Sleep has never, really, been my friend. They don't really surprise me anymore, but are just simply expected. And then it is a sweet relief if they don't come.

I had one the other night that was unlike any I've ever had before. The darkness and fear, they were the same. But in the middle of it, everything stopped. A man appeared out of nowhere and said to me, "You don't have to stay here," and pointed to an open door. But I didn't understand. I couldn't comprehend what that meant. So I did what left me with gut-wrenching guilt and shame when I awoke: I turned back. I turned my back on the man offering me freedom, and I chose the horrifying.

Appalling, horrifying, terrifying, sickening. And yet, familiar. It was safe, in a way. Because it was all I had ever known. The unknown life waiting just beyond the light in the doorway was far more terrifying, in the moment, than the familiar nightmare.

I have not been able to shake the meaning of this. No, I don't normally read into dreams. But this was not a normal dream, and the truth echoing in it has stirred my soul unceasingly. That pull in my soul has said, "Pay attention." So I'm paying attention.

I've been reading The Supernatural Ways of Royalty by Kris Vallotton. The book has hit home more than I thought it would. Partly, because Kris's story is similar to mine and he points out many of the struggles I face because of it. And partly because it addresses what God has been trying to teach me for a while now, I just didn't realize it: my identity.

I always thought it was solid. My identity is in Christ, and I have always rested in that. What I am realizing now, though, is just how many lies I have been told about my value, and how they still affect the way I live my life. And resting in my identity in Christ cannot be complete and wholehearted until the lies I used to believe are defaced.

That's a scary thing. To open yourself to every fear you ever faced, every one of the innumerable lies you were told about your value, every single thing you have always feared was actually true. Even if you know it isn't. Because it's familiar, the presence of those lies.

But, as I was reminded the other night, "You don't have to stay here." There is a truth, an identity I have never truly taken ahold of, waiting for me. That of a daughter of a king. A princess. Immensely valuable. I want to turn back to the familiar nightmare no more.

I don't really have any idea what this means. It is difficult, but I can tell I am at the beginning of something wonderful. Something immensely hard, but wonderful. And I do not face it alone. And at the end of it, God has graced me with a promise: that I will know who I really am and how incredibly loved I have always been.

Any fear pales in comparison to that sweet, sweet promise.

I don't think I'll stay here anymore. 

The Warmth of the Cold

Sam and I are currently in Bozeman, Montana. As we make our trek back from a wonderous week in Seattle, there have been unending thoughts crossing my mind. There has been much depth in my heart today, as I have thought and ruminated on the things God has been teaching me. I am still working on writing that down. This is something of less depth.

But as I was thinking the same string of thoughts and questions I've pondered all day long, I walked outside. I walked out to the car to grab my ever-present and necessary Chapstick, when I stopped and felt the chilly breeze on my face.

It's August, but the night is chilly. The air is dry and crisp, and it smells like a late October night in Saint Louis. I loved every second of it. I could almost smell the colors of fall and hear the crisp sound of leaves on the ground.

I can't explain it. The silence that comes from a chill in the wind, the overcast of the clouds in the sky or the dull residual light of a sun long gone. I am weird, I know. But the cold, the dark... It's like home to me. To love it is so strange to most people, but it's all I have ever known.

Don't get me wrong. I love a good hot day spent swimming and (hopefully someday) surfing and sailing. I love wearing my Chacos and running through the sprinkler. And I am certain I would long for the warmth of the sun on my face if it ceased to exist.

But nothing, nothing satisfies my soul the way it was satisfied tonight. Embraced by a chill in the air, the smell of freshness and life and color, the sweet comfort of darkness and stars and silence.

I couldn't help but stop and worship. To revel in the circumstances I was made to love and thrive and see so much of God in. I couldn't help but cry out "Abba," and smile in thanksgiving and joy.

Which was, I think, exactly the point.