I am the Immodest Girl

Sexuality, Singleness

I am the Immodest Girl

I wore this today because I’m insecure.

I looked in the mirror and the mirror told me lies. But I believe them, because they’re all I’ve ever known:

You’re not enough. You’re not attractive. You’re unloveable.

I wore this today because I want attention.

I looked in a magazine and the magazine lied. But I believe it, because it says I can be confident:

Show off your body. Make them look. Make them jealous.

I wore this today because it’s my identity.

I looked to the world and the world… it lied. But I believe it, because it accepts me:

Be you. Follow your dreams. Wear whatever you want.

I wore this today because I wanted to.

My faith is a faith of regulation. I’m tired of it. So I looked to my heart and my heart, it lied.

God doesn’t love you. All He cares about is rules.

I am the “immodest” girl.

I am the girl on the street, in the parking lot, in the line at the store. I am the girl at church “who should know better”, the girl asked to change. I am the girl we’ve all been at one point in time. Because we have. If not in dress, then in heart; if not in appearance, then in mind.

I am the girl who stands in her too-short dress and I have reasons I’m wearing it. Maybe I am insecure, maybe I want attention, maybe I’ve let my sexuality become my identity. Maybe I am more concerned with being viewed than being known – more consumed with being admired than being loved.


But maybe I don’t know anything else.

You are the church; you know the truth. You know that immodesty is a heart decision, but have you reached for my heart? You know that immodesty begins inside of me – but have you tried to see my soul? Hearts aren’t changed by condescension. But they can be changed by love.

What you see on my outside is a reflection of my inner being. Everything I’ve chosen to wear is a reflection of how I view myself, my purpose, and my role in this world. Whether I don’t care or care too much – it’s all rooted in where I find my value. Getting angry at me won’t change my clothes. It will make you just one more person who sees me as an object… the only difference is that you’ve exchanged lust for disgust, attention for anger.

I am the immodest girl.

Do you know if I know Jesus? If I don’t, my unregenerate heart won’t understand your perspective. You can make me a project. You can change my outside. You can whitewash this tomb. But my soul will lie there dying, knowing only a Jesus who cares about clothes.

Do you know if I know Jesus? Perhaps I’m in the church. Here, I’m not confronted… it’s unspoken judgment; a questioning glance with no comment. My immodesty is a problem to be fixed; a hem to lengthen, a cami to wear. But will anyone look past my outfit to the heart that caused it? Will anyone see my need?

I will stand in line next to you and you can roll your eyes in disgust. Or you can ask my name.

I will walk into bible study and you can ignore me, refuse to call on me, or talk about me behind my back. Or you can reach my heart.

Because it is my heart, not my clothes, that needs transformation. And it is my heart – not my clothes – that needs Christ.

Every immodest girl has a voice; often wordless, often quiet. We all send a message with what we wear. But I – I’m crying out for something: security, attention, validation… love. To love me does not mean affirming all my choices. It’s to see past them to who I really am.

Should I wait to know your Jesus until I’m wearing the right clothes? Or should I come now, here, clothed as I am… and let Him change me?

I am the immodest girl, and I want to know.

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