We can stop living in fear of what others think of us. We can stop measuring others against the yardstick of our own preference and personality. And when we do, we will all be free.
We will all be living in God’s design.
We will all be confident girls.
There was a time, not so long ago, I had to decide which of ten different blazers I would wear for the day. I had concerns like, “Which of these complements my brown stilettos?” and “Will this matching suit set make me look too much like a lawyer?” But these days getting dressed is much simpler. I only put on three things: a bra that doesn’t smell like milk, enough clothes to prevent the mailman from calling the police, and lipstick bright enough to qualify me for the red light district.
Dear girl,
When I got your letter my heart sank to the pit of my stomach and I felt sick. I read the pain and confusion in every line; the desperate plea for clarity… for identity. When you met Jesus, you gave it all up for Him: all that identified you as you. Your makeup and nails and pretty things, your music and yoga pants. You gave it up because you thought you had to. You thought doing all the ‘right things’ was what faith in Him looks like.
And now you stand here, wondering who you are without who you were, confused, frustrated, and lonely.
Perhaps someone told you to get rid of your manicure in the name of vanity.
Perhaps someone told you your lipstick was too bright.
Perhaps you read my post about yoga pants and thought changing the trappings was enough in God’s eyes.
Dear girl, stop following the rules.
It had been a day. Not just a day… but a day: the kind that, when you reach the end of it, you either want to put on your best heels and go out on the town or curl up in your duvet and die.
To start, I’d been up late the night before and only had five hours of sleep. I came to work late because I had to pick up some tax forms Financial Aid needed. Then I got sent home sick.
Once home, I found out the tax forms still weren’t right. I couldn’t reach Mr. M, who was in Tennessee – and he’s who put the forms together.
Nationwide wanted information on our renter’s insurance, which I also didn’t have.
I tried to call the doctor to pay an outstanding bill and they wouldn’t answer. I called another doctor – the one I’d been trying to get an appointment with for three months but couldn’t because the last one wouldn’t send my records – and they stated, once again, that my records were MIA.
So I sat on the sofa in Mr. M’s t-shirt eating a bowl of Cocoa Krispies, bawling my eyes out for a good five minutes. This is the most effective response under such circumstances.
And I still had a three page essay and seven page paper due that night. My computer decided it would be nice to just shut down in the middle of my essay.
“Moral question:” I texted my sisters. “Would it be wrong to swear while writing a theology paper?” The answer is quite obvious, and I didn’t do it, but my stars! What a day!!
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Our lives are a transcript of our theology. We cannot separate what we believe about God from the choices we make.
One of the saddest things I encounter as a writer is the lack of biblical knowledge many Christians possess. They attempt to parse together a knowledge of God from Sunday School messages, Beth Moore studies, and the every-now-and-then quiet time. We live in a world of Christians who might know the word ‘justification’ but couldn’t tell you what it means for their lives.
Our doctrine – our theology – it matters. It is fundamental to absolutely everything we do as women. What you believe about God and His gospel story will affect:
How you speak
How you think
How you dress
How far you go with your boyfriend
How you navigate your future
How you view marriage and children
How you handle your finances
How you view your purpose in life
Don’t believe me? Here’s an example.
You don’t know me. I don’t know you.
I saw you come in and sit down in front of me, smiling and hugging each other, looking around the sanctuary for familiar faces. During the greeting break you shook my hand, we exchanged a few words; maybe ‘Hello, how are you?’ or ‘What’s your name?’
You are all very pretty. Beautiful, actually: tall, thin, with good hair, nicely styled. Your makeup is perfect, even if you don’t think so. You are quite a good looking trio.
I didn’t keep watching you – I’m not that creepy. But after the sermon, as you walked out the door, I wish I had touched your arm and spoken.
I wish I had thanked you.
There’s something else you don’t know – other than me, that is. You don’t know that this Sunday there was a young man sitting behind you; a young man who desperately needs Jesus. I’ve been praying for him for months and it’s a miracle he was even in church today.
He probably didn’t come to church looking for Jesus. He likely came for a pew like yours – a pew of girls. But you provided him no distraction.
Every one of you was attractive. Every one of you could have advertised that attractiveness with what you wore, drawing attention to the shape of your waist, your curves, or the length of your legs. But you didn’t.
When you worshiped God in front of me and the young man behind you, the most prominent visual of your character was your heart for God. When this young man may have been looking for a distraction, he couldn’t find it with you…