We all have weaknesses and things that will always bring us down. I think the devil knows just what our breaking point is. He definitely knows mine. He proved it a few days ago…this is a really personal story because of how much it affected me, but I hope that someone out there can relate or even find comfort in knowing they aren’t alone.
Mom and I were out shopping for Christmas gifts for the family when she decided that I needed a pair of black dress pants. I'm not the sort of person who enjoys shopping; much less trying on clothes...even less shopping in fancy stores where they assume you will need a dressing room. Anywho, I told mom that I'm really picky when it comes to pants, especially of the nicer variety; I wanted wide leg with a cuff. So she decided that there was one particular store that I needed to go to for these pants...Ann Taylor. I have never gotten clothes from Ann Taylor, or any store like it. So, we go. She shops. I try on.
As I stood in the changing room alone looking at myself in the mirror, I wasn't thinking about the pants or how they looked. I was looking at my body. I didn't care about the pants much at all, but I stood there thinking I must be the most hideous person on the planet. I walked out of the room nearly in tears. I fought them back as I told my mom that I didn't want the pants and I just wanted to get out of the store. She stood there next to the rack of black pants just looking at me, wondering what was going on. She saw the tears in my eyes and asked why I didn’t want the pants. I had no reason. I couldn’t even say anything. “I just don’t want the pants. Let’s get out of here,” I kept saying. She bought something for herself and we left.
I made it all the way to car before I started seriously crying. Mom kept asking me what was wrong with the pants, was it something she said, or did the pants just not fit. I didn’t answer her because I couldn’t; I couldn’t verbalize what I was thinking or feeling.
Finally, all I could say was that it wasn’t that I didn’t like the pants, I just hate myself.
I hate myself, my body, my emotions. I just kept crying.
Later that day, my brother and I were driving to see a movie when he asked what was wrong with me earlier. I didn’t want to tell him…so I attempted to dismiss it, but it didn’t work. I gave him the cliff notes version of what happened with the pants. After a lot of conversation, or to a certain extent lecturing, my brother decided that I don’t find my self-worth in Christ.
It’s true, I don’t. He told me he thinks I had attempted to find self-worth through relationships. Again, true. I think I’ve always know that I will never find what I am searching for in any relationship. I know that Christ alone can fill that void, but something in my own subconscious keeps me from him.
I don’t feel worthy of His affection. But that’s the point, I’m not worthy. None of us are. But He still loves us. Completely unconditionally. And He’s the only one who ever will. He loves us just the way we are. He loved us before we were born and He will continue to love us after we die. We don’t have to do anything to deserve His love…just accept it.
That’s the hardest part for me. I know I want it; I need His love to make me whole. I am nothing without Him.
So here I am, the same size I was last week, but I’m taking things I’ve always know to heart. God loves me just the way I am, sure He wants to see me do better, but He will never love me less. Scripture tells us the greatest commandment is love; we are to love God first and foremost, but we are also to love our neighbors as ourselves. How can I love others if I don’t love myself first? I don’t have to love the number sewn into the back of my pants…but I should love the fact that I am a child of God and He loved me enough to let His son die a horrible death in my place.
I am loved. I love.
As are you.
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