Look good. Fit in. Stand out.

I just found this in my drafts, from two years ago. I don’t even want to edit it first. Published and still preaching it to myself.

In elementary school, I got glasses and braces during the same week. I have a distinct memory of trying to wear a training bra to school and sneaking it off near my cubby because it was so uncomfortable. In middle school, I received comments about my appearance and size that I will never forget. I didn’t even start my period until after I learned to drive. In high school, the boys I liked were either interested in my friends or in what I was doing after dark so they could keep me a secret.

It goes far beyond physical appearance, but this feels like an easy place to start unpacking. These seemingly small moments were actually foundational in my development as a woman and a follower of Jesus. Over the years, I’ve struggled to see God as a kind Dad with unconditional love for me, a God who desires nothing from me but a relationship. I’ve struggled to understand and know intimacy within my marriage the way God designed it.

The thing is, I was popular. I was on the cheerleading squad. I didn’t struggle with weight and I could let my hair air dry without problems. I easily found plans on the weekends. I always had a date to the dance (minus senior prom… but hey, getting dumped just beforehand only helped me grow into the powerful, capable introvert I am today, right?). I even experienced a couple of legitimate dating relationships with decent dudes. But all of the weird, negative memories still live inside of me, etched in as a piece of my upbringing. Although I was never bullied or made to feel like an outcast, I knew from an early age what it took to be successful with people – specifically, men.

Look good. Fit in. Stand out.

I’ve been a Christian for practically my entire life, and I’ve always known God as loving and forgiving. Somewhere along the way, though, I slowly made him into a school principal or a coach or a guy I desperately wanted to notice me. Once I was in God’s family and on his team, I told myself, he needed me to perform.

Look good. Fit in. Stand out.

This is why I push multi-generational community so hard. This is why I don’t shut up about the importance of reading my Bible. This is why I’ve been in and out of counseling for most of my adult life. This is also why I’m still uncomfortable changing clothes in front of my husband. This is also why I don’t love speaking on stage. This is also why I hesitate to try anything new that might result in my failing or looking stupid.

I was not careful with who I allowed to influence me. I did not pay attention to what I read and watched, or to whom I listened. God’s voice was there all along, telling me who he was. Who I was. Whose I was. What I meant to him. He tried to tell me that his yoke was easy and his burden was light. But in my American culture, in my wealthy school full of privilege, in my good-looking and high-achieving family, in my swirl of adolescent hormones, I made a dangerous choice early on.

I will earn my way to God. I will maintain right-standing with him, without help. I will not need grace. I will look good. I will fit in. I will stand out. Even if it kills me.

Until it nearly did. It nearly killed me. And I got help. I’m in spiritual recovery, now and forever, learning each day to let a good Father show me grace in new ways. It will be a lifelong journey, for sure, but I’m grateful to know truth and grow from it.

I know now that when God looks at me, he sees his son. So by default, by the work of the cross, I look good. I fit in. I stand out. In Jesus’ name.