Fearfully and Wonderfully

I've been looking at myself in the mirror a lot lately. Sound strange? Just wait. See, I'm trying to get used to what I look like. Still strange? Keep listening. When I was little I used to glance in mirrors with confusion -- 'Who is that blonde girl with glasses?' I thought to myself each time. It's been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember to be completely different from who I actually am. If only my hair were darker, or I didn't have glasses, or I was taller or thinner (I've struggled with anorexia since seventh grade).... The list goes on and on. There's always got to be something else I can do to become satisfied with who I am. And it wasn't always just looks.

I was a very shy kid. When we were little, my sister and I would play in the front yard together and she'd say hi to every car that drove by and every person who walked past. It was bothersome to me that she was so willing to talk to people. As we got older, I tried to break out of that shell. I'd compromise my standards in order to be considered cooler -- swearing and dirty jokes began to fall from my lips with ease. Only recently have I begun to attempt to rediscover who I truly am, and to learn to accept that.

But lately I've been working on accepting my physical appearance as well. My battle against anorexia has been easier than most, but there's still a general hatred within me whenever I look at myself in the mirror. I still want to have darker hair and be taller and thinner (the glasses are gone, but that's another story entirely!). I want to have straighter, whiter teeth and more feminine feet and again the list continues.  It's easy to see other women as beautiful -- I'm not biased when I look at them. But when looking at myself I see nothing ideal. So here I sit, staring in the mirror, learning to reaffirm myself. Learning to see something beautiful. Learning to see God's hand, not just within my heart, but upon my body. He sculpted my cheeks, shaped each tooth with care. He pulled each little toe until it was just the right length. He created all the curves of my body, and the dip in the bridge of my nose with His tender fingertips. And He did the same for you. You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Psalm 139

You have searched me, Lord,

    and you know me.

 You know when I sit and when I rise; 

    you perceive my thoughts from afar.

 You discern my going out and my lying down;

    you are familiar with all my ways. 

 Before a word is on my tongue

    you, Lord, know it completely. 

 You hem me in behind and before,

    and you lay your hand upon me.

 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, 

    too lofty for me to attain.

 Where can I go from your Spirit?

    Where can I flee from your presence?

 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

    if I settle on the far side of the sea,

 even there your hand will guide me, 

    your right hand will hold me fast.

 If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me

    and the light become night around me,”

 even the darkness will not be dark to you;

    the night will shine like the day,

    for darkness is as light to you.

 For you created my inmost being; 

    you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 

 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

    your works are wonderful, 

    I know that full well.

 My frame was not hidden from you

    when I was made in the secret place,

    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. 

 Your eyes saw my unformed body;

    all the days ordained for me were written in your book

    before one of them came to be.

 How precious to me are your thoughts, God! 

    How vast is the sum of them!

 Were I to count them, 

    they would outnumber the grains of sand —

    when I awake, I am still with you.

 If only you, God, would slay the wicked! 

    Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty! 

 They speak of you with evil intent;

    your adversaries misuse your name. 

 Do I not hate those who hate you, Lord,

    and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?

 I have nothing but hatred for them;

    I count them my enemies. 

 Search me, God, and know my heart; 

    test me and know my anxious thoughts.

 See if there is any offensive way in me,

    and lead me in the way everlasting.

I Am So That I May Love

In their book, Captivating, John and Stasi Eldredge mention that women have a way of comforting that men do not. Their example: a child gets a cut, and the dad replies, "Cool wound!" On the other hand, a mother likely would pull the child close, kiss the owie, and make it all better. 

A few days ago, I was at my parent's house, helping to take care of my sister's four children. From dawn til dusk we did all we could to keep the kids entertained. It was exhausting, but I was surprised to still enjoy it. There always seems to be that one moment in which I remember how much I love kids. 90% of the time, kids are a pain in the butt -- adorable pains, but pains nonetheless! However, the night before I was scheduled to leave, one of my nephews came up the stairs looking particularly distressed. I asked him what was wrong; he ignored me.


I sighed, and followed him up the stairs, asking again, and again he ignored me. His face fell to the couch, and there he lay, his freckled button nose smooshed up against the brown seat. I convinced him to sit up beside me, and he rested his head on me. I cuddled him, and asked once more, "What's wrong?" His round, little eyes were wet and red, and he sniffled as he poured his sweet soul out to me. I held him, made him laugh, and comforted him as best I could. And in that moment, I understood love. His tender heart was aching, and so was mine.


It is these moments, when I connect to a child, that I remember what it's all about. Suddenly the world feels a whole lot smaller, and my purpose seems clear: I am so that I may love. Even if I couldn't provide any real comfort to my nephew, he knew that I loved and cared for him. God will do the rest.