Do you like you? Do you like who you are? Do you think about the person you’ve become and appreciate the way you’ve grown, the way you’ve matured, the way you look at life and what really matters to you?
Or do you see dissatisfaction. Do you see someone who has gotten distracted and drowned in the cares of this life? Do you change who you are to fit in, to be approved, to seek your happiness?
Where do you find your happiness?
I’m too big.
I’m too skinny.
My hair is too frizy, too long, too short, too straight.
I don’t wear the right clothes.
I don’t have enough money.
I don’t have my own Facebook, Instagram, my own phone.
I don’t where enough makeup, or I wear too much.
Everything I do never turns out good enough.
I don’t like the books, movies, music everyone tells me I should.
I never write enough.
I don’t run enough.
I don’t have enough friends.
Nobody likes me.
What am I doing wrong?
Why can’t I find a way to fix this all?
Why am I never enough?
Why can’t I be ok?
It’s hard, being a girl. It seems like there’s an expectation that your have to live up to.
Don’t people know I’m just a human? Why can’t they accept me for who I am?
Most of all, why can’t I seem to tell them I am? Or why can’t I ignore them? Why do I care what they have to say? Why do I have to measure up to them?
If they finally do end up liking me, will I be fulfilled? Will I be happy?
I know I am imperfect. If you saw my heart, you would know who I really am. But I don’t want you to know who I really am, because then you would wrinkle your nose at me and refuse to be my friend.
You would see I am guilty.
Just like I know I am already guilty before God. But oh no! You don’t know that! I’m going to do my very best to never let you know that. I will work to dress right, to use the lingo, listen to the music, not let the language you use, the things you do and enjoy bother me. Because that’s totally not cool to tell people that what they are doing wrong, or that I can’t agree with the way they live.
After all, they are happy. They’re popular and rich and surrounded with friends. See, they are perfect.
So I become like them.
My outfits and styles change.
“Mom, can you get me these epic shoes?”
“You hated those shoes!”
My language changes.
“Dude! That’s, like, totally legit! You guys gotta grab me next time!”
My hair changes.
“Pink? Honey, that’s a little extreme.”
“My friends all have multicolored hair. This is just one color mom!”
My attitude, my outlook, my respect, and my time all go down the drain. So much work to be perfect!
Still they are not satisfied. Still I look in the mirror and see me under the changes. It’s not the way I look, I discover, that’s keeping me from being perfect. It’s me. The fact that I’m me. The fact that I’m a human, a person with ideas, dreams, hopes, and a hunger to be accepted.
I have to not care.
But try as I might, I still care.
I want to be loved, full.
I want to be happy.
On last resort I turn to God.
Oh yes, of course I’ve been going to church, and join my family to say grace before each meal, but He seems to have taken a break from me.
Or was it me?
Did I place my friends before Him? Did I want their approval more then I wanted His? Did I take time to consider what He would think about the way I dressed and talked and act? Did I even consider the fact that He might care?
I didn’t, because I could never measure up to what He wanted from me. I can’t be perfect.
Wait, what? That doesn’t sound right. Did I forget that He didn’t ask me to be perfect?
He sent Jesus to be perfect for me and through Him I’m already perfect…
Well that’s an interesting thought.
So then there’s nothing I need to do?
No. Nothing. Nothing I can do.
So then.. what do I do?
Yes I understand the.. the what? The hugeness of the act that He did on my account? How he took my imperfection and filled them up, and washed all my sins, all my mistakes away?
Wait. He did that for me?
I… I guess I don’t quite understand it as much as I thought.
Are you sure? He took everything?
So then… I am perfect?
Yes, through Him.
So then it doesn’t matter what my friends think… cause God, the Creator loves me.
In His eyes I’m perfect?
To the Most Perfect Being I am perfect?
He sees me… as perfect?
Then it’s ok if they don’t like me.
Then it doesn’t matter.
God likes me.
So I like me.
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