You see, growing up, I had a beauty-complex. I thought beauty would get you any and everything. And I was told that I was beautiful. A LOT. I won dozens of beauty pageants, maybe hundreds. I know we had hundreds of trophies and crowns. I modeled as a pre-teen. I thought all of these things meant something. That I was better. That I would “make it.”
But in the real world, it didn’t mean anything. In middle school and high school, being pretty didn’t stop people from being cruel, it didn’t get me the lead in any plays, and it didn’t get me the boyfriends I wanted. Let alone girlfriends. I was confused – I thought this was the ticket.
Once I realized beauty was just a one-way street to loving yourself and only yourself for the rest of your life, I gave up trying to be pretty. I dressed like a boy; I cut all of my hair off. I didn’t wear makeup. Instead, I adopted a chain wallet and cut-off t-shirts. I was jaded, you see. At 19, I felt like the whole world could end, and I wouldn’t care.
But then I met Jesus. Or, He came and got me. He loved me. He told me He made me exactly as I am on purpose. I didn’t need to try to be pretty, and I didn’t need to try to not be pretty. I just needed Him.
Oh how I wish I would have believed him 100%. I saw it, but I wasn’t ready to give up on the world. I still pursued what I thought beauty could buy: popularity, love, friends, guys.
But all it bought was hurt. Pain. The consequences of sin.
I continued my flirtation with the world while holding fast to Jesus’ hand, saying Please don’t let me go as I hang off this ledge!
Stay tuned – my Beauty story continues on Monday.