I didn't want to. I couldn't. I wouldn't.
But here I am. Writing about something I don't want to address in myself. Why? Because God is relentless in His pursuit of us. He is determined to have His children become more and more like He created them to be. And so the story goes...
As a young child, I had gorgeous, thick, beautiful blonde hair, which reached almost to my waist in the back. It was my "crown of glory" and like most little girls, I LOVED my hair...I mean EVERYONE loved my hair.
The summer before 3rd grade, my family moved from the Texas Panhandle, where summers were filled with windy dry heat, smack into the middle of Central Texas, where I was quickly introduced to the misery of humidity. IT WAS UNBEARABLE and so I begged my mom to get my hair cut. We had literally only been in town a few days and didn't know anyone so we made the dreadful choice of going to the mall. (Yep, you can see the writing on the wall, can't you?) I had this cute little shoulder length "bob" haircut in mind. I described it to my mom. She understood. We both described it to the beautician. It didn't translate.
The summer before 3rd grade, my family moved from the Texas Panhandle, where summers were filled with windy dry heat, smack into the middle of Central Texas, where I was quickly introduced to the misery of humidity. IT WAS UNBEARABLE and so I begged my mom to get my hair cut. We had literally only been in town a few days and didn't know anyone so we made the dreadful choice of going to the mall. (Yep, you can see the writing on the wall, can't you?) I had this cute little shoulder length "bob" haircut in mind. I described it to my mom. She understood. We both described it to the beautician. It didn't translate.
The beautician had my back to the mirror for the entire haircut so I couldn't see what she was doing...but I could see my mom's face and I could see the amount of hair piling up on the ground around me and I could feel the air on my neck. By the time either of us realized what was taking place, it was too late to stop her. The damage had been done. She spun me around after drying and styling it so I could "look" and big hot alligator tears just streamed straight down my face. Somehow, shoulder length "bob" translated into "page boy". (If you can't picture what that would look like, think Dorothy Hammill or Mary Lou Retton.) My hair was short and ugly and the girl in the mirror didn't resemble me at all and I didn't know what to do.
I cried off and on for days, maybe even weeks.
Every time I passed a mirror, tears.
Every time I reached up to play with my hair, tears.
Every time I thought about not looking the way I wanted to look, tears.
I cried off and on for days, maybe even weeks.
Every time I passed a mirror, tears.
Every time I reached up to play with my hair, tears.
Every time I thought about not looking the way I wanted to look, tears.
It was the only time I ever remember my mom trying
to buy me something to stop me from crying.
to buy me something to stop me from crying.
It was the first time I ever remember crying and
not being able to be comforted by my mom.
It was the first time I ever remember God calling out
to me that there was more and not listening.
It was the first time I remember when God stole my vanity...but it wouldn't be the last.
Not that I think it's unusual, but the battle with physical vanity raged in my teenage years. I remember making my mom late to work because I selfishly refused to get out of the car in middle school until my jeans "tight rolled" just right. I remember carrying around a butane curling iron (not sure how that was legal) and fixing my "big bangs" in the car because I couldn't walk in somewhere without my big bangs. I remember practically starving myself so I looked like some of my friends who were just natural born stick figures. I remember throwing shameful tantrums and spending ridiculous amounts of money on Guess jeans and Esprit clothes so I could present a certain facade. All of these things seem ridiculous to me now and they certainly aren't the memories I long to embrace but they also aren't memories I can escape either.
The amazing thing is that during all of this,
God desperately called out to me that there was more...
God desperately called out to me that there was more...
And when I wouldn't listen, He would mercifully steal my vanity from me all over again.
There are in this world people that I classify as the "pretty people". You know who I'm talking about...and if you don't, you are probably one of them. They seem to effortlessly look good, in anything and at all times. I wasn't one of them, but there were times where I, for some reason or another, had an inflated view of myself. Going into my sophmore year was one of those times. As the year began, God called that there was more. I wouldn't listen. Almost right away, I got an eye infection that required me to wear my glasses in public for the first time in my life. It was no big deal but I was mortified since most people didn't even know that I wore contacts. It lasted a few weeks and it was back to life as usual, disproportionately inflated. Then I tore my ACL and meniscus. I was in a leg brace and on crutches for almost 3 months. My choice of outfits were windsuit or athletic shorts, not exactly ego boosting for a high school girl.
But don't worry, my ego made a comeback.
By the time my senior year rolled around, I had worked myself into the good graces of a boyfriend's mother by losing enough weight to cinch my XS belt on the smallest hole and surprising her with my ability to be "made up" when I tried. My vanity had finally made it so God called once again that there was more...and once again, I refused to listen. These vanity milestones were immediately followed by concussion/whiplash from a car accident, an obviously broken nose and a torn ligament in my back, both sports injuries. These were ego setbacks for sure.
Through all of this, I put up a good front of not caring just in general but all of that was part of the illusion and deception. No one knew what was really going on in my heart and mind. After all, I wasn't one of the "pretty" people and probably not someone that most people would consider vain in regards to my appearance. I was just "cute" average, not breathtakingly TV pretty like a disproportionate number of girls that walked the halls of my high school.
(Sidenote : they are ALL still breathtakingly TV pretty nearly 20 years later).
Unlike them, make-up and hair certainly didn't consume my life, mostly because I knew very little about either of them. I wore "fashionable" clothes, but I certainly wasn't the obsessive trendsetter. So I would convince myself that I clearly wasn't struggling with vanity because I didn't primp and obsess and consume my life with the way I looked. I was so beyond that, because
van·i·ty
was excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance
The truth was that type of vanity eluded me the same way I believe it still eludes so many of us today. Since we are steeped in self criticism and self doubt, most of us would not embrace the thought that we have excessive pride or admiration in our own appearance. After all, we criticize ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. (Even the "pretty" people do this.)
No, our vanity is something else altogether, something far more damaging. We don't suffer from vanity in the sense that we feel as if we have "arrived".
No, we chase vanity...and we chase it hard.
You see there's a second definition of vanity, one that I believe affects far more of us than the first, one that I believe competes far greater for our attention than the first and it is this:
the quality of being worthless or futile
We chase it in the form of fashion and diets and spanx and wrinkle creams and tanning and "magic" make-ups and prescriptions that make your eye lashes thicker and possessions and appearances.
All the while, God is calling out to us that there is more...and we don't listen.
Why?
Others are cheering us on in the chase of vanity.
Others are racing alongside us in the chase of vanity.
Others seem to have "arrived" and we just want to "arrive" so badly
but we never seem to make it..and we never will.
The chase is worthless and futile and never ends.
As an adult, I have been on and off of the chase of vanity many times. It seems to come in waves in my life. It's pull is really, really strong at certain times and in certain places and around certain people.
It is during those times that God loudly calls out to me that there is more...
that I should chase Him because He is worthy and purposeful.
Sometimes I don't listen, and He has no other choice but to steal my vanity because it is stealing my focus and chase from that which I need most, that which is best for me, Him.
As I sit here typing this, I see the most visibly lasting reminder of a time when God stole my vanity. It's a vitiligo spot on my right hand between the knuckles of my ring and pinkie fingers. It was the first vitiligo spot that appeared. Before I knew what it was, I tried hard to scrub it off. That didn't work. I waited for it to gain its color back. That didn't work. After realizing what it was and that it wasn't going to go away, I tried to cover it up with make-up and then self-tanners. Nothing worked. I was embarrassed by it and pulled that hand away from people, even my husband, for fear that they might see it and ask what it was and critique me. And then one day I looked down and saw another spot on my foot, larger and more noticeable than the one on my hand...and another spot...and another spot...I sat and cried. I mourned the loss of my vanity...
and in that moment, I heard God call out to me that there was more,
that He was worthy and purposeful
that I could not chase both Him and vanity...
and I chose to chase Him.
I would like to say that my chase of Him since that day has been perfect, but it hasn't. There are still certain times and certain places and certain people that call me back to the chase of vanity. Those times seem to be fewer now, maybe because I've experienced the fullness that comes in the other times, the times when I have been able to disregard vanity altogether, when I have "Ecuador" hair or clothes covered in "Haiti" dirt or the tired make-up-less face of a mom whose cared for a sick child all night. Not surprisingly, those are the times I have felt closest to and most used by Him. Those are the times that I feel free and fulfilled and lovely and valued.
Chasing vanity is like walking down the runway of a fashion show. It is miserable and useless and pointless, literally leading to nowhere.
Chasing God is like running through a flower-filled meadow with the sun warm on your face towards the happiest place you have ever known. It is beautiful and freeing and lovely and lifegiving...and though it becomes your one pursuit, it is worth it.
When I got that terrible haircut as a fragile little 3rd grade girl, I was devastated because I was walking down that miserable runway chasing vanity and the me in the mirror didn't resemble the me I wanted to see.
In the process of becoming not me,
I am learning to chase God into places that don't have mirrors
so that I can see the me I was always created to be...
which is not me altogether.
