I’ve thought a lot about my image this week. I’ve thought how people who are overweight aren’t good enough. People who are thin aren’t good enough. If your house is clean, not good. Messy, not good. It doesn’t matter how you spin it, people will cut you down to make themselves feel better.
Comparison is a wicked thing. It will attack your heart and infect the people around you. It will destroy beauty.
Image has become a precious part of my life since I became a mom. When Vitali was born I said goodbye to regular showering and a decent night’s sleep. Something as easy as eating became complicated. It involved interruptions and bouncing a baby on my hip while I managed to shovel a few bites of nourishment into my body.
When Elias was born I looked my son in the eyes and I fell in love with an image that I was terrified of. I feared how my son would be treated by this world because of his image.
When my daughter was born, I cried at the thought of the expectations she would feel by this world. The perfect image she is supposed to have.
I stand naked and imperfect in front of my husband. Three babies have filled my insides and stretched my skin. Parts of me are torn and broken down. I am not a perfect image. My heart has been rubbed raw as I figure out what image is. My mind filled with a new understanding of what is important.
There is more to life than outward appearance. You’ve heard that before, but do you live it?
The words that roll off of your tongue, are they gracious? What you write about, are you infecting people around you and polluting their thoughts? I know I have, but I don’t want to.
I want to love what is beautiful. I want to live beyond appearance.
“If your life looks like a mess—to them—they whip out a measuring stick and feel confident of their own worthiness. If your life looks like a monument—to them—they whip out a measuring stick—and start cutting you down for their own empowerment.”—Ann Voskamp