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When I was a little girl, I used to wonder if, before we were born, we stood in line in heaven and requested our lives.
"Ah," I imagined a large angel with an imposing wing span speaking to me, "you're going to be a girl. Very well, what would you like? Long legs? A great figure? Fame? Fortune?"
Innocently I answered him, "If you please, sir, I'd like … a nice personality." And with no time to reconsider—Zap!—I was born and here I am. Less than five feet tall, not-so-straight teeth, blotchy skin, and enough of a figure for two women.
Once, I asked my brother if he thought I was pretty. He glanced up at me from his sheet music and told me to go away. "Darnell, I'm serious," I whined. "Am I pretty?" Realizing the only way to get me to leave was to answer me, he took a deep breath and looked me over from head to toe.
"Your face is all right," he said finally. "You have a quirky personality. You're okay."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my voice rising. "So, what you're saying is, I'm too fat and I act like a fool!"
"That's not what I said," he answered calmly, returning to his work.
"That's not what you said? That's exactly what you said!" I spit out at him. "You said no guy will ever want me because I'm ugly and I'm stupid! What do I have to do to get a little affirmation around here?!" I yelled, storming from the room.
So this was my life. Throughout it I struggled with feelings of ugliness and inadequacy. My friends had good looks, skinny ankles, and straight teeth. They got asked out on dates. I got dates on a fruit tray at Christmas. They became homecoming queens and cheerleaders while I wallowed in a state of below averageness, longing to be an airbrushed model, waiting to wake up beautiful.
Then one day I met Jesus. A girlfriend had invited me to church. As I sang along with the rest of the voices lifted in worship, I was overcome by a sense of guilt and unworthiness. This wonderful God we were singing about, how could he love fat and ugly me? But during the service I began to realize that God doeslove me—just as I am. That day I accepted God's love and sacrifice for me. Over time I've gained the assurance that he loves me more than I can imagine and that I'm truly beautiful in the way that matters most—on the inside.
But my old negative feelings about myself didn't immediately disappear. Some days, they came in droves, and I struggled to battle them off. Like the time I met with my friends Diane and Leona for lunch.
I was thirtysomething, reaching my sexual prime, unmarried, and retaining water. It wasn't a good day. We met at a local restaurant and the topic of conversation quickly turned to men.
"So, how's Eugene?" Diane asked.
Leona waved her hand. "Oh, please, no," she answered.
"You're not seeing him anymore?" I asked.
"Girl, that was two weeks ago," she replied, "and we weren't really seeing each other. We were just, you know, talkin'."
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