Filling The Cracks
Why would a girl who has enough trouble keeping up with one blog begin posting on a second one?
It's a fair question. It is.
It's because they invited me to, and also because I wanted to be involved.
Our church started a blog for The Ladies (saying that makes me want to sing it like KJ: This one is forrr the ladiessss! This one's for allll o' y'allll!)... anyway, there are 10 contributing writers and I'm one of them. We're going through Beth Moore's book, So Long Insecurity (it's a good one) and posting about it there, so if you'd like to join us, come on down!
The question was: When was the last time you came face-to-face with our gender's massive struggle with insecurity? Describe the setting.
reposted from joliblog.org
I think I’ve always known girls were insecure. Maybe having a twin sister helped to solidify that early on. Comparing came with birth. It didn’t take long for me to begin to ask myself whether what was different about me was as good as what was different about her. I learned to scrutinize myself from the beginning.
I remember the first time I felt embarrassed about myself – insecure. I was probably 7 or 8 years old. There used to be a Hefty Cinch Sack commercial that ran on TV in the 80s. There was a little jingle that went like this: “Hefty! Hefty! Hefty! (in a deep voice) Wimpy! Wimpy! Wimpy! (in a high-pitch, tiny voice)”. My mom used to sing that song toward my sister and I, poking me at the ‘hefty’ part, and when she did, my heart sank.
I thought she was saying that I was fat, because I’ve always been slightly bigger than my sister. I wasn’t big, just bigger, and that –er made all the difference. Thinness became my idol, and my weight, my greatest insecurity. If I could be smaller, I would be better. People like thin. Thinness, I reasoned, would buffer me against rejection.
That single wound carried me into many a needy relationship, seeking to be liked, chosen… even by boys I didn’t even want! I feared being passed over more than anything. I would suck in my stomach, stand a little taller, trying to flatten myself. Being ‘not chosen’ is a part of life. I know it is – but because of the “fissure down the spine of my soul”, each time it happened, it was ruinous to me. I crumbled and became more desperate, more obsessed, more sullen and more contemptuous of myself.
I’m 31 now and this year was the first healing I’ve received from that memory. Twenty-four years of damage, and that from one memory. It’s hard to shake loose from something that old, but praise His name, Jesus is not confined by time. Recently, I was having a really difficult time – feeling rejected, spending a lot of time in breakdown over it, and I called a friend to meet with me.
We began to pray together and I was feeling embarrassed. She asked, “When was the first time you remember feeling that way”, and I was immediately taken back to the Hefty memory. I saw myself as that little girl, and when my Mom sang those words the room went all white, like in the movies. I saw myself standing there, alone, dejected, embarrassed, my head hanging down in defeat. My friend then asked, “Do you see Jesus?” Yes, I answered. “Where is He?” He’s crouched down on one knee, next to me. He’s holding my hand and looking up into my face, smiling. She then asks, “What does He want to say to you?” Before I can get the whole question out to Him, He answers, “I like you.” My heart swells with happy tears. There are no words that would’ve meant more to me than those three. What a sweetheart He is!
The memory of that song will never haunt me again the way that it used to, wounding me at every remembrance. The message has changed and I can’t go back there without seeing Him there, holding my hand and hearing His words to my heart. “I like you.” There is nothing else that could make me feel more secure. This gift He’s given me, this gift of His affirming words (my #1 Love Language, incidentally)…He’s rewriting my story, filling my cracks, making me more secure one wound at a time, and I couldn’t love Him more for it.
What about you? Have you stood face-to-face with insecurity?