Beautiful

Surgery instructions…”no makeup, perfume, hair products, gel, lotions, etc.”

Still as beautiful as ever…

The “King” is Enthralled by My Beauty

What is “true beauty”?

I’m embarking on a journey.

PSALM 45:11

“The king is enthralled by your beauty.” -NIV

“The king is wild for you.” -The Message

“The king will desire your beauty.” -ESV

“Your royal husband delights in your beauty.” -NLT

“So shall the king greatly desire thy beauty.” -KJV

Huh?

The original Hebrew for “desire” is hw) or ‘avah. It is a verb pronounced aw-vaw’. It is Strong’s #0183. Its definition is to desire, covet, wait longingly, incline, wish, sigh, want, be greedy, prefer.

The original Hebrew for “beauty” is ypy or yophiy. It is a masculine noun pronounced yof-ee’. It is Strong’s #03308 and originates from #03302. #03302 is hpy or yaphah. It is a verb pronounced yaw-faw’. Its definition is to be bright, beautiful, handsome, fair.

So the question is, who is this “king?” Matthew Henry comments on this point.

This psalm is an illustrious prophecy of Messiah the Prince: it is all over gospel, and points at him only, as a bridegroom espousing the church to himself and as a king ruling in it and ruling for it. It is probable that our Saviour has reference to this psalm when he compares the kingdom of heaven, more than once, to a nuptial solemnity, the solemnity of a royal nuptial, Matthew 22:2,25:1. We have no reason to think it has any reference to Solomon’s marriage with Pharaoh’s daughter; if I thought that it had reference to any other than the mystical marriage between Christ and his church, I would rather apply it to some of David’s marriages, because he was a man of war, such a one as the bridegroom here is described to be, which Solomon was not. But I take it to be purely and only meant of Jesus Christ; of him speaks the prophet this, of him and of no other man; and to him ver. 6, 7) it is applied in the New Testament (Hebrews 1:8), nor can it be understood of any other. The preface speaks the excellency of the song,ver. 1. The psalm speaks, I. Of the royal bridegroom, who is Christ. 1. The transcendent excellency of his person, Psalms 45:2. 2. The glory of his victories, Psalms 45:3-5. 3. The righteousness of his government, Psalms 45:6,7. 4. The splendour of his court, Psalms 45:8,9. II. Of the royal bride, which is the church. 1. Her consent gained, Psalms 45:10,11. 2. The nuptials solemnized, Psalms 45:12-15. 3. The issue of this marriage,Psalms 45:16,17. In singing this psalm our hearts must be filled with high thoughts of Christ, with an entire submission to and satisfaction in his government, and with an earnest desire of the enlarging and perpetuating of his church in the world.

So if the king is Christ. He is speaking of his church.

Jesus wishes us (me) to be bright and fair.
Jesus waits longingly for me to be beautiful.

I am in a new season in my life where I am waiting on God. I have messed up everything I could have messed up by taking control of my life. I have let go of the reigns and am allowing Him to be Lord again.

However, in the process, I have realized that I don’t love myself. I’ve come to the realization that somewhere along the way on my journey from childhood to womanhood I have grown dissatisfied with myself. So my prayer is to reclaim that love. Not because of anything I’ve done. Not because of who I am. Not because of what other men or women say. Not even because of what my husband says.

I’m reclaiming my beauty in Christ.

So that’s great. But what does that mean? I’m studying to find out. Again, Matthew Henry shares:

Here is good encouragement given to the royal bride thus entirely to break off from her former alliances: So shall the king greatly desire thy beauty,which intimates that the mixing of her old rites and customs, whether Jewish or Gentile, with her religion, would blemish her beauty and would hazard her interest in the affections of the royal bridegroom, but that, if she entirely conformed to his will, he would delight in her. The beauty of holiness, both on the church and on particular believers, is in the sight of Christ of great price and very amiable.

So. I need to break from my former alliances. Ironically I’ve had to do that. That one was out of my control. My old “rites and customs” ruined my beauty in God’s sight. In my own sight as well. They more than hazarded my “interest in the affections of the royal bridegroom,” they all but destroyed my interest in Jesus. I had forgotten my first love. But if those things happen; I renounce my old ways, and focus my interest on him, conforming to His will, He will “delight in me.” The great price that Christ paid was to make me beautiful.

Beauty is holiness.

And not my own. Christ’s.

His gift to me. Jesus died to make me beautiful.

The Garden of Times Square

So today in my therapy session we talked about God’s love. It’s a funny thing, right? Like I literally have spent the last year (at least) telling myself (and God) all of the reasons why I don’t deserve to be loved by Him or by anyone. I list off all of these things I’ve done. I include ancient history. I include things that most normal people would forget. And a lot of times I do all of this subconsciously. It’s an inner-conversation of sabotage that has become so commonplace, that oftentimes I don’t even recognize that it’s going on.

But legitimately, in my mind, I am doing God a favor by letting him off the hook with me. Because really, of ALL of the people on this earth, I definitely am the worst. The one least worth saving. The one that would be the biggest waste of His time and the largest misuse of His precious shed blood. So go ahead, Jesus. Move on down the line. Help someone else.

How arrogant of me! When God said that He sent His Son, He said that He did it because He loved everyone. He “so loved the world.” That “whosoever” believes in Him will not perish but will have everlasting life. Well I’m a “whosoever” that happens to live in this “world.” But…still. Come on. He meant that for everyone else. The murderers. The rapists. The godless. But not me. I’ve committed the worst sins. I’ve thought the worst thoughts. I’ve wasted so much. I’ve hurt people. I’ve gossiped. I’ve been jealous. And angry and bitter. I’ve cursed God. I’ve turned my back on Him and gone my own way. I’ve done wicked things. I’ve been prideful and arrogant. I’ve broken promises and enjoyed when my enemy suffers. I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve coveted. I’ve lusted. Gross. I gross myself out.

Worst of all, I’ve hidden it all behind a mask of perfection. I’ve kept the people closest to me farthest from me. They would be the people to say “but you’re so wonderful.” “You have so many gifts.” “You do so much for people.” “You touch lives and care for people.” “You’re genuine.”

Yeah. I am. And that’s God in me. The rest is Kate in me. Simple. Plain and simple.

For anyone who doesn’t believe that, spend a day in my mind reflecting on the last few years of my life. See what’s really in there. And see that I need a Savior.

Don’t we all? Like this realization…this place of quiet and rest that God has me in…it’s transforming everything in my life. I don’t loathe myself anymore. I don’t think I’m the worst sinner there is. I think I’m like every other sinner there is. Sinful. God says that we’ve all sinned and fallen short of His glory. Well, I fit in then. You fit in.

Also in therapy we talked about the garden of Eden. And it made me think about how today we have the “Garden of Times Square.” Not entirely different if you think about it. In the garden there was an “Adman.” In Times Square there are admen. The goal of the Adman from the garden was to slither over to Adam and Eve and make them unhappy with what they didn’t have. He got their attention away from everything else that they DID have (essentially Paradise) and caused them to focus on the one thing they didn’t have. An apple from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. First recorded words of this demonic Adman: “Did God really say…?” Twisting. conniving. Tricking. And shifting focus. Times Square is sparkling with the same concept. Signs. Posters. Billboards.

“Buy this. Have this. Eat this. Wear this. Look like this. Look at yourself. You’re so far away from this ideal. Be unhappy. Be very unhappy. Unhappy enough to spend more, borrow more, work harder, and fight harder for what we say you need to have and what we say you need to look like. Satisfaction is an impossibility. Get used to it.”

Gag. I want to gag. We had paradise. We gave it up.

And today we suffer the consequences.

I suffer the consequences. For the last 18 years I’ve suffered the consequences. You have too. For me, it’s been in discontent. I’ve never quite felt happy. I’ve never quite felt like I’ve arrived. Oh, I was somewhat close at my wedding. I was getting married. I was tan. Skinny. Surrounded by friends and people who cared about me. My hair and makeup were done by a professional. I was a princess. For a day. The honeymoon ended quickly in my mind. That very night, as a matter of a fact. Not because of anything Jason did. Just because my insecurities crept back in reminding me that I’d just been playing dress-up. My fairy tale was over. It was time to go back to sweeping the floors and being in hiding. The clock had struck midnight.

But really. These are all lies. Lies from the enemy through our culture. And I’m done believing them. I’m done bowing down to the gods and goddesses that represent broken images of beauty and happiness. I’m done worshipping and cowering to plastic, airbrushed Kens and Barbies plastered on the billboards of my mind.

I’m ready to ask God to show me His love for me. I’m ready for Him to teach me to love myself just because He does. I’m not worthy. I’m not perfect. I’m not ever going to do anything to earn it. He just loves me because He does. The end.

So, I will ask for contentment. And I will keep journeying towards loving myself.

But you can bet your butt that I’m heading down the street that doesn’t have the Victoria Secret Models glaring down at me in disapproval.

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
-Philippians 4:11b-13

Onslaught

So I’m still having a little bit of a hard time falling asleep. My teeth have been aching for weeks after I had three bad cavities filled. I’m finally feeling some relief and think that I will be on the road to recovery soon.

So as I was sitting up thinking, one theme is in the forefront of my mind.

I sort of, kind of do not love myself.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m much closer to liking myself and being on the road to L-O-V-E than I was three months ago. But honestly, I don’t love myself. I could list off at least two dozen things that really irritate me about me. Some have to do with my appearance, some have to do with my personality, some have to do with my inner thoughts. But the bottom line is that I really truly can’t say that I love myself.

Oh sure, every girl struggles with self-image. We do. I know we do. How could we not after this:

I hate my skin. I wish I was tanner. I wish my skin was smoother.
I am never happy with my body weight. My thinest since college was 125. I look at those pictures now and think “You looked amazing.” But I remember knowing I was still fat.
I’ve never thrown up, or purged a meal. I didn’t care enough to put myself through that to get to look how I wanted to look.
But if there had been an easier way, I would have done it.
I don’t like my legs. I really hate them. I think they’re fat. And I usually hate putting on jeans.
I don’t like how I’m aging. Things are different. My metabolism is slowing down.
I’m sad about how I look. Most days I don’t put much of an effort in anymore.

How come the most beautiful bodies in Hollywood belong to women who are unhappy with themselves? Women whose husbands still cheat and still leave them for other “prettier” women?

Why is our society bent on destroying itself? Why do women do things to themselves to compete with other women? In the meanwhile, they are absolutely ruining femininity as it was intended to be. How many of our most revered most beautiful women have anything left on them that is natural? We worship them. I worship them.

In the last four years I have allowed myself to watch trash and garbage on TV that promotes this “image.” It really is an onslaught of “beauty.” But they are breaking beauty. It’s broken beauty. Really. It’s injected and pumped and stuffed and waxed and sprayed and airbrushed and pulled. It’s reconstructed and augmented and lifted. It’s tucked and stenciled and painted.

I’m none of those things. I wake up in the morning. I take a shower. I put on my inexpensive makeup that I can afford. I spend time doing my hair. Or not. I throw on an outfit that fits. A bunch don’t. And after an hour of trying my hardest (or not–cause at 15 minutes I give up and schrunch my hair, throw in a headband, and toss on a sweatshirt) to look like them, I just don’t. I just don’t. Worst of all. I never will.

Something in my heart, from an early age, wanted to be a princess. But not because of how I looked. I knew I was beautiful then. When I was a little girl reading my fairy tales, I had no doubt in my mind that I was perfect. I didn’t question my hips, or my complexion or my teeth. I was perfect. And my prince charming was going to come. Fears about him accepting me? Out of the question. He was coming for me. And he would of course be enthralled by my beauty. Those were the days when my mom braided my hair, when I threw it in a pony-tail, and headed out the door. I had braces. Freckles. Buck teeth. Those were the days that are now represented only by pictures. And those pictures absolutely make me cringe. Oh, look at that perm. Those eyebrows were hideous. Didn’t someone tell me I had two caterpillars on my forehead? What was I thinking with that scrunchie? And those socks and stretch pants, come on! I shudder. Literally.

But right before I toss the picture away something catches my attention.

My eyes. My very own eyes.

Something is different there. Content. Fulfilled. Confident. Secure, even.

What did that little girl know that I no longer know? What is it that I have forgotten all these years later? Could it be that I’m the one who has it wrong? Could it be that she’s the one who loves herself and knows happiness and confidence?

Not could it be…it is. It most certainly is.

So I’m going to think on that. I’m going to pray. And write. In my journal. On here. To you. To no one. To Jesus. Because deep in those brown eyes lies the answer to something that has been a mystery to me for as long as I can remember.

And I’m going to find that answer.

But first I have to ask the question.

Why have I stopped loving myself?