Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Say Goodbye

This weeks challenge is to assess the closet where you house all your clothes, your self-worth, your pride, your ambition, and your bank account.

Your closet.

So I dutifully bounced off to count the number of items I have stuffed in my closet, only to realize that the statement I made earlier in the week, the "I like all the stuff in my closet and I wear all of it" was one colossal untruth. I saw skirts I hadn't seen in a few years. Hello, beautiful, let me try you on.

This is where the train started to derail, y'all.

The frayed, denim mini-skirt I used to wear proudly. It wouldn't button.

The cute, layered blue skirt I bought at the beach when my youngest was a baby? 

WOULDN'T EVEN FIT OVER MY BIG OLE A....okay, I'm not going to overreact here. 

I hear my sister in my head, telling me it is time to clean out my closet anyway. And my own voice is telling me I'm sure to find other clothes I love that will fit over my newly-rounder backside.

(This is not in any way comforting in moments of extreme duress, as were experienced on this otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon.)

So I found myself leaning over the dishwasher to unload all the clean, shiny dishes, tears streaming down my cheeks over the perceived injustice of it all.  I work hard. I've sacrificed good, yummy, unhealthy, yes, but tasty, delicious, evil carbohydrates (like the Dark Chocolate Salted Caramel Pie I made on Saturday night*) so I can stay at my current weight. I work out all. The. Time. FOR THE LOVE. Why, why WHY are my clothes fighting me? 

I need cooperation to stay sane. (Those were not sane moments.)

It's easy, when one is not actually trying on ill-fitting skirts and pants that will no longer go up over her bum, to declare independence from finding self-worth in any other place than God. I find Christ's image stamped on my soul, I've been known to acknowledge. I find my identity and my self-worth wrapped up in His love for me, I've said a bazillion times.

Except for when I find my clothes no longer fit, and then I'm completely and totally wrecked.

Somehow, in my mind, the past me seems like a better me than the current, slightly rounder (I'll say curvier) moi. But when I'm forced to take a hard look back at the me who wore all those wonderful, smaller clothes, I'm also forced to realize that I was no more happier (more happier? just go with it) with my weight or appearance or the way my clothes fit than I am now.

This presents a conundrum.

I was not happy then. I am not happy now.


If one were wont to explore further than "I hate the way I look right now" and also "my awesomeness has somehow gone missing".

Right now, all those skirts and pants are still laying on the floor of my closet, where I threw them in a fit of tragic despair, still reminding me that I have some work to do.

This is not a clothes issue, FYI.

This is a heart issue.

My heart says I would like me better if maybe I just weren't...me.  

Those clothes represent weeds in the closet, wrapping their vines around my heart and choking out the life I was meant to have, while I discuss and ponder and dramatically mentally relive the details of what is no more.

Because I'll tell you a secret. Mama ain't 27 anymore. Mama is a solid ten years past being 27, and as it turns out, life keeps going. No one has died because I have aged a full ten years.

It is time to pull the weeds, so to speak.


Freedom. I can taste it. It is near to me. I've not chosen it just yet, as I am still (absurdly) in favor of the familiar, albeit ruinous, confines of the prison cell called Finding My Self-Worth in the Things of the World.

But there is only One who can really fill my cup.

The Plan:

1. Go get a bag.
2. Walk to closet
3. Pull the weeds** (put clothes that do not fit into said bag)
4. SAY GOODBYE (they're someone else's clothes now anyway, a friend said once, when they don't fit you anymore)

And we all, 
who with unveiled faces 
contemplate the Lord's glory, 
are being transformed into his image 
with ever-increasing glory, 
which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.
{2 corinthians 3:18}

Being transformed. Into His image. His image.

It doesn't get more beautiful than that.

*Pinterest--or my computer, I'm not sure which--is being difficult and not allowing me to log in, but let me promise you, if you find it on Pinterest and make it, IT WILL ROCK YOUR TASTE BUD'S WORLD.

**Thanks, Hollie. The analogy was perfect :)