The Deception

It's Easter.  The girls are dressing and getting their hair curled. I reach for my hair dryer to straighten out mine and realize the irony of it all--blowing hair straight only to curl it again in less-natural curls.  Trading my God-given curls my own daughters long to have. 

I think of my brown-eyed, brunette daughters wishing for golden locks, while my blue-eyed blond daughter covets the formers’ dark tresses. I remember my own childhood longing to look and be like someone else.  We are experts at disvaluing our own beauty and talents.  What we have is not enough.  It’s the same lie man has fallen for time and time again.  God is holding out on us.

“Love does not want what belongs to others.”

The Scripture from Corinthians read at our dining room table just last night echos in my mind.

And then the lie goes deeper.  Who we are is not enough—not pretty enough, not smart enough, not funny enough, not kind enough, not brave enough, not lovable enough.  We are hopeless failures.

On the surface this lie appears to be a lack of self-confidence—a bought of self-depreciation that can be solved with a self pep-talk or the like.  Yet this lie goes deeper.  It is a rejection of the God who created us.  It is an unwillingness to trust our Maker with who He has created us to be.

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Ephesians 2:10)

I pause and return the hair dryer to the drawer.  Today I choose to embrace the curls God’s given me—to be comfortable in my own skin. I open my hands to let go of the striving to be like someone else and to be at peace in who God has created me to be.


A mere two days passed.  


That voice whispered in my ear again.  The one that says I'm not enough and no one likes me.  That feeling of being on the outside of the circle slithered its way into my heart—such an old familiar self-loathing codependent friend.

I know better than to listen, but struggle to overcome the thoughts.   These demons have haunted me since I was a child.  I remember thinking in elementary school that everyone liked my best friend and not me.  When I finally confessed my fears to her one day, she responded that she thought everyone liked me and not her.   The house of cards fell that day, but the seed of deception still remains.  It creeps in like a weed, and I have to root it out again and again.

These lies are barely affected by recalling mere facts such as the realization that just last week I had a girls night with some friends.  Or that I just spent Easter with all my family.  Or that my husband and kids love me dearly.  Nor does reciting a list of friends help.

In the midst of my battle the scripture flashed in the back of my mind again.

Love does not want what belongs to others. 

Oh, but I don’t want what belongs to others.  They can keep their cars and houses and clothes.  I don’t care about all of that.  I just envy their giftings.  And their friendships.  And their…  ouch.

 And then the Father gently questions,

“What if you really are alone and unloved by others?  Am I enough for you?”

Oh. Ummm, good question.

“Why are you looking for others approval to fill you?” 

I don’t have an answer.  At least not a good one.

And then He reminds me—again—that He has created me to be me and no one else.  He tells me that He needs me to use the gifts that He has given me because that’s my part to play.  He asks me if I trust Him with the cup He has given me—if I trust Him with my story.

The danger in the lies is that my reaction is to want to run and hide. To bury what I’ve been given for fear of hurt and rejection.  It seems easier to be a carbon copy or two-dimensional rather than risk going deep.  Like the man of the parable who buried his talents, I too want to shrink back in fear, and bury my gifts deep in the sand.

And there it is. The sin of self-preservation.  When Jesus said whoever wants to follow me should deny himself and pick up his cross. 

So denying myself looks like taking my eyes off myself and watching Jesus, listening to what the Father’s story is for me.  It means thinking about reaching out to others instead of worrying what they think of me.  It means I trust God with His timing and don’t become anxious when it’s not the same as others.  I must shift my focus from myself and allow God to tell me my story.