Here goes...

I've wanted to start a blog for quite some time.  Holding me back were the things that most likely hold others back from starting their own blog.  What would I write about?  Who would care to read it?  I'm not very witty or funny, so I might as well not even try.  What if I misspell something or use poor grammar?  People might judge me!  I finally decided that maybe this blog could just be for me.  I decided to make it a place where I can share some pieces of me regardless of who may or may not read it.  Maybe someone will stumble upon it or take a few moments out of their day to read it and end up connecting somehow with something I have written.  If I can impart some small piece of wisdom or encouragement to someone because of sharing my experiences, it's worth the effort to somehow organize and publish the swirling mess of information in my head.

It seems that many blogs I've read explain the reason behind the blog title in the first post.  So, in keeping with this tradition, allow me to explain "Scars of Beauty."  I was a fat kid.  I could try to soften it a bit by using a more politically correct term such as "overweight" or "heavy," but I don't think that accurately conveys my physique throughout most of my childhood.  I was F-A-T, fat.  Although I was always on some kind of diet beginning around 5th grade, I wasn't successful at sustaining any weight loss until I reached high school.  It took me about two years to lose 70 pounds during high school.  My self esteem had been damaged with years of ridicule from my peers.  I found it difficult to relate to people who may have been genuine in desiring a friendship with me because I had been judged by my looks for so many years.  I was always afraid that someone would pretend to like me just to have a chance to tease me.  Unknowingly, I began defining my self worth by what the numbers on the scale told me.  I knew better, mind you.

By the last couple of years of high school, I had found my niche and had some amazing friends.  My youth group at church was growing, I met the boy who would become my husband at youth group and I had big plans for college.  My confidence grew during my junior and senior years of high school and even more during my college days.  My growing confidence, my own maturity and the growing maturity of my peers contributed to my faulty idea that my worth must be linked to what my body looks like.  People like me and I'm accomplishing neat things, so it must be because I'm thin.  When I wasn't thin, my life wasn't like this. 

Fast forward a few years...I settled down in marriage and got a job behind a desk.  A few more years pass and I had two pregnancies.  After my second pregnancy, I found myself 110 pounds overweight.  All of a sudden, I felt just like that insecure little girl I once was.  I was so disappointed in how I'd let myself go and I was furious that I'd have to lose all of that weight again!  I was ashamed and didn't want anyone who knew I had been overweight and lost weight to see that I'd put it all back on and more.  I didn't want anyone who hadn't seen me as overweight (mostly friends in college) to see me so out of control.  I just didn't want to interact with anyone at all.  I withdrew emotionally and felt that the emotional scars of my childhood had been exposed. 


I've been a work in progress ever since.  God has been creating a good work in me!  He has taught me much and shown me such grace.  I knew my thoughts were faulty.  I had to allow Him to speak into me His truth so that I could start claiming His truth as my own.  At one point I even thought maybe I shouldn't lose weight and go through all of that hard work because I would still all of these stretch marks from gaining and losing weight and from having my two beautiful children.  I thought I would look terrible no matter what, so why even bother?  I began to dwell on that thought.  The more I thought about it and listened to God's truth, I began to see that I earned every mark and they are part of what makes me the woman I am.  I have stretch marks that remind me of unhealthy choices I have made in the past.  I have stretch marks from my pregnancies.  Each one reminds me of where I've come from and the journey that is mine alone.  I don't have to view them as something that is ugly or unpleasant.  I can choose to embrace myself with all my imperfections and allow God's perfect grace to be all that I need.  Every emotional and physical mark and scar we obtain builds our character and our endurance to run the race of life.  The perfections are not what make us beautiful.  Pretending to be perfect or acting as though we have our lives together are what make us detestable to the world around us.  It's one reason Christians are called hypocrites.  The imperfections are what make us beautiful.  It is only when we allow ourselves to embrace the imperfections in our lives that we can truly accept the gift of Jesus.  When we face our hurt, fear, addictions, pride, and past mistakes and give them to Him, He heals us and makes each scar beautiful because they belong to Him.