Bullies didn’t know anything about me. They didn’t know I was kind, or smart, or
sweet, or giving.
All they knew what was they saw, and they labeled every
piece of me that they could see.
My crooked teeth were second only to my weight, followed
by my homely clothes and long hair. One
girl loved calling me the “Shaggy Dog.” Being quiet only fueled the fire, leading
them to believe I was also too stupid to talk.
I wouldn’t walk away from this unscathed, but instead bearing
a complex—rather, several complexes—that would affect every aspect of my life.
The Enemy doesn’t bridle himself when it comes to
pain. No, he lets it rage, stirring whatever
he can. And afterwards, that trauma is
only a backdrop for future snares.
Not only am I fighting the insults from my childhood, but
for the last four years have also been fighting another battle.
Attention. Inappropriate
attention. Older men have made the most
inappropriate of advances, and I’m left, burdened.
The Enemy knows my heart just about as well
as God does. He knows what can cause it the most trouble. With friends to encourage me now where there weren’t
before, he’s lost one battle. But these
old men, ah, these were his ticket. Until yesterday.
I was laughing with a woman about her husband’s upcoming
purchase, a new motorcycle.
As we parted, I was still laughing and it was then he
walked up.
Nearly 35 years my senior, he stood, too close, arms
folded on the granite.
“Did I hear you talking about motorcycles?” he smiled.
Nervous about where this conversation was heading, I
looked down. “Yeah, she was just telling me about her husband’s
motorcycle.”
“Do you like motorcycles?” he pried.
At this point I didn’t understand how he wasn’t reading
my body language. His eyes were
certainly examining me well enough.
“I was just telling her I had never been on one, that’s
all.”
“Well, what a coincidence.” His smile scared me. “I have one.”
Terror. I was paralyzed.
“Would you like to ride on it?”
Hell no, I
thought.
“Actually, I was just telling her how terrified I was...”
Please go away.
Eventually he trudged away, oblivious to my discomfort
and disappointed by my un-answer.
What do I look
like? I thought, confused. At this point in the day, five older men had
all been inappropriate in conversation.
This in itself hurt me deeply.
But why?
I am so ugly I can’t
even pull guys my age. There must be
something ugly about me--something that says, ‘I’m easy,’ that these men are
the only men who are drawn to me. If
they feel like they can talk to me in such way--such a disgusting way--I must
be disgusting. I must look easy. I must look desperate. I’m doing something wrong. I’ll never be married, because I’ll never be
able to attract someone normal, someone my age, someone I want. I will be alone forever, because I’m not good
enough to have someone I want, want me.
These thoughts take about 2 seconds to think. And afterwards, after he walked away, I heard
another thought. But this one wasn’t my
own.
“Lies.”
Simple, but powerful.
I’ve been letting the Enemy destroy me with these
thoughts. To have no suitors while I was
younger was devastating. I felt unwanted
and unloved. Now, having despicable
suitors, led my mind to believe that I attract disgusting men, because I am
disgusting. It’s like a confirmation.
Yes, you wondered
if you seem easy and desperate. The
answer is yes. Look at the type of men
you’re attracting. You’re not pretty
enough to attract anyone worthwhile.
Genius on the Enemy’s part. And I fully agreed with him, believing I’m
ugly. I’m unworthy. I’m unlovable. I’m easy.
I’m desperate. My only options
for a husband are men with no morals. I
will never be married. I will never be
married, because no one wants me, but for men I would never want.
Two weeks ago was our first connection class with Becky Morgan. At the end of class, she asked that we list
all the lies we’ve been fed throughout our lives.
“Your only sin,” she said, “is agreeing with them. Ask God to forgive you for agreeing with them
and ask Him what is the truth. Ask Him
to tell you the truth.”
Who am I in God’s eyes?
I am not this ugly, stupid, easy, desperate woman that
Satan has manufactured. No! And yesterday, this and many other truths rang
out in my heart in an attempt to drown out the condemning voice.
The type of man pursuing me does not determine who I am,
though this is where my heart has been. It
lies in a place of filth, feeling guilt and responsibility for the men who lust
after me. In the Bible, there was Tamar,
a beautiful woman, whose brother was Amnon.
She acted only out of kindness and servitude to her brother, doing nothing
to incite his lust. But, he lusted for
her anyway. The story ends with a broken
Tamar, betrayed, misused, and hurt. And
this is exactly how I feel after every stare, every invitation, and every
sideways compliment.
And that’s exactly where he would have me, snared in an
ongoing cycle of lies. From hurt to guilt
to shame to agreement to helplessness and to hurt. But that is not who I am. That’s not who He made me to be.
Last Thursday, Tony Evans said, “A long time ago we
determined that what happens out there is not going to affect what happens in here.”
Every day this journey is pushing me further and further
in the right direction, and that direction leads to a mark where I can rest on
what great love resides within instead of internalizing what evilness comes
from without.
He has delivered us from the domain of
darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son (Colossians
1:13).
For we are his workmanship, created in
Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk
in them (Ephesians 2:10).
I chose you (John 15:16).
And God raised us up with Christ and seated
us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus (Ephesians 2:6).
