Beginning to believe

So today, I was challenged to do what it takes to truly believe that I’m a writer. I’ve declared it, and It’s the answer I give when asked what I do, but do I really believe at the core of my being that this is what I am?

I write at work. And on a purely technical level, that does make me a writer. But for me, that’s not enough. To me, that doesn’t make me a writer. I have to write from my heart. I have to let what’s in me out. In my mind, it’s when I write for me that I become a writer. But there’s an interesting dichotomy here, because before I can do that, I have to believe I’m a writer. I have to sit in that truth and give myself permission to create.

Jeff Goins says we have to trick ourselves–we have to trick ourselves into believing that we are writers. And this isn’t about lying to ourselves. It’s about doing what what we need to do to help ourselves recognize who we really are. Because most of us don’t believe that we are who we were made to be. Most of us believe lies about ourselves. To become who we were made to be, we have to rebuke those lies. We have to shake them off. We have to begin to step into the truth. But we first must believe it–really believe it–to the point where it changes our actions. To the point where we begin to live out of that truth.

In today’s challenge, Jeff Goins quotes a wise man who said that that we are the sum of our conscious thoughts. And this is true. Words create worlds. And the words we speak over ourselves–whether audible or not–will make us who we are. So what do I have to do to believe that I’m a writer? I have to silence the lies. And when they’re too loud to be silenced, I must ignore them. I must speak truth louder. The key is being intentional about what I focus on. Will I focus on the voices that tell me I can’t or will I focus on the truth I know deep down–that I am a writer? This is what will determine what I believe.

My Declaration: I’m a writer

So, I recognize that It’s been a while (a long while) since I’ve blogged, but I’m starting to find my voice again, and I plan to establish a new presence on the web (stay tuned). In the meantime, as I hone my craft, I’ve decided to re-enter the bloggosphere by participating in Jeff Goins’ 15-day writing challenge. You can learn more about this challenge here. But first, be sure to check out my declaration, and feel free to share your own in the comments.

I am a writer

I am a writer. I’m not a wanna-be writer, a struggling writer, or a future writer. I am a writer. Here, today, in this moment. I know how to craft a sentence, a paragraph, an essay, a story. But that’s not what makes me a writer. I am a writer because I believe I have something to say. Something that matters to me, and just maybe, matters to you too.

I’m not Charles Dickens, C.S. Lewis, Emily Dickenson, J.D. Salinger, or Donald Miller. I’m Jessie Lester. And I’m a writer. I walk in the footsteps of these greats. I admire and learn from their work. But I will never be them. And I don’t need to try. All I need to do–all I can do–is be me. I can ignore the voices that tell me I won’t succeed. I can–I must–laugh in the face of fear and embrace the possibility of failure. Because this is where true art–true creation–begins: in the place of vulnerability. The place where I stop caring what people think, stop trying to create a persona, and begin to write from my heart.

This is my declaration. It’s for me, more than it’s for you. It’s me owning who and what I am. And as I do this, I begin to walk toward my destiny. Perhaps slowly at first, but I’m taking steps nonetheless. And I invite you to join me. What do you need to declare over your life? What fears do you need to reject, and what potential failures is it time to embrace? Whatever it is, start today. Take the first step and declare your destiny.

Surrender

It’s the day you wake up and admit

it’s not working.

 

Your feet hit the floor in the same place as always,

but today you feel the thud —

the mechanical grinding as everything starts to move.

 

You’re walking round a racetrack,

promising yourself you’ll win.

But you’ve been at this far too long to believe your own voice.

 

It’s the day you ask the question — why it even matters.

The competition that is.

Everything you believed was important.

 

You can see them all behind you —

the years you spent looking for perfection.

They mock your broken reflection and the

uncertainty of future.

 

It’s the day you finally quit — just stop trying so hard.

Stop caring. Or maybe it’s when you really start.

 

Stepping of the track, you put your hands up

and surrender.

Learning from Lars

In honor of Valentines day, I’m re-posting a blog from a few years ago. As you celebrate love, take a few moments to think about what it truly means to love those around us, and seize the opportunity to Learn form Lars. Lars and the Real Girl is, in my opinion one of the best best love stories found outside the Bible. Here’s why I think so:

I want to give a shout out for Lars and the Real Girl, an unusual but very sweet and endearing movie about the need for community, physical touch, and true, compassionate love. It’s also peppered with a bit of Napoleon Dynamite-style humor, though not to the extreme. Don’t be scared away by the basic description: Lars orders a life-size doll and is convinced that she is his real, live girlfriend. Strange? Yes. Raunchy? Absolutely not. For a plot that has potential to go south fast, Lars and the Real Girl keeps it clean and honest. It’s all part of the movie’s commentary on true, authentic love. I think we can all relate to Lars on some levels, and we can all learn from him and his rather unusual ‘girlfriend,’ Bianca.

Lars loves people. He just has a funny way of showing it. We see this from the very opening scene when he gives his sister-in-law, Karen, his blanket to keep her warm on the short walk home. He’s afraid of interaction with people, but that does not mean he doesn’t love them. Karen doesn’t understand him and thinks she has something against her, but over the course of the movie, she learns that love does not look the same to everyone.

Physical touch hurts Lars. He equates it to the burning sensation you feel when you’ve been outside in the cold and come back in where it’s warm. He wears layers to help protect him from the pain of physical touch. Lars’ strange ‘condition’ is a commentary on the pain involved in love. By locking himself in his own world he has indeed become ‘cold,’ and as he begins to interact with others, he is stripping off some of his layers and beginning to expose himself. If we are to love authentically, we will have to do the same, and chances are, it just might hurt.

Bianca used to be a missionary. Lars says she is on sabbatical to experience the world, but what he does not realize is that she is still a missionary, actually helping him to experience the world. Bianca brings a message of love both to Lars and to his entire community. She gives Lars the confidence he lacks to begin to interact with his family and his friends from work. And she helps the community — especially Karen and Gus — understand that loving someone means accepting them as they are, and not trying to change them. At the end, the pastor calls her a ‘teacher,’ and a ‘lesson in courage,’ and he is right, because true love, the kind that Lars, Gus, and Karen all learn about, takes an incredible amount of courage.

Lars love for Bianca is genuine. He does not use her, as one might expect a man would use an attractive, life-size doll. In fact, Lars never touches Bianca romantically, save a sweet and simple kiss near the end. To Lars, commitment supersedes anything physical in a relationship. He knows that Bianca is committed to him, and that’s enough. Even when Bianca is unsure about his marriage proposal, he stands by the belief that “a man doesn’t cheat on his woman.” Some of the most endearing scenes are when Lars waits nervously at Bianca’s weekly doctor appointments, when he sings to her at the lake, and when he reads aloud to her. Lars gives of his time and affection out of genuine love, not a desire to get something in return.

Sometimes it’s just about having the presence of another person. In the words of the women from the community, “that’s what people do in times of crisis. They come over and sit.”

Gus tells Lars that you know you are grown up when you decide to do what’s right for everyone else, even if it is not what you want. Ironically, I think that Gus learns this more than anyone. He has to overcome his embarrassment to do what’s right and love his brother unconditionally. And we know that Lars has learned this at the end of the movie when he finally lets Bianca go. He has discovered the hardest thing about love: sometimes it means that we sacrifice that which is most dear to us. I think that Lars sacrifices Bianca because he has grown up, in Gus’ definition of the term. Lars realizes that, while love involves sacrifice, it also does not demand it of others. He cannot show genuine love to those who love him as long as Bianca is in the way and so, he gives her up.

Healing for your bones

What I learned from walking on a broken leg

The day after Christmas, my sister talked me into going ice skating. It had been years since I’d laced up a pair of skates, but I took to the ice like a pro. Okay fine, not exactly like a pro. But I was skating quite well and having a great time, and that’s when I learned the main difference between me and the professionals: professionals have been trained how to fall without twisting their ankle and fracturing their leg. That’s right — five minutes before our skate time was up, this is exactly what I did.

As I went down, I knew it would be a bad fall. I wondered if I would break something. But I was able to get up and walk away. I was in pain and my leg was swollen, but no one with me thought it was broken. And let’s face it. I didn’t want it to be broken. I didn’t want to spend the night in an ER waiting room; I didn’t want this to slow me down. So, I decided to take some ibuprofen, apply ice, and keep an eye on it — if it got worse, I’d go to the doc. But it didn’t get worse. It got better. After two days, my limp was gone. After three, I was back at the gym. If I took it easy, I didn’t have any pain.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and looking back, of course I can see signs that I should have had this checked out, but at the time, they were easy to ignore. It was easy to rationalize why it would still be hurting — why my ankle was still swollen. You don’t fall that hard and not have pain, right? After three weeks of telling myself I didn’t need to slow down — that I could push through this — I finally gave in and decided to see the doctor. More for peace of mind than anything.

That was three and a half weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been in a cast up to my mid thigh, hobbling around on crutches. And let me tell you one thing I’ve learned — if God needs to slow you down, he can do it. I’m not suggesting that God caused my fall, but I am saying that he used it. He used it to get my attention. To give me some time to pray, listen, and think.

One thing I realized during this time is how we often ignore sin in much the same way I ignored my injury. Think about it. When God begins to bring sin issues to our attention, it’s easier to ignore them or make excuses than face up to them. If we admit to them, that means we have deal with them, and dealing with the sin in our lives is messy, unpleasant, and downright inconvenient. We want to continue with our normal routine. Addressing sin would simply rock the boat.

The thing is that, much like my injury, sin won’t go away just because we ignore it. We can try to convince ourselves that it’s getting better. We can clean up our lives just enough that the outward signs of it our gone. But unless we’ve addressed the heart issue, the pain, division, and dissatisfaction caused by sin will remain.

God used my injury to show me some areas where I’d been ignoring sin in my own life. He used it to show me that my focus was off. I was pursuing other things with the vigor and attention that should have been focused on him. My injury forced me to take a break from some of these things and to look at my heart. And it gave me time to re-focus my attention back on God. And so, I’m thankful. Having a broken leg sucks, and hobbling around on crutches is a drag. But having a God who loves me enough to call me out on my crap, encourage me to face up to my sin, and draw me closer to himself, is pretty awesome. For that, I’m thankful.

A week or so ago, I came across a verse in Proverbs 3 that reads, “Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. It will be healing for your flesh and refreshment for your bones.” I’d read the verse before, but it took on a whole new meaning when I literally had a broken bone. And I think it gets to the core of what God’s been teaching me. Making excuses for, or ignoring, sin is human wisdom. If I’m wise in my own eyes, then I’m too proud to admit when God calls me out on my sin. But if I honestly fear God, I’ll want nothing more than to address my sin issues and turn from the evil in my heart. And that’s my prayer, that as God continues to bring physical health and refreshment, he’ll also work on my heart, stripping me of “self wisdom” and giving me the strength to turn away from sin.

Are you losing your attention?

My thoughts on a world in love with technology

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only person from my generation who feels that technology has actually done more to complicate — rather than simplify — our lives. I wonder if I’m the only one who finds it disconcerting just how addicted we are to instant communication and worrisome that we spend so much of our time in the virtual world. I’m old enough to say that I remember life before the internet but not so old that I lived most of my life without it. Despite the fact that I can navigate my way around most computers with relative ease, I often feel like a grandma among my peers. Why? Because while others are concentrating on how they can pull themselves closer to the world of technology, I’m wondering what I can do to push myself farther from it.

Let me explain. I love technology. I love that I can listen to podcasts of my favorite radio programs or watch TV shows days, weeks — even months — after they’ve aired. I love that I can get news from anywhere on the planet at any time of day. I like knowing about big events in my friend’s lives moments after they take place. And let’s be honest, I love that I can type my symptoms into a computer to diagnose my own illnesses (can you say hypochondriac?) or Google my latest debate with my sister to prove that, once again, I’m right. But in the midst of my increasing reliance on, and gratefulness for, technology, I also have a growing unease about the role we allow it to play in our lives.

Ours is a hyper-connected world — we’re constantly plugged in to an endless stream of information that is taking many of us to interesting, often beneficial, places. But if we’re not vigilant in our use of technology, I think we run the risk of unwittingly allowing this stream to carry us away. Recent history shows that as a society, we’re pretty quick to accept new innovations and integrate them into our lives. Our ability to adapt and change with the times is part of what makes us human. Nevertheless, I sometimes wonder if, in our eagerness to improve our lives through technology, we’re failing to recognize the sacrifices that technology demands of us.

Simply stated, we only have so much time and attention to dole out. While technology may increase our efficiency, it also demands our time and attention. And sometimes, I think we fail to realize that for everything we add to our lives, we must also give something up. That’s just how it works. This principle isn’t unique to technology — it’s true of any venture we pursue — but I find it particularly important where technology is concerned, because technology is beginning to infiltrate every area of our lives. I recently heard someone on NPR saying that nearly everything we do today is virtual. I wanted to argue with him, but generally speaking, he’s right. This worries me. It worries me, because the more involved we become in the virtual world, the less engaged we will be with the real one. A fascinating infographic detailing the world’s obsession with Facebook recently reported that 57 percent of people talk to others more online than they do in real life. Again, the more time we spend in the virtual world, the more opportunities we’ll miss out on in the real one.

Last week, Pope Benedict XVI shared his opinion of social networking in a speech entitled “Truth, Proclamation, and Authenticity of Life in the Digital Age.” While I’ve not succeeded in finding a complete transcript of his speech, what I gather from the summaries is that he condoned social networks as something that can add value to our lives, while also issuing a strong warning of what he sees as their dangers. The Pope made it very clear that we must use wisdom and caution in the way we engage in social networks, asking: “Is there a risk of being more distracted because our attention is fragmented and absorbed in a world ‘other’ than the one in which we live?”

I think that, in the digital age, we’d all benefit from using this question as a microscope with which to examine our own lives. Is the technology we use enhancing our lives or simply absorbing our attention? Where is our focus? I’m not here to bash social networks or suggest that we give up on technology and join the Amish. Instead, I’m imploring us to evaluate the technology we do use and ask if it’s truly adding to our lives. This is an ongoing process. In our fast-paced world, this question will never get old. And the answers aren’t the same for everyone. The things that enable you to live your life more effectively may prove to be a distraction for me. But a good rule of thumb, if you’re wondering what you might need to limit — or eliminate altogether — is to examine where your time and attention are focused. Do a systems check to see how grounded you are in the real world. Ask yourself if your life has become more complicated as a result of your technology usage. Are you struggling to maintain friendships in the physical world, while constantly stressing over the nuances your virtual relationships? Are you sitting at the computer, wondering why you don’t have as much time as you used to? Are you reading about your friend’s days on Facebook, wondering why you’ve lost touch with your family?

It’s when we don’t stop to ask these kinds of questions that I think technology becomes dangerous. When it comes down to it, technology is just a tool. It can be used well, or it can be misused. Using it correctly requires purpose and attention. And I think the benefits of technology are worth it — worth taking the time to regularly sit down and evaluate the risks.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to post a link to this blog on Facebook.

Talk about offensive …

Why censoring Mark Twain is an assault on art and education

Few things rile me up enough that I talk aloud to the radio while alone in my car, but last Wednesday, when I heard the news about an Alabama-based company’s plans to publish a “new,” censored edition of Mark Twain’s classic novels—Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn—I couldn’t refrain from speaking my mind to the broadcasters on the other end of the airways. “Seriously? One hundred years after his death, Mark Twain is rolling over in his grave,” was all I could think.

The edited books are the project of Professor Alan Gribbon, who is replacing the n-word with that of slave and removing all appearances of the term injun in an attempt to make the novels less offensive. While Gribbon’s motivation — to see more schools teaching and more children reading these classic books — is noble, his method is a slap in the face to literature and art and a cheapening of the education system.

Mark Twain was one of the first to employ the use of local vernacular and slang in his writings, and with Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, he paved the way for similar works that would follow, all while portraying a culture, a way of life, and a slice of our country’s history. He chose his words carefully, and he had a reason for using them. Twain didn’t just throw in the n-word to be offense or see how quickly he could get his works on the banned books list, he used  it intentionally because it said something about the era his stories are set in and the attitudes of his characters—something that slave just can’t say.

Stripping Twain’s novels of the n-word in an attempt to make them less offensive is equivalent to painting clothes on replicas of art from the Sistine chapel in an attempt to avoid scenes of nudity — once you’ve messed with the art you really can’t call it a work of Michel Angelo anymore, can you? And I’m sorry, but if I find myself reading about Indian Joe, rather than Injun Joe, I’m no longer reading Tom Sawyer. Twain’s language is an integral part of his characters. And, it’s an integral part of the story he’s trying to tell — a story that I think kids would benefit from reading, in its holistic entirety.

It get that the n-word is offensive. And I agree with those who believe that it should not be liberally thrown into the hands of our youth. But I don’t think that scrubbing it out of classic novels is the answer. We can’t scrub it out of history, and we can’t scrub it out of existence. It may be a dark part of our past and an unpleasant — though thankfully less frequent — occurrence in our present, but it’s still there. Our kids are eventually going to encounter it (whether they read Mark Twain or not), and the way we deal with it today will determine their attitudes toward it in the future.

Again, I’m not suggesting that we hand our children Mark Twain and Huckleberry Finn and allow them to interpret his use of language on their own — from their limited knowledge of culture and history. On the contrary, I’d like to see us using these novels and their use of the highly offensive n-word as an educational tool. As parents, educators, and individuals who have influence in children’s lives, let’s sit down with our kids and talk about what they’re reading. Let’s discuss the n-word and help them understand what it meant in the mid-1800s, what it means today, and why Mark Twain used it when portraying life along the Mississippi River. Who knows, it might just lead to open conversation about race, the history of African Americans in our country, and the tension and struggles that Huckleberry Finn feels as he befriends a man for whom others have so much hate. Twain makes an important point with his use of the n-word, and as I’ve already suggested, slave simply doesn’t mean the same thing. The two words have different connotations and evoke different feelings. If our children are going to learn from history, they need to understand that.

I know one could argue Gibbon and his publishers have a right to do whatever they please and if we don’t like it, we can go on reading our classic editions of Twain. And in some respects, that may be true. What I’m reacting to, however is the fact they’re tampering with art that was not theirs to begin with, and in doing so, they’re diluting the message and doing our children a gross disservice. And that’s what I find truly offensive.

2010 in review

Do you ever have one of those days when you’re brushing your teeth at the end of it all, thinking about how fast it went, and you suddenly realize how much a person can do in a single day? Well, I’ve just had one of those years. On the one hand, it went remarkably fast and on the other hand, so much happened on both the interior and exterior of my life that it’s remarkable to think that only a year passed. One year — and a lifetime. Here are a few of the highlights.

Best movie of 2010

I recently read a movie critic’s list of 2010’s top ten movies and I must admit, several of his picks were films I haven’t even heard of. So, from my limited viewing experience, I bring you what I believe are two of the year’s best movies from two completely separate genres.

Inception

Undoubtedly the best—most original—film to come out of Hollywood in quite some time, Inception made the top of my 2010 movie list months before the year was over. I’m not typically a nail-bitter, but halfway through the film, I suddenly realized the tips of my fingers were in my mouth. I won’t say too much for fear of spoiling anything for those who may have not seen it yet. (Seriously, remedy that ASAP!) But I will say that it’s not an easy task to write a movie based entirely on a reality you will have to help your audience understand and believe. Inception does this seamlessly, all while weaving a multi-layered story and delivering a frustratingly brilliant ending.

Toy Story 3

I honestly didn’t expect much from this movie. Typically, when you get to the third of anything, you’ve basically compromised quality and storyline for a name that people feel some sort of allegiance to or affection for. But Toy Story was by far the exception to the rule. Based on the opening scene alone, I think this movie did a better job capturing a child’s imagination than the first two Toy Stories combined. It’s definitely my favorite of the trilogy.

Best books I read in 2010

I thought I knew what my favorite books of 2010 were, and then I started looking over my reading notes from the year and became more conflicted. So, at the risk of leaving some wonderful, well-deserving titles out, I’ve boiled it down to two books from vastly different categories.

To Kill a Mockingbird

Harper Lee’s classic novel was one of those books that I’d always felt as if I should have read, but just hadn’t. When I finally picked it up along with my book club ladies, I literally didn’t want to put it down. It’s a well-written, fascinating story that quickly captures your attention and manages to deal with difficult themes and serious issues without compromising the free-spirited, lighthearted narration. And in the end, I think it poses several pertinent questions about human nature.

Forgotten God

This book completely challenged the way I think about the Holy Spirit and forced me to question the strength of my own faith. It’s a vivid—and apt—reminder of power we have in us a Christians, delivered by Francis Chan, a wonderful communicator.

Lessons from 2010

A year ago, when I reflected on 2009, I talked about uncertainty, my desire for control, and the need to trust God with the details of my life. Looking back on 2010, I’m so thankful to see that he didn’t leave me off the hook—he continued to prod me to give up control of my life and gently reminded me just how little I do have control over. I’m still a work in progress, but one thing God showed me this year is that allowing him to change our hearts is indeed a slow process.

This year, I started surrendering my battle for perfection. God is still teaching me how—and that it’s okay—to let go, but what I’m finding as I do is a great deal of freedom and joy. And it gives me hope and excitement for the future because it means that as I let go of my attempts at perfection I leave room for God to do more in and through me.

Over the past year, I also watched many of my friends go through unprecedented trials and learned first-hand how God uses suffering. Through it all, I’ve realized that God has a way of giving us exactly what we need for the moment. The year’s unexpected turns have shown me that, no matter what happens, God will make sure we have the patience, grace, and strength to deal with it. And that too, excites me for the future, because it means there’s potential for me to do things that are bigger than myself. I don’t have to stick with just dreams I know I can accomplish, because I have the power of the Holy Spirit—a power that can help me accomplish anything God calls me to. And, I don’t have to worry, because God knows what I’ll be facing, and even if it’s not easy, he’s going to prepare me to deal with it.

None of this is new to me intellectually. I could have told you this a year ago, but now I know it on a deeper level. My heart is more convinced of it, and I understand exactly what it means on a personal level. I’m grateful that God lets us learn, and I pray that my heart would continue to be receptive.

And just for fun, completely trivial things that changed my life in 2010

• Pandora (I discovered this before 2010, but it continues to change my life, so it still counts)
• Netflix
• Frozen grapes (don’t comment until you’ve tried them)
• Adidas Sequence running shoes
• This American Life
• Portland (this city will never stop changing my life)
• Short hair

To the one who carried Christ

Sometimes I wonder what you thought when he told you —

when he delivered the news that would alter your life.

 

“How can this happen?” is all that you asked.

A question of logistics, no hint of disbelief.

 

Sometimes I wonder if you silently protested,

questioning why you were part of God’s plan.

 

“May it happen just as you’ve said — ”

words of submission, no trace of dissent.

 

Sometimes I wonder if you cried that night,

mourning the loss of the girl you had been.

 

“I am the Lord’s servant.”

A statement given without hesitation.

 

Sometimes I wonder how it felt to be pregnant.

To carry the hope of the world inside.

 

“My spirit rejoices in God my savior — ”

Exclamations overflowing with joy.

 

Sometimes I wonder if you knew the weight—

the gravity of these events.

 

“And a sword will pierce your very soul.”

Words you heard

and held

in your heart.

Living under a curse

Finding freedom by embracing imperfection

Every morning begins with a stare down between me and my arch enemy. I look in the mirror, sizing up my body as if I expect that seven hours of sleep will have caused pounds to evaporate and muscles to emerge. It’s on, I think, an obvious giveaway that I haven’t left the dream world. We’re really not lookin’ so bad. I try to comfort myself with the reminder that it’s been worse. A lot worse. Oh yeah, retorts my body. Just hop on the scale. Its been better too—you’ve been better. My enemy doesn’t even have to deliver that final jab—the one that cuts the deepest. I do that all on my own.

It’s a clever enemy who can turn you against yourself. And my enemy has all sorts of tools for doing that. Scales and mirrors are some of the most effective. But when those aren’t handy, there’s a million other ways of engaging me in the fight. Comparison’s a classic, because it doesn’t take much. It’s subjective. And if I’m not paying attention, pretty soon I’m not just telling myself that I could be better, I’m also beginning to believe that I’m inferior to everyone around me.

Couple this with years of insecurity, and for perfectionist control freaks like myself, it’s a dangerous concoction. I can change this. I can prove myself. And until I do, what’s my worth? How can I even live with myself? It’s shameful to see such thoughts in writing, but these are the lies my enemy gets me to tell myself.

Trapped in this deception, I enter the fight. I count calories. I beat my body up at the gym. I listen to the voice and step on the scale every morning — knowing what it will say before I even get on. I do this for reassurance —reassurance that my enemy isn’t gaining ground, reassurance that even if I’m not winning, at least I haven’t given up on the battle. But the irony is that the more I engage in the fighting, the more I become a slave to the enemy, to my physical body, to perfection. As I begin to buy into this belief that I can conquer and control my body—that I can beat it into submission, I enter a battle I can never win. For as long as I live on earth, I will remain imperfect.

This is something the apostle Paul understood well. In Romans, he says that believers groan with the rest of creation because we “long for our bodies to be released from sin and suffering.” Though I doubt Paul was thinking about the mirror or scale when he wrote this, he is acknowledging a reality that I’d be wise to take to heart. This First Century male who knew nothing of American culture or female body image pressure understood my struggle because he recognized the fact that we are all trapped in imperfect, broken bodies. And these bodies serve as daily reminders of our sinful nature. Creation groans because it’s under a curse. Likewise, my body has been cursed — marked as fallen. Imperfect.

Paul’s perspective sheds a new light my daily battle with my body. No matter how hard I try to beat it into submission, it will always — until the return of Christ — be under the curse of sin. Furthermore, my attempts to reach perfection are only evidence that I am trying on my own, to obtain something that can only come from God. As Paul puts it: “We [believers] wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us … the new bodies he has promised us” (Romans 8:23).

This is a perfect reminder that the real battle is not the one waged in the gym and determined by the scale. The real battle is spiritual, and the battle with my body is simply a far too effective ploy the enemy of God uses to distract me from the fight against, “the spiritual forces of evil.”

As Paul points out, we will all be trapped in these sub-par bodies until the return of Christ. And I think some of the frustration Paul expresses comes from the fact that this means we will have to continue fighting evidence of the curse — sickness, death, physical deformities — until Christ does indeed deliver the new bodies he has promised.

But the good news in Paul’s message is that even while we wait for those new bodies, we are under no obligation to try and obtain perfection. The promise of Christ means that we have been set free from all attempts to prove our worth. We can surrender to the battles that are enslaving us — the battles that are distracting us from our true identity in Christ. Paul states this plainly when he tells us, “you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s spirit when he adopted you as his own children” (Romans 8:15). And that’s the key to surrendering the battle of perfection and finding freedom—recognizing that God has called us his children. When our identity lies in the fact that he has claimed us as his, we no longer feel the need to prove ourselves, because our worth lies in him.

So I’m challenging myself to surrender the battle for perfection. When I look in the mirror I will still see my fallen, broken, imperfect body. But I should also see something else — a child of God. No matter what mirrors or scales say, that’s my true identity, because it’s the one that matters most.  And I’m challenging myself let my imperfections remind me of my sinful nature. Remembering that we live under a curse is powerful, because it thrusts us into the perfect posture to accept God’s grace and it’s when we’re  in this place that he looks at us and calls us his children.