Do you obsess over selfies and photos and the image that stares back at you when you use the bathroom? Or maybe it’s the opposite… you never take selfies, make sure you’re the one holding the camera for group shots and you look as little as possible at any mirror you pass.

We want love. There’s no denying it.

And those who are beautiful get love – that’s the message I’ve been soaking in since I was a girl as little as the one in the photo at the start of this post.

That’s why, when I came across this paragraph in Shannon Popkin’s book Comparison Girl, I was kind of surprised.

“… God, who loves me, uses things like group photos to develop my humility. Each time I’m confronted with flaws in a photo, in the mirror, or on the scale, it’s a new opportunity to humble myself and say, “God, I trust you. You see me as your treasure, and I trust your eyes more than mine or anyone else’s.”

I assumed that the answer to my insecurity would be LOVE. God’s love. I expected the author to reassure me by underscoring God’s love for me. Instead, I was hit hard by the line: God, I trust you.

She’s so right. For me, it’s not about doubting God’s love for me. It’s fear about everything else. Will other people despise or overlook me as I age? What are the implications of wrinkles and age spots and scars and other flaws in a world of you-have-value-if-you-look-good?

God, I trust you.

When you look at yourself in a photo or in the mirror, are you like me? Do fears… some loud and some subtle, stir in your mind?

This week, when that happens, take a deep breath, quiet your soul, and say: God, I trust you.




Have you ever done something ridiculous to avoid being seen in a less than ideal state? I have.

I was fifteen and fed up with hanging around high school after classes – every day we had to wait about forty minutes before the school buses showed up. One day, last class was cancelled and I decided I was NOT going to stick around for two hours. I had legs. I would walk home.

I walked down rural roads for about an hour, then entered suburbia and made my way past countless homes. My hair was thoroughly windblown, my skin sunburned. I felt exhausted and I needed a bathroom.

Mom worked at a church on my route, so I snuck into this familiar building to use the facilities. Mom wasn’t there and this was way before cell phones. I couldn’t call for a ride. Still, I knew the pastor whose car sat out front and I figured he could drive me the rest of the way home. I was SO TIRED. I’d been walking for about two hours.

When I saw myself in the mirror, I changed my mind. I looked like a blond hurricane. Rather than let anyone see me like that, I walked another hour.

Three hours.

11.6 kilometres.

I could have allowed a willing soul to rescue me, save me some trouble… but pride and insecurity drove me to keep going on my own. Avoid people. Refuse help.



I chuckle now and shake my head. I’d never do something like that now. And neither would you. We’re more mature than that!

Aren’t we?



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *