Growing up, I played soccer on the city parks and rec team. My parents enrolled me in the summer time so I could productively work out my pent up aggression. I was quite small and very often the only girl on the team. And I was SO SCARED every Saturday: Game Day. My dad told me, "Don't worry about their size or that they're all boys. Look at their feet." When my response was that their feet were HUGE, he told me, "Well then, act brave. Fake it 'til it's real."
Again, at 32, I find myself faking it. Faking that I don't care that I'm not tan. Faking that I'm not hurt by a Facebook post that leaves me out. Faking that I don't care someone else has the ambition to run 5 miles in the rain when I wish I didn't have to walk to my car.
Perhaps God is working in me. I joined a Bible Study with a group of women from "the harbor." (Big risk for me.) We are studying Esther and this week is all about how beautiful and perfect Esther was. That was even before her 12 months of beauty treatment that prep'd her to meet King Xerxes. 12 Months! I know [hope] there is a lesson about inner beauty and finding my identity in Christ coming soon, but in the mean time, I feel like I am flipping through the pages of Cosmopolitan!
At the end of the Bible Study, I look forward to having the confidence to go to the grocery store without eye liner, quit highlighting my hair blonde and wear a tank top any time of year. I am hoping to keep my mouth shut when I am feeling insecure rather than sticking my foot in it later, and, of course, will love everyone who is cuter than me rather than be jealous of them.
But, let's be real. If that's not the case, maybe I can just fake it til it's real.