I've always had the hardest time accepting who I am. I don't know why - there's nothing wrong with me. You can even say I've had a charmed existence. Yet, for some reason, I have always had this sense that I wanted to be anywhere other than my own skin. Strange. Or maybe not so strange when you think about it. Apparently, women are much more likely to be dissatisfied with themselves - their appearance, intellect, choices, abilities, you name it - than their male counterparts. For some reason, we tend to feel the need to define ourselves based on outside factors. Like we let these outside influences in and once inside, they take up permanent residence and influence everything we say, do, think and feel. Picture letting someone into your house. You want the person to visit. You like the person, but would like him or her to leave at some point, go home and maybe come back and visit another time. The only problem is, that person doesn't want to leave. He or she refuses to open the door and go home. Soon, that person has left a mark on everything in your house and your home is no longer a reflection of you but somehow that person's influence on you. That's not such a strange analogy when you think that women are programmed, even built, to have to let people inside. The trick is not to let what comes inside take over what is already there. Whatever is there is there for a reason far more important than any other person, place or thing. What's there was not placed there by mistake and should therefore be cherished and protected. What's there should be cultivated and used for the divine purpose for which it was placed there.
As for the guest who won't leave, that's probably because we never actually open the door and say, "It's time to go. See ya later." At least, that's often been the case for me. I have, in the past, been afraid to open the door, afraid that I would be empty and my guest would not want to return. Well, I'm pretty sure if what's inside my house is pleasant enough, any guest worth having will want to return at some point. If not, my home just isn't for them and that's okay too.
Who He Made Me to Be
You should love who I am,
not who you'd like to see,
or you might never know
who I'm destined to be.
As His masterful hands
mold and sculpt me like clay,
I don't have time to guess
who I might be someday.
So, I go where He leads
as He stretches my bounds
and I try to find joy
in who I am right now.
I become as He sculpts,
sanding down, He refines.
He perfects me with love,
every curve, every line.
How He shapes me with care,
kneads the clay that I am,
every nuance a gift
to be used for His plan.
Oh, He loves who I am -
I'm who He wants to see,
and with His love, I become
who He made me to be.
