At times I've heard the verse on, "don't worry what you'll
eat...our what you'll wear..." to be taken to mean, "You can eat
whatever you want (without side effects)," and "It doesn't matter what I
look like." There are elements of truth in these statements, but they
don't carry the whole truth, and I encountered both in my experience in
Africa.
I've always thought of myself as a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal -- comfort is important to me. I don't like sitting with my feet on the ground -- I'm ridiculously flexible and prefer sitting with legs crossed or somehow sitting on one of my legs, even if in a chair (recently I realized my dad does this too! Guess that's where I got it from). I always thought "dress clothes" were uncomfortable. That and... (here comes the deep, dark confession) I don't have much fashion sense. Anything concerning me that's been fashionable has generally been randomly stumbling into it or the Lord literally telling me to do something I did NOT want to do and fought against. (Hello highlighted, yet totally natural, streaked silver/grey, blonde, brown hair that people pay $700+ to try to achieve!)
A few years ago, the Lord in His kindness drew me to
Himself again and strongly laid out my identity, penetrating my heart with
it. In that, He so radically changed me, that I'm certain all of my co-workers
saw a difference after that Christmas and New Year's holiday. I know
some did because they asked me if I had started dating someone! Nope. I'd just so encountered the love and heart of God for me in how He created me and in the Person of Jesus that I just wanted to look the part, for lack of a better way to explain it. I was (and am!) the beloved of God Most High! His princess. His treasure. And I felt like it was His heart that I treat myself like His beloved princess and bride, and that He'd given me the means to do so.
I wasn't worried about what I was going to wear. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I didn't want to look good for my co-workers or catch anyone's eye. Just His. So I bought myself a couple new outfits and some new boots and put on the dreaded (and sometimes irritating) mascara and learned to stop itching my eyes. And, to tread a bit deeper into the waters of vulnerability, every morning as I got ready for work, I heard Him, HIM, tell me how beautiful I was.
Then later, Africa happened. They said there may not be running water or electricity, and that everything would get dirty, so don't bring your nice things. So I didn't. We also had to where skirts or dresses or things that would cover the knees, and I didn't have anything like that. So I went to Goodwill (thrift store, all used) and bought cheap stuff. Thrift stores exhaust me. There no order. It's chaos. You have to look through every. single. article. of clothing. It makes me want to pull out my (beautifully streaked) hair. So I just found things that matched, not necessarily anything that looked good. And that's how it was for over my first year in Africa.
But one day, somewhere in the middle of 2015, I snapped. I was tired of looking like a dirt rat. Plus, a steady diet of rice and pasta and beans and more rice and pasta, pasta and rice, and some beans plus 5-6 cups of coffee a day (with sugar!), and chocolate (because for some reason, these schools in Africa make people go chocolate crazy) had resulted in a few (many) extra pounds by the end of the first 6 months. Bleh. I was a woman, and I was tired of not looking like a woman.
So I took advantage of an horrible circumstance that brought me to the States for a few weeks, pulled out my jewelry, nice clothes, boots, worked the clearance racks and sales at Kohl's like nobody's business (I paid no more than 20% of the value of what I bought!) and brought it all back to South Africa with me. I didn't care if I was on a farm with a lot of dirt. I would make it work. I was going to look like a lady. And I'd found nice and yet also comfortable clothes, so I could morph between looking nice but also be able to curl my legs under myself if need be. Every day before going up to class with the students, I'd make sure I looked nice.
When I was a student (March 2014 in South Africa), one of the missionaries there in particular always looked nice. She wasn't dolled up and fancy, but she just looked nice. She looked like a lady. So I figured, if she could do it, I could do it too. And I also thought, maybe I could be an example to the young (and not so young) ladies in the schools, that just because you're a "missionary" in a place with a lot of dirt, doesn't mean you can't find a way to look nice and be who you are -- a woman.
In Mozambique, Heidi Baker would often encourage the students to take showers and look nice. We always thought, and said, "Yeah right. Have you seen where we live? That's not happening!" But Heidi always looked nice (granted, she did live in better conditions than we did!). At the same time, though, the Mozambiquens gave much more time and attention to their hygiene and preparation for the day than we did. They did they best they could with what they had. Most of us students... not so much. Now, taking showers really may not be possible in that environment, but otherwise, I'm with Heidi now.
Of course none of these things define who I am, give me my identity, or make me a woman. God is pretty much responsible for all of that. This isn't about trying to keep up with fashion or trying to look as good as whomever we want to look as good as. This is taking care of what God has given us. It may kind of be like cleaning up the kitchen. Yes, the kitchen still functions when it's a mess, but a clean kitchen is a wonderful thing. And I can work with what He's given me to reflect how He's created me. I'm not worried about it -- I'm enjoying His blessings and His provision! (Jesus says in Matthew 6:32-33 that our Father knows we need these things and provides them.) He has made me beautiful and I can reflect that outwardly for Him, to honor Him, and thank Him for it.
Since I've already written a book tonight, I guess I'll need to write part 2 later.
I wasn't worried about what I was going to wear. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I didn't want to look good for my co-workers or catch anyone's eye. Just His. So I bought myself a couple new outfits and some new boots and put on the dreaded (and sometimes irritating) mascara and learned to stop itching my eyes. And, to tread a bit deeper into the waters of vulnerability, every morning as I got ready for work, I heard Him, HIM, tell me how beautiful I was.
Then later, Africa happened. They said there may not be running water or electricity, and that everything would get dirty, so don't bring your nice things. So I didn't. We also had to where skirts or dresses or things that would cover the knees, and I didn't have anything like that. So I went to Goodwill (thrift store, all used) and bought cheap stuff. Thrift stores exhaust me. There no order. It's chaos. You have to look through every. single. article. of clothing. It makes me want to pull out my (beautifully streaked) hair. So I just found things that matched, not necessarily anything that looked good. And that's how it was for over my first year in Africa.
But one day, somewhere in the middle of 2015, I snapped. I was tired of looking like a dirt rat. Plus, a steady diet of rice and pasta and beans and more rice and pasta, pasta and rice, and some beans plus 5-6 cups of coffee a day (with sugar!), and chocolate (because for some reason, these schools in Africa make people go chocolate crazy) had resulted in a few (many) extra pounds by the end of the first 6 months. Bleh. I was a woman, and I was tired of not looking like a woman.
So I took advantage of an horrible circumstance that brought me to the States for a few weeks, pulled out my jewelry, nice clothes, boots, worked the clearance racks and sales at Kohl's like nobody's business (I paid no more than 20% of the value of what I bought!) and brought it all back to South Africa with me. I didn't care if I was on a farm with a lot of dirt. I would make it work. I was going to look like a lady. And I'd found nice and yet also comfortable clothes, so I could morph between looking nice but also be able to curl my legs under myself if need be. Every day before going up to class with the students, I'd make sure I looked nice.
When I was a student (March 2014 in South Africa), one of the missionaries there in particular always looked nice. She wasn't dolled up and fancy, but she just looked nice. She looked like a lady. So I figured, if she could do it, I could do it too. And I also thought, maybe I could be an example to the young (and not so young) ladies in the schools, that just because you're a "missionary" in a place with a lot of dirt, doesn't mean you can't find a way to look nice and be who you are -- a woman.
In Mozambique, Heidi Baker would often encourage the students to take showers and look nice. We always thought, and said, "Yeah right. Have you seen where we live? That's not happening!" But Heidi always looked nice (granted, she did live in better conditions than we did!). At the same time, though, the Mozambiquens gave much more time and attention to their hygiene and preparation for the day than we did. They did they best they could with what they had. Most of us students... not so much. Now, taking showers really may not be possible in that environment, but otherwise, I'm with Heidi now.
Of course none of these things define who I am, give me my identity, or make me a woman. God is pretty much responsible for all of that. This isn't about trying to keep up with fashion or trying to look as good as whomever we want to look as good as. This is taking care of what God has given us. It may kind of be like cleaning up the kitchen. Yes, the kitchen still functions when it's a mess, but a clean kitchen is a wonderful thing. And I can work with what He's given me to reflect how He's created me. I'm not worried about it -- I'm enjoying His blessings and His provision! (Jesus says in Matthew 6:32-33 that our Father knows we need these things and provides them.) He has made me beautiful and I can reflect that outwardly for Him, to honor Him, and thank Him for it.
Since I've already written a book tonight, I guess I'll need to write part 2 later.
