Social Media and the Path to Life

Social Media and the Path to Life

Today we went to a pumpkin patch, and it made me think about how social media has weaponized things like pumpkin patches. Those last eight words sound like the punchline to a joke, but everyone with an @ before their name knows social media can put sharp edges on even the most innocuous fun.

Nothing is safe from the incessant nudging to curate our lives and present them for others, right? Not the pumpkins, not the cup of coffee and open Bible, not the cute outfit. The nudges make it harder to enjoy the coffee, the Bible, the date night, the playground.

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Your Best Beach Brain

Your Best Beach Brain

Who cares about their brain when they’re prepping for the beach? Maybe no one. But I think we should. Because love handles and thunder thighs and muffin tops and stretch marks are not the true enemies of beach bliss. The true enemies are the thoughts that wage war in our minds.

I’ve created a seven-day guide to Your Best Beach Brain. It may not be what you think, or it may be exactly what you think, but either way, it’s my prayer that God would use this to draw you nearer to him and to equip you to marvel over him and have fun—even when you’re in a swimsuit.

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The Dress Didn't Fit

The Dress Didn't Fit

The dress wouldn’t zip. It didn’t matter what I did. It was the bridesmaid dress for my sister's wedding, and I had to be in it, standing by my sister's side in front of 200 guests within 72 hours.

Sweaty and stuck, I willed the panic away and called my mom for a game plan. We decided I’d head to her house, where she and my grandmother could help me get into the dress. Maybe I just needed another set of hands to get the zipper going. If we couldn’t make it work, Mom said, we’d create a gusset ourselves with extra fabric or find a seamstress. 

I touched base with a few friends on the way to Mom’s house, joking that I was willing to go Middle Ages on this problem and remove a rib if necessary. I told Adelaide, “Pray for Mommy’s dress,” and she did. “Dear God, help Mommy’s dress. Amen.”

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Knowing Your Name When the World Tries to Name You

Knowing Your Name When the World Tries to Name You

"But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.'" Isaiah 43:1

Names matter. My parents named me “Caroline,” and somehow that particular string of letters feels eternally linked to who I am, as if they line my DNA like biological alphabet soup. (It’s weird because they could have named me something else, like Karen or Bubbalicious or Raisin Bran, and I’m sure I’d feel just as connected to those series of letters if they had.) Praise the Lord, even though Dad actually loves Raisin Bran, my folks thought carefully and chose Caroline, just for me.

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For the Women Who Know How to Hate Themselves

Is there anything more insidious than insecurity? It cripples us, it changes us. It makes us hate each other, it makes us hate ourselves. It’s what drives the girl to do the thing she said she’d never do with the guy she only kind of likes. It’s what drives the girl to take the drink she said she’d never take to impress people she doesn’t really know. It’s what draws us to judge both of those girls and draws them to judge us right back.

It’s what teaches us to despise parts of ourselves and then fear when those very qualities show up in our daughters, provoking us to talk to them the way we talk to ourselves: “You’ll never fit into your Homecoming dress if you keep eating like that.”

Dear God, teach us to be gentle!

But, even if we train our mouths to be gentle, this is still true: Insults don’t have to be verbal, and they don’t have to be external. Sometimes your own brain or the fitting room mirror or the unreturned phone call shouts, “You’re unworthy,” as loud as a megaphone. 

And so while God’s Word esteems stillness and “gentle and quiet” beauty, dark, internal roars shake us and shake our daughters with soul-deep tremors. Sometimes the tremors are startling enough to awaken us from the striving to sudden clarity. We realize that all of it—clothes, products, gym visits, relationships, perfectionism, talent, work ethic—is not enough to quiet the internal quake. So we try to talk louder than our noisy insides, affirming ourselves and affirming our daughters, hoping Post-It Note words of worthiness are weapon enough. But here’s the thing: “You’re beautiful” doesn’t stick. “You’re worthy” slides off after a minute, like a slab of butter atop a hot pile of pancakes we’re not supposed to eat.

We arm ourselves with affirmations in hopes that they kill the insecurity, that they pierce deep, but insecurity is bullet proof. We can tell our daughters every day that they are beautiful, worthy, and enough, but ultimately these words are not the solution for which our souls long, because even beautiful girls with kind and intentional parents know how to hate themselves.

A verse often prescribed for insecurity is Psalm 139:14: “I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” We scribble it on birth announcements and cards of encouragement, and Christian high schoolers are notorious for proclaiming it beneath a carefully edited selfie on Instagram. But, as I learned from Jen Wilkin’s examining of the passage in her book None Like Him, we sometimes favor Twitter-friendly succinctness instead of the full weight of the statement; a statement that begins with three powerhouse words: “I praise you.”

Our “fearfully-and-wonderfully-made”-ness is cause for praise, certainly, but praise for whom exactly? Ourselves? Of course not. We made Bs in high school biology, but God invented the whole thing. We can barely cook without a recipe, and yet God created us from scratch with zero ingredients. When we look in the mirror, our reflection is cause enough for us to hit our knees in genuine, grateful praise to the Creator. An opportunity to shout, “Look what God has done!” Praise that The Great High King who measures the oceans in the hollow of his hand (Isaiah 40:12) would form us with those same careful hands, attentive to every detail. 

How sinister then that our enemy would wage war on our details, and that we in our own selfishness would stare at God’s creation, fixating on body shape and skin tone and hair texture rather than the God who took dust and made it walk and talk and breathe.

We are wonderfully made—created by the Artist who created all other artists. An Artist who certainly only creates masterpieces, and yet how absurd for the Mona Lisa to pat herself on the back for her masterpiece-ness when it was Leonardo da Vinci that wielded the brush and granted life to a blank canvas.

We are fearfully made—created with such intricacy that upon realizing it, we find ourselves captivated with holy fear, in awe of the Creator. An awe we see just a few verses ahead in the very same chapter: “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain it” (Psalm 139:6).

Or consider God’s response as Moses insecurely worried about his ability to speak to Pharaoh on behalf of the enslaved Jews. God didn’t respond with a pep talk, accolades, or affirmations of Moses’ worthiness. He didn’t say, “You can do it!” He said, “I can do it.” As Jen Wilkin so wisely points out in her book Women of the Word, God responded with himself. And that was enough.

“Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.” (Exodus 4:11-12)

Dear mothers and daughters, here is the salve for the soul struggling to find worth:

Our God is the Artist of all artists, and our insides and outsides are evidence of His skilled hand. He is beautiful beyond description, and He loves us beyond explanation. These truths are weapon enough. May our mirrors point us to Him.

“I praise YOU, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are YOUR works; my soul knows it very well” (Psalm 139:14, emphasis added).

Originally posted as "Insecurity: Our Daughters' Greatest Enemy" at MissionalMotherhood.com in May 2016. Reposted with permission.