When Brokenness Is Met With Silence

I hadn't been this nervous since my first day of middle school. I walked through the green and white doors of what was formerly a girl scout house and found myself in an ocean of teenagers. I recognized a good number of them: there was Blake and Nate playing foosball in the corner, and Cory and Courtney circled around on the couches with some other girls, laughing and giggling, probably playing M.A.S.H. or talking about who they thought was the cutest boy in the youth group. I didn't have the guts to go say hi to any of them, or worse, introduce myself to someone new, so I quickly scurried off to the individual chairs placed all in a row, awaiting their sermon from the youth pastor. I sat there alone cursing myself for coming early. I just sat there awkwardly staring around the room (we didn't have cell phones back then to be occuppied with), looked at my fingernails, went to the bathroom, came back, and a few minutes later the other kids started to file in and sit down. The youth pastor came on stage and gave a hearty welcome, made a few jokes, then instructed everyone to greet the kids around them. I turned around behind me and saw the familiar brunette hair and glasses. "Hi! I'm Courtney!," she said. "Hi, I'm Tiffany," I stammered. "Where do you go to school?" she politely asked. "Berean," I replied. "Oh, cool," she said. "I know some people that go there." "Really? Who do---" The youth pastor cut me off and had all of us return to our seats. He then continued on by calling some kids on stage for a game and then went in to his sermon and thirty minutes later, he dismissed us. A lot of kids stuck around to play games and chat, but I made a beeline straight for the door, never to return again.

Under normal circumstances I would have been thrilled that somebody even talked to me, and I would have at least given the youth group another chance. But this, this hurt too deeply. It hurt deeply because not only did I know Courtney, I knew her siblings and her parents. I was in the church nursery with her, and spent the last ten years of my life going to Sunday School and Awanas with her. My fifth grade year, we went to a weekend camp together. The same could be said of over half of the kids there that night. Yet none of them said hi to me, and the only one that did had no idea who I was. It's painful enough to feel like a loser in a room full of teenagers, but to have gone to church with the same kids for what amounted to my entire life and realize that you had been invisible all those years is a whole new level of pain. At first, I tried to blame it on puberty. Maybe they truly didn't recognize me. Maybe I looked more different than I thought. After all, 5th grade Tiffany had A-cups and short blond hair, but 6th grade Tiffany had B-cups, short blond hair, and glasses. Maybe my glasses were hiding my true identity, like Clark Kent's did? But over time I grew to accept that it wasn't me at all, it was them being teenagers caught up in their own world. Focused more on fitting in than including.

My Dad had begged me to go to youth group that night. I hadn't been in church in a year, since my parents separated towards the end of 5th grade. I was too embarrassed and thought that church was only for people in whole families. Surely I was too broken to belong in a church? And as it turns out, I was too broken, and I wouldn't be back in a church for another four years.

Part of me knew that the church should have been there for me and my family when it all fell apart, but another part of me always felt like we deserved to be outcasts. After all, we couldn't keep it together. My parents couldn't get along and didn't love each other anymore and I couldn't go to sleep without crying. How could I go to church anymore with a smile on my face when inside I was so wounded? The easiest solution was to just not go anymore. If I didn't go to church, I wouldn't have to pretend. Problem solved. And unfortunately, the church didn't hesitate to accommodate that decision. I remember getting a few cards from my Sunday School teachers saying "We Missed You!", but those faded away with time. There were a few occasions where I had sporadically returned to my Sunday School class after receiving the cards, but every time I found myself having to pretend, and even worse, everyone else pretended right along with me. I thought surely people knew that my family was broken, but nobody ever said anything. It was always the elephant in the room. What I needed was for someone to say, "I'm sorry your parents are getting divorced" or to ask "How are you doing? What can I do to help? Do you need to talk?" but instead I got a resounding silence. Soon I became nothing but the shadow of a memory there, and in just a year's time I found out that to them I had never even existed.

I always wondered if perhaps the church truly didn't know that my parents had separated and divorced two years later. I wondered if I misplaced the blame. Maybe my parents just never told anyone and our circumstances went completely undetected because of it. Maybe no one mentioned the divorce or asked how  I or my family was because they had no idea that anything was wrong. In hindsight, and having also talked to my Dad about it, I suppose that's partially true. My parents naturally didn't publicize their failure. They had talked to the pastor and in time family and close friends, but strangely enough the word didn't spread like you would expect it to in the church. On the one hand, it's a comfort to know that my family didn't become the gossip subject of an entire church, as I had originally expected it to, but on the other hand the lack of pertinent information about my family led to us being ignored in a crisis and having no one minister to us in our time of need. I suppose I can't cast all the blame on the church, as my Dad and Mom themselves didn't advertise our situation or reach out for help, but at the same time, someone should have noticed that my Mom had gone missing from church, and eventually my brother and I.

Though my parents didn't advertise our brokenness, they also didn't hide it. If someone asked, they would tell. But unfortunately, by the time anyone bothered to ask where my Mom was, it was far too late. And really, only two people in the entire church ever bothered to ask. The first was a couple whose daughter was in my Sunday School class. "We haven't seen Laura in a while. How is she?," they innocently asked. "Well, Laura and I actually got a divorce, so that's why you haven't seen her in a while," my Dad bluntly explained. "Oh. We're so sorry." This was at least two years after my parents first separated. The next time someone would ask about my Mom was 5 years later.

My family wasn't THAT Christian family who was in the church every time the door was open, but we weren't a holiday-only church-going family either. My Dad was consistent and went every single Sunday while my mom, brother, and I probably went 2 to 3 times a month, missing a Sunday or two on account of really liking sleep. My Dad taught Sunday School when I was a kid and even taught a couple of my classes throughout the years, and he was also an Awana leader for a year or two as well. My Mom sang in the choir and I think worked in the nursery for a little while. We went to some church functions but missed others, and that was pretty much our pattern for the 10 years we were there.

 As my Dad so perfectly put it: "What did the church do right? Nothing. What did the church do wrong? Nothing." As I myself would put it: What did the church do at all? Nothing. And I think that is what hurt the most: the silence. Feeling completely alone and isolated and having no one ever acknowledge my brokenness, our brokenness.

When it comes to divorce, the church handles it poorly. It goes largely ignored and entirely unpreached upon. Few churches have support groups for couples going through a divorce, and in the ones that do the people only remain in the group until they begin dating again or remarry, whereupon they reassimilate into the church as a family. The people who are forgotten are the children of divorce, and the single parents who do not ever marry again, who choose a life of celibacy. Whereupon we used to be a part of the church, we quickly realize that we no longer are. We are forgotten and we just don't belong anymore.

Take my Dad, for instance, who has been single for 18 years now and has chosen that life of his own volition. I often accuse him of being antisocial at church. He is a faithful Christian who faithfully attends church every Sunday, yet he sneaks in on Sunday morning and sneaks out avoiding most social interactions. Every now and then he'll volunteer. He'll be a greeter at the back door where all the other introverts, homebodies, and latecomers sneak in, he'll work with young adults and connect with the "outcasts" of the group, sometimes he'll do ministry on his own like connecting with a program that mentors international students at the local university. He is quiet and unassuming and prefers to serve and give anonymously, without any recognition, and because of this he is not well known in the church. No one would ever think to nominate him to be an elder or deacon, even though he perfectly fits the description, and even if they did nominate him he'd turn them down. He wouldn't want the attention, nor the pressure. But despite his faithfulness, he just kind of gets the shaft when it comes to church. He is a divorced introvert nearing his 60s with grown kids and no interest in remarrying. He is a bit of a misfit, and it's not because he's strange...the church just doesn't have a place for him. He can't go to the Sunday School class centered around building your marriage, or the class on parenting. He's too old and too recovered for the singles and divorced classes (if the church even has one) and he's too young for the elderly class. He just doesn't fit in anywhere, and it's not for lack of trying, as I have sadly so often assumed throughout the years. He has tried and attended and served where he can, but in the end, the church doesn't really know how to deal with anything other than family units. Many churches are learning and creating support groups for divorcees and single moms, but the single dad? I don't think the church has every even considered how to serve single dads, or how to give them opportunities to serve, and I doubt they ever will.

I used to be so frustrated at my Dad because I thought he wasn't being outgoing enough, he wasn't willing to venture outside of his comfort zone in church and be active in the ways I thought he should be active, but little did I realize that every time he enters those doors he IS outside of his comfort zone. Choosing to go week after week despite being an "outcast," despite all of the hurtful things pastors and people have said to him in the past, despite all of the schisms he's witnessed, and despite the fact that the church has never really done anything for him or to serve him...THAT is true courage and commitment and faithfulness. And though I'm sure that God has taught him much through it all and refined him by fire again and again, I'd be lying if I said I'm not frustrated and angry at the church. For him and for me.

I know that church isn't about me and having all my needs met...I've heard that sermon a million times. I've been told again and again that it's more important for me to serve and invest in others, and believe me, I've done that again and again. More than most people. I've been in ministry. I know what it's like to pour your heart and soul into the church. But when you've spent your entire life in church and not only faithfully served, but watched your Dad and your Mom and your brother serve and yet not once has the church ever helped you or any of them in a real time of need or crisis, something's wrong, and you aren't the problem. If my family is a testament of anything, it's that the church is poorly equipped to deal with broken people from broken families. If it takes two years for a church to notice 3 of its long-time members is gone, something is wrong. If no one bothers to ask the little girl whose parents just divorced if she's okay, something is wrong. If not a single friend in your church ever shows up to help your parents in a crisis, and their excuse is that they don't want to "choose sides," something is wrong. Do better, church. Just do better.

I'm not asking for more classes or more sermons. I'm just asking for you to be there. Be the hands and feet of Jesus. Be a listening ear to those who are hurting. Be a support system that we can rely on when our world falls apart. Allow broken people to serve without being stigmatized as the "divorced guy" or the assumed "wild child." And if you're going to call yourself a church family, then let us be a part of your family. Invite us over for dinner. Help us move, even if you don't agree with the reason for that move being divorce. Ask us how we're doing and mean it. Write us encouraging letters and e-mails, not long ones with bullet points as to why divorce is a sin. Stop judging us and just freaking love us. Because seriously, church, if you had loved us it would have made all the difference.

But thankfully, while you didn't love us, Jesus did. And He taught us more about grace and love than you ever possibly could have, so much that we forgave you and continue to do so every time you disappoint us and aren't there. He taught us that serving Jesus isn't the same thing as serving the church, and by allowing us to know what it felt like to be judged, he opened our hearts up to care about and love people who aren't like us and don't make all of what we deem to be the "right" decisions. Yes, I forgive you church, because God has forgiven me for my many sins and for all of the times I have been a hypocrite and haven't been there for hurting people like me. But just because I forgive you, it doesn't mean I wholly trust you, and I probably never will. But please, church, recognize that there are broken people and broken families among you and just do better. 

Size 4 is the New Fat

I remember the first time it occurred to me that I might be fat. I was in the 4th grade and my brother was in his juvenile moronic phase where he thought it was funny to call EVERYTHING fat. He pointed to a stick and joked about how fat it was. Then he pointed to the tree and called it fat. Then he pointed to me and called me fat, and despite him apologizing and assuring me that he was joking, this time it just stuck. I thought, "I think he might be right. I think I might be fat." I wasn't fat. Not even close.

Fast forward to the glorious beginning of puberty in 6th grade, where I was one of the first girls to "develop." All of the girls around me but for one were still in girls' sizes and well under 100 pounds, but I had gone straight from a girls' size 16 to a womens' size 8 and was now a plump 118 pounds. I was convinced I was fat. I wasn't.

Of course, like all girls do, I continued to grow throughout junior high and high school and I graduated in a size 11. "Uh oh. Double digits," I thought.  I actively played sports and took up running on my own over the breaks in between sports,  but that didn't matter, because MY thin was never thin enough. And double digits can never be considered thin. I believed I was fat. I wasn't.

I went on to college and of course gained some weight, as all college girls tend to do, but it wasn't until my senior year that my weight gain had taken me out of the "healthy" boundaries. I was officially overweight, according to doctor's charts, and have remained increasingly so since. I am not really that overweight, but I believe I'm FAT. I'm not.

I honestly thought when I was young that I would grow out of this "I have to be thin" mentality. I thought It would go away with maturity, as I began to gain a sense of self-worth. But I'm 27 years old and it hasn't. And the more I began to think about it, the more it began to occur to me that not only is this our cultural mentality, but it's also my family mentality.

You see, in the 80s and 90s my grandmother owned and operated a Diet Center. Of course, this wasn't like the dieting places today that feed off of women's low self esteem. This diet center was truly all about health and helping severely obese people lose the weight and start living a healthy lifestyle. But nonetheless, dieting was a big deal in our family. My grandma HAD to stay thin for her job, because you can't own a diet center and not be thin. And the thing is, once you have this must-be-thin mentality, your children will inherently pick up the same mentality. And as can be expected, my mother did. In fact, for the duration of my entire life, my mother has either been just coming off of a diet, on a diet, or talking about needing to go on one. She rarely eats anything without checking to see how many calories are in it, and if they're not listed, at least speculating or mentioning how many calories it PROBABLY has. And if you check her fridge, nearly everything will have the words "low fat" or "fat free" written on it. This is just an example of the legacy that has been left to me.

Now, before you go thinking negatively of the women in my family, just know that they rarely pressured me into taking on this mentality. There have been a few occasions where my mom has stopped me pre-bite to remind me of how many calories I was about to consume, but overall those occasions have been rare. Had I not lived with my dad for as many years as I did, who had developed an aversion to all foods diet because they "just didn't taste as good." (which they don't), I'm sure I would have heard more, but i can only speculate on that. But even if I had NEVER heard a single comment, it wouldn't have mattered, because I still would have picked up on the exact same mentality simply because I am my mother's daughter. Because I looked up to her, I modeled her, I listened to her, and I studied her, as all daughters do. And so I learned from my beautiful mother who has never believed herself to be beautiful that I too am not beautiful---that beauty depends on my size.

And mothers, take this to heart---no matter how many times you tell your daughter that it's what's on the inside that counts, that she is beautiful just the way she is, that clothes and jewelry and hair and weight don't matter---you completely cancel out your own words by not taking it to heart yourself. How can your daughter believe such things if you don't even believe what you're saying? How can your daughter focus on having a beautiful heart when you can't stop obsessing about the number of calories you consumed, or getting the latest trends in fashion, or getting that $80 haircut that you desperately need? Practice what you preach, moms, because your daughters learn more from watching you than listening to empty words. They can see right through you.

And the same goes for you, men. Your words matter. Your actions matter. What you say about other women, how you treat them---your daughters are watching. Your wives are watching. Your sisters are watching. Your nieces and cousins and friends and complete strangers are all watching. Your sons are even watching and learning how they, too, should treat women. Had I not had my father's constant presence in my life, his admiration and love and encouragement, who knows how I would have turned out? He never talked about my weight. He didn't care about weight. He rarely ever mentioned any woman's weight or the way she looked at all, and when he did, he would mention it in the kindest of ways, like "Your cousin, Debbie, is so pretty, but she doesn't know it. She thinks she's not beautiful because of her weight." Or perhaps he'd describe someone as a "large woman" or maybe even a little "homely" so I could better visualize the person he was talking about, but he'd always follow it up with a description of her as kind or pretty or some other good quality so I'd know it didn't really matter what they looked like in the end. Thank God for his sensitivity, because many other men in my life didn't have that same sensitivity. Of course there were my hormone-driven peers who obsessed about how hot girls' were and rated them on a scale of 1 to 10. But then there was my brother, who would often point out how fat a person was and say things like, "Gosh, they're so disgusting." Or he'd comment on the insane amount of fat people there are in the town where he lives as if they were some half-breed of people who should be eliminated. I, of course, took this to heart. It didn't matter that he wasn't talking about me or even to me. It's stuck with me, and to this day when I'm around him I think, "Does he still love me now that I've gained weight? Does he think I'm disgusting, too? Does he talk about my weight when I'm not there? What if I gain more weight? What then?" Odds are, he's completely grown out of this phase. He's more compassionate now. But even so, I can't ever forget those comments. And for some reason, my brother's opinion and approval will always matter to me, because I can't help but look up to him like I always have.

And so here I am, 27 years old, and still struggling to believe I am beautiful despite my weight---constantly preaching the same lies to myself that I have my entire life:

If only I weighed less, then...

People would notice me.
People would appreciate me.
I will be loved.
Someone will want to marry me.
I'll feel good about myself.
I'll be more comfortable in my own body.
I won't be ashamed of the way I look.
I'll be beautiful.
I'll have more worth.
People will like me more.
I'll be HAPPIER.

But just a couple weeks ago, the truth HIT me like a ton of bricks. You see, I was following this girl on Instagram who lost a ton of weight. She started out about my size and is now down to about a 4 and she often posts "progress" pictures of herself. It didn't take me long to unfollow her, because to be honest, an insecure girl like myself can only handle so many half-naked skinny pics a day, but I still visit the page every now and then. And that day I saw a picture of her looking thin and beautiful like always (because she really is a BEAUTIFUL person inside and out) and she had made a comment about how she was going on a cruise and was challenging herself to be comfortable in her body the whole time. And all I could do was yell out that shocked scream in my own head, "WHAT?!? You are beautiful and the thinnest you have ever been, and you're STILL not comfortable in your body? You're still so uncomfortable that you actually have to CHALLENGE yourself so that you can enjoy the fun, beautiful, expensive CRUISE that you're going on? People are constantly liking your photos and telling you how beautiful and thin you are and how much of an inspiration you are to them and you're STILL not convinced you're beautiful???"

And that is when I realized that it's all a hoax. It's all a lie. All of it. Being thinner will not make me happy. It will not affirm my worth. It will not make me more lovable or more liked. It will not make me more comfortable in my own body. And now I just keep thinking, "How could I have been so dumb all these years?" How could I have thought when I was younger that being thin would earn me a man's love when supermodels like Heidi Klum can't even keep a husband? How could I think that I'd be more comfortable in my own body if the skinniest girls I know still don't believe they're skinny enough? How could I think that being thin is some sort of secret to eternal happiness when the happiest times in my life have had NOTHING to do with my weight and EVERYTHING to do with my relationship with God. And when have people EVER stopped loving me because I gained weight? When has anyone ever stopped loving ANYONE because they gained weight, except for a few vapid shallow people who wouldn't deserve your love in such a case anyways?

This whole "thinspiration" mentality, it's just got to go. I know it's hard to fight. Perhaps It was easier back in the 80s and 90s, when we only saw a few hundred images in the media a day. But now, we see THOUSANDS every day. And they've grown increasingly unrealistc. They're all photoshopped---and we know they are---but we see them so often that we forget they're not real. And now, with the rise of blogging, it's not just celebrities who are thin and fashionable, it's REAL women, too. Our friends and neighbors and family members. We don't seem to notice that they, too, are photoshopping themselves. And we don't seem to find it absurd  that they're posting constant photos of THEMSELVES. Instead, we've convinced ourselves that because they're "REAL," it's okay to want the clothes that they have and hair like them and to be thin like them. (Seven deadly sins alert! Envy, envy, envy! Retreat!) Maybe that's more attainable, since they're a mother of four. Since they're a teacher. Since they're a career woman. Since they're not a celebrity. Surely they would NEVER photoshop a photo of themselves. And I'm sure that they don't only post the best photo out of the 50 they just took at all---I'm sure that's what they look like EVERY DAY, as soon as they wake up, in fact. Yup, I'm sure their bodies are just perfect, and their lives too. They probably don't have any insecurities at all...;-)    

For years women blamed men for all of the unrealistic expectations placed upon them, but now we've got no one to blame but ourselves. Because you know what? There's not a man putting a gun up against the head of every girl posting a half naked picture of herself on the internet. Men aren't the ones photoshopping your Facebook profile picture. Men aren't the ones running every single fashion blog, or instagram account, or facebook page or tumblr that disguises envy and pride and unrealistic expectations as "fitness" and "fashion" and "healthy living" and "clean eating" ("I'm not on a diet, I'm just eating healthier!") Men aren't the ones talking about how much they love women with a "thigh gap" or how much they can't stand that arm jiggle every human being has on their upper arm---for heaven's sake, men could care less! Men aren't the ones making women spend half their lives in the gym and going on diets.  And most men aren't the ones telling you you aren't beautiful---YOU ARE. My poor husband tells me all the time how beautiful I am, how much he loves my body just the way it is, how much my weight doesn't matter...but the poor guy can't win because I refuse to believe it myself. And I'm sure most men have a similar tale: They give their woman a compliment and before they know it their woman is tearing it down, picking it apart, proving it false, assuming it's not genuine, and leaving their man stunned in a worse spot than he was  BEFORE he even gave the compliment. Why? Because we women can't just accept ourselves. We can't possibly fathom that we might actually be beautiful, right now, in this very moment, exactly as we are. It's ridiculous.           

So women, if you really want all this nonsense to stop. If you really want to be a role model for your daughters and pave the way for future generations of women, then take my advice: Get over yourself. And then love yourself. What do I mean by get over yourself? I mean stop thinking of only yourself all the time. Stop spending so much time thinking about YOUR body and YOUR weight and YOUR happiness and start thinking about other people for once. Stop making social networking all about YOU and YOUR glorification. Stop posting an endless stream of photos of YOURSELF. Stop worrying about how YOU look. Stop seeking the false admiration of all these people on the internet, whose "likes" and comments you now find yourself craving because you think it's building YOU up, when it's only feeding YOUR pride. Just stop all of it. Now. And when you do stop, learn to LOVE yourself instead of worship yourself. In fact, just repeat after me:

I am unconditionally loved by God, for eternity, no matter what.

God cares far more about my heart and soul than my weight, my clothes, my posessions, and yes, even my health.

I am created in His image. I have inherent worth, and no one can take that worth away from me.

My eyes, my ears, my hair, my thighs, my hips, my body shape...every physical thing about me was intentionally created by God and specific to only me. They are a gift. I will not spend half my life with an ungrateful attitude wishing I had someone else's gifts. 

I will only be happiest when I focus on God and love Him first and foremost. Loving myself first and foremost will only result in my own ruin.

Thinking less about myself will free me up to think more about God and others. Spending less time starving myself will free me up to spend more time feeding my soul and feeding others physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

My health does matter, but it still does not guarantee me tomorrow, even at my thinnest and fittest.

Whether or not someone loves me has nothing to do with me---who I am, what I look like, how I act---and everything to do with them. I can not earn someone's love, I can only receive it as a gift if they choose to give it.

I am beautiful. And the more I love God, the more I reflect His image. And the more I reflect His image, the more beautiful I become. 

The mirror is not my enemy. Satan is. And the lies I believe come from him, not my mirror. I can not control whether or not I hear and see those lies, but I can control whether or not I believe them.

And the list goes on and on...and on and on. Feel free to add more affirmations if you like, because I'm sure this is but a fraction of the lies women are believing these days. So women, if you haven't caught on to the point of this post yet, here it is:

You are beautiful, and no number on a scale or dress tag could ever even come close to defining who you are as a person or the worth that you have as a human being and creation of God. Don't believe me? You know all those verses about Jesus dying on the cross to pay for our sins? About how he paid our ransom? All those verses that for some strange reason use monetary terms of WORTH? Yeah, those are about you. YOU. Jesus died for YOU. You who, no matter how hard you try to stop sinning, can't stop sinning. You who spend every day of your life being selfish in one way or another, and probably completely ignoring God. He STILL loves you and STILL died for you. He still thought you were WORTH it. Has anyone else ever died for you? Does anyone else's opinion really matter, then, when He DIED for you? Do you think God cares about your clothes or your waist size? Do you think He'll stop loving you if you gain a few pounds? Because He doesn't care and He won't stop loving you. So who cares if someone else does? They don't love you like He does. They CAN'T love you like He does. So stop living for them, stop living for yourself, and start living for the only being in the entire universe who accepts you as you are and loves you anyways. Not only will you, yourself, change for the better, not only will you find joy and contentment, but you will start a chain reaction among your fellow women---especially among your daughters---and foster a generation of women who love God, love themselves, and love their neighbors as themselves. (Isn't it strange how much easier it is to love and accept your neighbor when you actually love and accept yourself?) Now THAT is the kind of world I want to live in.

And now, as for me, I'm just going to go try to take my own advice...because the truth is, I need it FAR more than any of you do. I'm sure anyone who knows me---especially my husband---can affirm that.