Beauty, the Beast, and my Big Bottom

I remember seeing the story of Beauty and the Beast for the first time when I was a child. It was a black and white television movie that, quite honestly, gave me nightmares. The version I watched with my daughter several years later wasn’t nearly as terrorizing. Disney did a great job of erasing my childhood fears, replacing them instead with dreams that one day I, too, would wake to find my kitchen appliances and utensils magically preparing the day’s meals for me. Lately I’m seeing yet another version of this tale play out before my eyes. In this permutation, as in the others, there is a happy ending. But this time, the beast doesn’t turn into a handsome prince, he burns in hell. Now, I know burning in hell doesn’t sound like a happy ending, but when you see what that Beast is doing to the Beauty, there is no more befitting end.

You see, this Beast is breaking down the Beauty – binding her up in chains – stealing what is rightfully hers – attempting to destroy her with his lies.

You might have gathered by now that the beast I’m referring to is Satan. We know that our Bible tells us his plans are to steal, kill, and destroy. But what we are much less sure of is that we – ALL of God’s girls – are the Beauty. And because we don’t know – I mean really believe – that we are the Beauty, we succumb to the lies of the Beast, settling for a much less than abundant life. And it’s tragic.

I know I sound dramatic here, but listen to this: Statistics recently released by the Dove Real Beauty Campaign state that only 4% of women around the world consider themselves to be beautiful and only 11% of girls are comfortable using the word beautiful to describe themselves.

Now, you might be tempted to think that this isn’t a problem in the Christian community, but don’t be fooled. I recently spoke with a group of middle school girls at a private Christian school, and every single one of them admitted anonymously to thinking hurtful thoughts about their looks on a daily basis. The most common response: “I’m fat and not pretty.”

So, what’s the big deal? Why does it matter if we feel beautiful or not? Well, because when we get gut-level honest, believing we are fat and ugly holds us back. It keeps us from being salt and light to a hurting and dying world. Don’t believe me? Well, answer this question: Have you ever stayed home from church or a Bible study because nothing in the closet fit? Ever passed on a party because you were up a couple pounds on the scale or your dang hair wouldn’t cooperate? If so, you were keeping that salt and light under wraps.

I’ll admit, for years that was me. If I felt fat, I wasn’t going. If the pants were a bit snug, count me out. Feeling like I’d failed the world, I would dejectedly find my solace in the chocolaty bliss of a bag of Oreos while watching all the world happily enjoying life without me.

But not anymore! Today, though my bottom is bigger than it’s ever been (other than in my ninth month of pregnancy), this Beauty is getting out there and taking no prisoners. Though the three numbers on my scale disappoint the weight charts of America, I’m staying home no more.

Yay for a Big Rear!

One day not long ago I was sweeping my kitchen floor in the near trance-like state of La La Land, when I was jolted to my senses by the precious voice of my 4-year-old nephew saying, “Aunt Teasi, you have a vahwee (very) big butt.” I set my broom aside, smoothed my shirt, and calmly turned to face him. Bright-eyed and curly-haired, he stood – completely oblivious to the fact that he had said the words no woman ever wants to hear. And then I let him have it. I bent down, coming only inches away from his little round face, and said, “Why…thank you!” Then I smiled big, stood to grab my broom, and returned unscathed to the task at hand.

A few years ago those innocently spoken words would have completely obliterated me, and rather than a thank you, might have actually incited an immature come-back such as: “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re short and you talk funny.” But now, to the glory of God, moments like that are reminders to me that the miraculous has happened: I no longer hate my body (especially my back side); in fact, it has become one of the biggest blessings in my life.

Like most women (really every woman I’ve ever met), I lived years literally disgusted with what I saw in the mirror. The territory between my ears felt like nothing short of a war zone, with battles being fought everywhere: the bathroom, the grocery store, the bedroom, even church. I could never silence the ambush-ready community of inner critics (those hurtful thoughts we all think) that called my head home. And I missed out on so much: parties I refused to attend because my pants were too tight, dates with my husband because of a few gained pounds, quality time with my kids. I know I’m not alone in this.

We women have been lied to for years. We’ve been told that our value – our very right to be seen and celebrated - is determined by our waist-to-hip ratio or the proportions of our facial features, and that’s just not true. Our value is determined by the only One who really knows it: our God.

After hitting my head hard on the floor of my personal pit of despair, I slowly began my journey toward believing that. One inch at a time of healing, truth, and righteous anger led me to a life-saving realization: All those years I was desperate to change how I looked, God was desperate to change how I see. And He did.

Truth is, if God can make a prostitute the great grandmother of the Messiah, turn water into wine, and make blind men see; don’t you think He can turn a big bottom – or a big nose - or bird-thin legs – or whatever it is you hate – into a blessing?