Holy Hands

So, I’m in the Dillard’s dressing room trying on, well, dresses. I have a rehearsal dinner next weekend and I’m trying to keep up with the other perfectly beautiful bridesmaids, who look equivalent to the Snapchat filter with the flower crown-aka flawless.

As a plus size woman, finding clothing is sometimes a chore instead of a party. If you know me, you know how much I love clothes. I love fashion, shoes, makeup each enough.. but I LOVE clothes. They’re expressive and interesting and look different on every single person; individuality at its finest.

This particular day was a chore-  nothing looked good, I didn’t feel like the beautiful queen that I am on the inside, the prices weren’t right.. pretty much it was a massive flop.

There were teenage girls, probably 6 of them around 16-17 years old in the dressing room area with me. Normally, I would be slightly annoyed with sharing a small dressing room area with 6 other people because, well, I’m extra that way. But it was not a normal day, so I didn’t care.

I started listening to their conversations, thanking God the whole time that I was not in high school anymore. (it’s crazy these days) And then, I hear a whimper. I know that sound, I make that sound when it’s a REALLY bad shopping day. I know that feeling- something doesn’t fit and you thought it would, you feel like a nasty, horrible blob, regardless of your size.

By luck, and I’m sure divine intervention, the girl’s friends were all outside taking selfies in the three way mirror. So, me being me, decided to ask her if she was okay. “I’m fine,” she whimpered. “I know I don’t know you, but you are a beautiful person- God made you in his bright, shining image. There’s no one like you, you know? Sorry if I sound preachy, I just want you to know that you are loved, no matter what,” I reluctantly say.

There’s silence on the other end, I have obviously embarrassed myself- shit.

“My boyfriend wants me to be in athletics next semester because he thinks it’ll make me skinnier. I have a double chin and I’m fat,” she sniffles. My heart is breaking for this young girl. Not just this girl, but every young girl in this new generation of women.

Disclaimer, this is not a feminist rant. This is a self rant- why do we feel like we need so much validation from the people who claim to care for us? There’s a thing that we always forget, it’s called true love. True love isn’t always romantic. True love is pure love; love that is not determined by a number, a stitch, an opinion, or a demand. True love is a lot like the serenity prayer-

Serenity to accept the things that we cannot change, 

Courage to change the things we can, 

 Wisdom to know the difference between the two.

What we can accept is that there are people in your life that will offer you conditional love– not everyone is always honest with you.

What we can gather the courage to do is change- change how we see ourselves, how we treat others, how we look, how we feel.

We can gain the wisdom to know the difference by being honest with ourselves; is this person who claims to care being actionable in their promise?

You are being held in holy hands– hands that are loving, instructive, callused, bruised, strong.. hands that were constructed to hold your heart and to keep it safe. These hands were crafted to hold precious creations, of which you are one. 

I left that day with a Jessica Howard dress (it’s adorable and looks amazing on) and a need to write out what I am worth in the hands of God. The thing about the hands of God- they are ethereal. They are untouchable, indescribable, and ever-present. In the hands of God, I am an angel. I am the brightest light, the rarest ruby, the sweetest sent- I am so treasured. Treasured in a way that Nathan, my friends and my family could never fulfill. It’s a magical love that is unconditional- regardless of size, appearance, stitch.. a love that is incomparable.

So, to all the girls in dressing rooms hating themselves because the dress doesn’t fit-

There are other dresses. There are other stores, other cuts, other styles, other colors..

But there is not another you. 


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