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I have always worried about my appearance.  Since I was very little, I have memories of my childish concerns over clothing and hair.  I remember wanting to be like Lacy Carlton with her mismatched pastel socks; when I tried to un-match my own, my mother prevented my idolization of Lacy and my socks stayed paired.  I also wanted to look like little black girls with their corn-rows and colorful barrettes; again, to my mother's chagrin, I attached many clips to strands of straight blond hair and created something new and exciting, at least in my opinion.  They were promptly removed.

As a young girl I possessed a thin, athletic body and was known for being fast.  I loved running around, being skinny.  I was grateful that I wasn't pudgy like some poor girls.

Then it happened; in high school I started worrying about my weight.  On a long car ride to Illinois from our home in California I began analyzing my legs.  When I relaxed the muscles, the legs spread.  I was fat.  It didn't matter that I wore a small t-shirt and size two pants,  I needed to lose something else because I had already lost my self-esteem.  It quickly became an obsession and I began to worry about what I ate and how much I weighed.  The problem was, rather than eating less because I was worried about the scale, I ate more in despair.  I would stuff myself until I felt sick and then wish I was brave enough to throw it up, something I knew I could never do.

I didn't understand it, because of my allergies I was already on a limited diet that cut out all sweets... no ice cream, cookies, cake, or soda.  How could a girl like me have such bad luck? Unfortunately, in high school, there was nothing to worry about.  My weight was fine, I just wasn't a stick.  Weightlifting for soccer and track had added some bulk to my body, and I hated it.  I wanted to look anorexic; I wanted to be outrageously thin.

I constantly compared myself to other women, and wanted desperately to be as thin or skinnier than others.  I wanted to drop a pants size, fit into an old skirt.  I wanted to change.

I wish I could say I don't struggle with this problem anymore, but I still do.  Every time I look in the mirror, every time I step on the scale, every time I eat.  I hate how guilty I feel when I eat.  Sometimes it is hard for me to think that God loves me even if I am overweight or not fast anymore.  Sometimes it is hard for me to think that anyone will love me if I don't weigh in below average.  And its true, people often look at the outward appearance.  Even Samuel, one of the holiest men in the Old Testament did when he went to anoint the next king of Israel.  He was looking for someone like Saul, who had been handsome and head and shoulders above the people.  He went to the sons of Jesse and looked at all of them, assuming that the tall eldest sons were God's number one draft pick.  God sets Samuel straight, however, in 1 Samuel 16:7,

"Do not look at his appearance or his physical stature, because I have refused him.  For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

Could it be possible that I have wasted the last 7-8 years of my life obsessing over something that the Lord does not even care about?  Yes, I believe I have.  I can only overcome this battle by the Lord's strength.  It is an insidious disease that colors the way I see my Father's world and my place in it.  Lord, please save me from myself.