where waves grow sweet

There was a time I was going to get breast implants. I wasn’t just toying with the idea. It was nearly a done deal. The surgeon had been chosen, the deposit had been made and the surgery was scheduled for a few weeks later. But then the tears came. And they wouldn’t stop. A voice that had been barely audible, easily dismissed for so many years, came riding on the rising water, getting louder with with each thrust of the current, saying “This isn’t who I am!”

It wasn’t unlike the increasingly desperate shouts of the speck’s inhabitants in Horton Hears a Who –  “We are here! We are here! We are here!” – finally breaching the surface, enabling them to be heard and saved. I’d heard the voice of my true heart and knew I couldn’t go through with the surgery, no matter how foolish and melodramatic I felt. But there was the problem of the nonrefundable deposit. And the let-down of having to continue parading around in a body the world doesn’t applaud. There was also the fear that I would be disappointing someone else – an even harder reality to face.

In the swirling midst of this process, I talked to my dad on the phone. It was about something else entirely, but I brought up the surgery, thinking he already knew. Apparently he didn’t. His response held no judgment; only love, compassion and a touch of sadness. There was no lecture on the health risks involved or on the unnecessary expenditure of money. Instead, he said, “But you’re beautiful… as you are.” You guys, it broke me. Released me from the spell. Gave me courage. In that moment, the need to become this thing I think I should be instead of resting in who I am evaporated. I was loved and accepted and, if I’m honest, that was the whole point of the surgery.

Is my dad biased? Absolutely. What a powerful thing that is. He doesn’t see me as a sum of body parts and facial features or value me by my achievements or success. His vision for me is filtered by his love for me. They are inseparable. Because of that, I was released on that day to be the real me, imperfections and all. And that, I am coming to see, is what is truly beautiful. Not the shell we call beauty but the life and love that pours out through all the cracks in the shell… in direct response to the glorious safety of being loved.

I know not everyone has heard kind words like my dad spoke to me, but it is just a tiny glimpse of the way our heavenly Dad loves all of us. Talking to Him and hearing His heart for us will release us from the grip of performing and dispatch us into the courage and freedom of being ourselves. And there is no doubt in my mind that as we enter in, others will find courage and freedom to do the same because that’s how love rolls.

To wrap up my story, I was overwhelmingly relieved when I cancelled the surgery. It was a joyous occasion for me. The person I thought would be so disappointed was heartbroken over my perceptions and our bond deepened as a result. I did lose some money, but what a small price to pay. I have never once regretted choosing to listen to the voice of love.

Please know that I hold no judgment toward anyone who has gotten implants or any other kind of improvements. There is no shame in love. And no matter what we’ve done or not done, God can ALWAYS loose us into the freedom of our true identity.