The best time to wear red lipstick is when you have absolutely no real reason to.
Some people put on lipstick for special occasions. I do that sometimes, too. But you never know when an occasion is going to become special, or when it might end up not being special at all.
The best time to wear red lipstick is when it is totally unnecessary, just because you feel like it. Not to get anyone to look at you. Not because anyone is going to look at you. Just for you.
So I like to sweep on a velvety layer of my favorite 'British Red' with its familiar, elegant, subtle scent and its ensconcing metallic tube. This seems so insignificant and blithe, but to me it's something almost sacred. I have to be in the right mood. It's like sweeping on a little bit of polished confidence.
Today I woke up feeling fragile, fatigued, unmotivated, and very much not like a morning person, or not much of a person at all. So I put on red lipstick to write, because no one was going to see me. I was -- am -- just wearing it for me.
--
Someone I greatly admire recently asked (perhaps more rhetorically, than anything), if contemporary American culture encouraged families and institutions to tell young people that they are "special" or "great." Maybe, he reflected, it would be both more Christian and more helpful to tell them that they are loved?
I think of an exchange between superhero mother and son in The Incredibles:
- "But Dad always said...our powers made us special."
- "Everyone's special, Dash."
- "...Which is another way of saying no one is..."
Maybe we wouldn't wrestle with so much self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy and failure if we were told more often that there will always be people who will do what you think you do best better than you do it. Chances are, they might even be better at an awful lot of other things, too. But you might be the only individual that can love that impossible person so well. You might be the only person who can contribute so profoundly to that cause. You might be the only soul who can connect with that misunderstood and despairing person who is desperate to be pointed towards some light.
And so in some way, you are totally unique, and have something exceptional to bring to the proverbial table.
But the truth is, there are some really remarkable people out there. Some people carry greatness on their shoulders. Others don't. Some people have that sparkle in their eyes that gushes to the world, "I'm someone special." Other's don't.
We're not all gifted with glossy Rolls-Royce charisma or destined for 'successful' superstardom. We're not always going to feel great, or special, but we can always know that we are loved, because God whispers it to us -- breathes it into every fiber of our beings and lives -- when we're really listening.
I love Anne Lamott's words on Mother Teresa: "...remember that most mornings she was out there on the streets of Calcutta cleaning some person's butt the day before he died, without telling anyone about it?"
I'm pretty sure Mother Teresa didn't preen herself with the concept of being 'special' or 'great' before she served and mentored others. I'm guessing what gave her compassion and fortitude was the knowledge that she was loved, and that the person she was serving was loved. Depressed, crippled, broken, happy, healed, we're all loved.
Maybe if we heard less of, "You're special," we might get over our sense of entitlement and extravagant expectations for ourselves. We're called to serve faithfully wherever we are, and nothing is more effectual than a good attitude.
I'm not advocating that we degenerate into soggy noodles; I'm all for aiming high, reaching extraordinary potential, working hard, and changing the world for the better by carefully and intelligently challenging the injustices and low expectations we witness. But are we forgetting, in the midst of all this, that we're loved? That we're human beings, not human doings, and that even if we're "failing", we're still covered by grace of incalculable worth and love of unchanging value?
What comes as an incredible, grace-filled relief to me is that all human life is equally valued by God. God's love is equally distributed. Not only should this give us a grasp of how we are to treat one another, this should also spur us into beautifully radical thought and action.
The message of 'self esteem' is overrated. But when I hear from anyone -- parent, sister, boyfriend, but most especially God -- "I love you"...that's what transforms the way I see myself. That's what challenges me to be better, to keep trying, to achieve, to be strong. That's what reminds me that when I feel fragile, fatigued, or unmotivated -- or when I'm guilty of just being an irritable, selfish jerk -- that I am still accepted and cherished by those people and by God. That's what gives me confidence to contribute, listen, connect, share, and change.
Some people put on lipstick for special occasions. I do that sometimes, too. But you never know when an occasion is going to become special, or when it might end up not being special at all.
The best time to wear red lipstick is when it is totally unnecessary, just because you feel like it. Not to get anyone to look at you. Not because anyone is going to look at you. Just for you.
So I like to sweep on a velvety layer of my favorite 'British Red' with its familiar, elegant, subtle scent and its ensconcing metallic tube. This seems so insignificant and blithe, but to me it's something almost sacred. I have to be in the right mood. It's like sweeping on a little bit of polished confidence.
Today I woke up feeling fragile, fatigued, unmotivated, and very much not like a morning person, or not much of a person at all. So I put on red lipstick to write, because no one was going to see me. I was -- am -- just wearing it for me.
--
Someone I greatly admire recently asked (perhaps more rhetorically, than anything), if contemporary American culture encouraged families and institutions to tell young people that they are "special" or "great." Maybe, he reflected, it would be both more Christian and more helpful to tell them that they are loved?
I think of an exchange between superhero mother and son in The Incredibles:
- "But Dad always said...our powers made us special."
- "Everyone's special, Dash."
- "...Which is another way of saying no one is..."
Maybe we wouldn't wrestle with so much self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy and failure if we were told more often that there will always be people who will do what you think you do best better than you do it. Chances are, they might even be better at an awful lot of other things, too. But you might be the only individual that can love that impossible person so well. You might be the only person who can contribute so profoundly to that cause. You might be the only soul who can connect with that misunderstood and despairing person who is desperate to be pointed towards some light.
And so in some way, you are totally unique, and have something exceptional to bring to the proverbial table.
But the truth is, there are some really remarkable people out there. Some people carry greatness on their shoulders. Others don't. Some people have that sparkle in their eyes that gushes to the world, "I'm someone special." Other's don't.
We're not all gifted with glossy Rolls-Royce charisma or destined for 'successful' superstardom. We're not always going to feel great, or special, but we can always know that we are loved, because God whispers it to us -- breathes it into every fiber of our beings and lives -- when we're really listening.
I love Anne Lamott's words on Mother Teresa: "...remember that most mornings she was out there on the streets of Calcutta cleaning some person's butt the day before he died, without telling anyone about it?"
I'm pretty sure Mother Teresa didn't preen herself with the concept of being 'special' or 'great' before she served and mentored others. I'm guessing what gave her compassion and fortitude was the knowledge that she was loved, and that the person she was serving was loved. Depressed, crippled, broken, happy, healed, we're all loved.
Maybe if we heard less of, "You're special," we might get over our sense of entitlement and extravagant expectations for ourselves. We're called to serve faithfully wherever we are, and nothing is more effectual than a good attitude.
I'm not advocating that we degenerate into soggy noodles; I'm all for aiming high, reaching extraordinary potential, working hard, and changing the world for the better by carefully and intelligently challenging the injustices and low expectations we witness. But are we forgetting, in the midst of all this, that we're loved? That we're human beings, not human doings, and that even if we're "failing", we're still covered by grace of incalculable worth and love of unchanging value?
What comes as an incredible, grace-filled relief to me is that all human life is equally valued by God. God's love is equally distributed. Not only should this give us a grasp of how we are to treat one another, this should also spur us into beautifully radical thought and action.
The message of 'self esteem' is overrated. But when I hear from anyone -- parent, sister, boyfriend, but most especially God -- "I love you"...that's what transforms the way I see myself. That's what challenges me to be better, to keep trying, to achieve, to be strong. That's what reminds me that when I feel fragile, fatigued, or unmotivated -- or when I'm guilty of just being an irritable, selfish jerk -- that I am still accepted and cherished by those people and by God. That's what gives me confidence to contribute, listen, connect, share, and change.
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