Ever have one of those days when you feel like the world is trying to tell you something? Well, the other day was one of those days for me. I’ll give you a quick recap:
6:33AM In the midst of a rather excruciating workout, my fitness instructor on Daily Burn sought to motivate through the use of visualization. She promised with sweat, tears, and a few more power squats, I could be the proud owner of a “club-ready, sexy body”.
10:15AM I’m driving in my car, and spontaneously decide to change up my Spotify playlist. I hit play on Today’s Top Hits in an effort to expand my musical horizons. These lyrics begin pulsing through my speakers: “Jeans so tight I could see loose change, Do your thang, thang, girl, Do that thang like la la la.” Umm. I’ll pass. Next song, please: “I met her in the hotel lobby, then we started loving in the elevator.” Okay, this is not an improvement. I do not want to hear about what you do in an elevator we all have to use! TMI and not very hygienic, either. Time to listen to another song: “I get a feeling, looking you in the eye, know you wanna take a bite of my cherry pie.” Something tells me she is not a baker working at a pastry shop. And then I decide silence will make the best soundtrack for the rest of my drive.
2:14pm I’m still running errands, still driving in my car, when I stop at a red light. A massive billboard catches my eye featuring a gorgeous model posing for the camera wearing nothing but a blazer. I found this a bit odd since she is advertising jeans. I kept looking, but those jeans were mysteriously missing. Seriously, where are the jeans??? Someone help this woman find her jeans!
7:47pm It’s evening, and I’m ready to wind down. I decide to try out one of the latest editions to Netflix, and in the first 10 minutes of the movie the heroine of the story is dressed in lingerie twerking up against a man she just met at the club.
10:05pm My day draws to an end, and laying in bed, I recall all the times I heard the word “sexy” or witnessed a woman receive praise for her sex appeal in one day. Far too many times in the last 14 hours, culture found a way to remind me that “sexy” is something I should aspire to. I must look the part, dress the part and act the part.
10:07pm Here, reader, is the point when I get mad. Like really mad. Like, hop out of bed-switch on your lights-and begin pacing in your room- mad. The kind of mad that lights a match and sets your heart a flame. The kind of indignation that sparks a new unrelenting resolve in every fiber of your being…
…A couple of days later, the pacing has stopped, the sleep is no longer deprived, and I’ve had plenty of time for deep breathes and cooling off. Even with time on my side, I’m still mad. And guess what? I’m okay with that. Jesus got angry enough to turn over a few money-making displays at the temple. Maybe it’s time for me to knock over a few tables of my own, or in this case, some current status quos.
I’m just going to say it: This sensation with sexy is out of hand.
Furthermore, I have no interest in being sexy.
I refuse to define my value based on my sex appeal. I hear loud and clear what culture expects from me as a young, single woman and even though the message has been heard; it has NOT been received. I reject wholeheartedly this ridiculous notion that I am only as appealing to the opposite sex or to anyone for that matter based on my ability to sexually arouse. I am a child of God, designed and destined by the Creator. I was not crafted wonderfully and fearfully to be dumbed-down to a degraded sex object, and I simply will not accept being treated like one.
I do not find it a great compliment to be called “sexy” by society’s standards. Call me “kind”, call me “generous”, call me “funny”, call me “smart”, call me “beautiful”, call me “brave”, call me “hardworking”, call me “talented”, and certainly call me a “follower of Jesus”. Now those words I will gladly receive because when someone pays me these compliments, they are acknowledging me as a person to be seen and not merely an object to be tampered with.
But “sexy”? Sorry, I’m not all that interested.
The only person I want calling me sexy is my one-day husband when he is my actual husband. That compliment is reserved for him and him alone. Why would I desire any other man to find me sexy when that is something meant to be sacred between me and the man I will commit myself in the covenant of marriage to? And if I am pursuing to live and walk purely, then wouldn’t I want the same for others as well? Why would I dress or act or post provocatively in order to provoke someone to lust? How does anyone actually benefit from that? The affirmation my soul needs can only be found in Jesus’ infinite love for me, not in my ability to turn heads or get as many men as possible to check me out.
I know in writing this I risk being misconstrued as a prude, a girl who only wears turtlenecks and skirts that go down to her ankles; and who follows the very strict rules of no makeup, no secular music, and most of all, no fun. In reality, turtlenecks make me feel claustrophobic; I mostly wear skinny jeans; I wear makeup, black eyeliner and even red lipstick on occasion; and I enjoy current top hits and even sport a couple of tattoos. None of that really matters. But I’ll tell you what does: my identity. I decide how I will see myself and how I wish to be seen. And I want to be seen for the intricately and divinely designed, messy, ever-evolving, and scandalously covered in grace child of God that I am. I have so very much more to offer than the simple ability to ignite sexual desire. And so do you.
This current prose and pondering of my heart is not meant to judge or condemn anyone. This is not a legalistic, rule-demanding response to a hurt and broken world. I’m not here to tell anyone how short their skirts can be or what music to censor or what movie scenes one ought to fast forward through. Those conversations are between the Holy Spirit and each individual. I’m not pointing a finger, but I am sounding an alarm.
You, my friend, must decide for yourself who you aspire to be. You, and you alone, decide where you find your value and what qualities are worth becoming. And it’s never too late to decide differently.
So which labels are you willing to embrace and which ones are you ready to rebel against? You decide. No one else gets to do that for you without your consent. Why let a culture trapped in repetitive patterns of heartbreak, dysfunction and abuse tell you who you are supposed to be? You are more than a sexual plaything or someone steered primarily by a sexual drive and have more to offer this world than your sex appeal. You are a child of God, fearfully and wonderfully made. You have been bought with Jesus’ very blood on the cross. You have been saved by grace, empowered by the Spirit of God and set apart for God’s magnificent plans. You are forever loved by God, forever safe in His arms, forever marked by His truth and mercy. You are destined to be light in the midst of darkness. You were called to bring hope and freedom in the name of Jesus wherever you go. You were ordained before the foundations of this world to make an eternal impact with your one and only life. With all that you are, all that you have been given and all that you have been set apart for, why settle for anything less?